
Shadow Magic: Six Strong Heroines of Urban Fantasy

Aimee Easterling et al.

Published by Wetknee Books, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

SHADOW MAGIC: SIX STRONG HEROINES OF URBAN FANTASY

**First edition. February 12, 2020.**

Copyright (C) 2020 Aimee Easterling et al..

Written by Aimee Easterling et al..

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# Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Shadow Magic: Six Strong Heroines of Urban Fantasy

Huntress Born

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Beyond The Veil

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

About the Author

Justice Calling

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Getting Wilde (Immortal Vegas, Book 1)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Wolves: I Bring the Fire Part I (A Loki Series)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Empowered: Agent

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20
This box set contains:

***

Huntress Born by Aimee Easterling - Werewolf and baker Ember leaves her pack to hunt for her missing half brother. But with danger growing on all sides, it's only a matter of time before she gets burned. By an author described as a "good choice for Patricia Briggs fans."

***

Beyond the Veil by Pippa DaCosta - Half-demon and half-human, Muse tried to lead an ordinary life. But when an underworld assassin comes after her, she must embrace her powers--and make a formidable deal with the Prince of Greed.

***

Justice Calling by Annie Bellet - Between hiding out from her evil ex-boyfriend who wants to steal her power and keeping her friends safe from dangerous magics, Jade Crow has all the problems. For fans of The Dresden Files and the Iron Druid, this is a nerdy urban fantasy full of snark and fireballs.

***

Getting Wilde by Jenn Stark - Tarot-reading artifact hunter Sara Wilde can find anything, for a price. Then a wickedly sexy magician offers her the ultimate challenge: Sneak behind Vatican walls...and steal the Devil himself. Globe-trotting, fast-paced, high-stakes adventure perfect for fans of Darynda Jones, Faith Hunter, and Ilona Andrews!

***

Wolves by C. Gockel - When Amy prays for help, Loki the Norse God of mischief and Chaos isn't the savior she has in mind. Loki can't resist Amy's summons, but he can insist that she help him outwit Odin, ruler of the Nine Realms. The start of an epic urban fantasy with myth, magic, and mayhem!

***

Empowered: Agent by Dale Ivan Smith - The world says those possessing superpowers are either heroes or villains. But what if you're both? Former rogue empowered Mathilda Brandt must return to villainy in order to save her family and thousands of others from a psychotic criminal mastermind.

***

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# Huntress Born

by Aimee Easterling

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# Chapter 1

I stepped off the bus into a darkened city full of human muggers, territorial werewolves, and countless other scoundrels. But I was prepared. I'd brought cupcakes.

Unfortunately, it wasn't yet time to eat those cupcakes. Instead, I keyed an Uber request into my phone with one hand while dragging my rolling suitcase clear of the massive wheels with the other. Then I froze as my inner animal abruptly straightened onto full alert.

Wolf. The hint of fur, musk, and testosterone warred for pride of place with urban odors, and I found myself turning in a tight circle in search of the source of the barely present aroma. If my inner beast wasn't mistaken--and she rarely was--then this wasn't merely a shifter in human form sliding seamlessly through the city streets the way I hoped to do. No, a fur-form werewolf was nearby, running four-legged in a space where only two-leggers belonged.

Hairs lengthened on the backs of my arms as my inner beast responded to danger by requesting ownership of our shared body. We were female, far from our pack, and boasted no recourse save our own lupine fangs. It was time to pull out those ivory weapons and show this stranger how capable we were of fighting back.

But instead of obliging my animal's request, I merely stalked to the edge of the lighted circle that marked the bus drop-off zone. Then, drawing extra sensory assistance from my inner wolf, we peered together into the asphalt shadows.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Even in human form, it was easy to pick out the staccato beat of a leaky faucet inside the closed Greyhound station behind our back. Grumbling cars rolled past one block over while human laughter emanated from what smelled like a bar further down the street. But nothing pointed to danger more severe than tired businessmen enjoying a night out on the town. Nothing suggested that my initial impulse--the urge to track down a wolf who possessed the scent signature of a stalker--was anything more than inexperienced-traveler jitters.

This is unknown territory, I reminded myself. Maybe smelling a wolf here is no big deal.

After all, there were several hundred times as many people per square mile in this city compared to the rural enclave where I'd grown up. Presumably, there were several hundred times as many werewolves too.

Still, given the legal imperative against displaying our animal skins to the one-body world, surely it made no sense for a werewolf to be wandering these city streets on four furry feet. No sense...unless the shifter in question was hunting a very specific sort of prey.

Prey like me.

Back home, I would have responded to imminent danger by shifting and running for higher ground. In the process, I'd tug at the pack bond that sat invisible yet ever-present at my fingertips then would laugh with exhilaration as dozens of uncles and aunts and cousins came sprinting up to join me. Together, we'd been known to roust troublesome werewolves away from our borders in less time than it took to whip up a batch of buttercream frosting.

Here though, I was deep in the heart of Greenbriar territory, an invader rather than a defender...from a legal standpoint at least. I had no permission to be present. No permission to walk these streets in search of the brother I'd never before met and who I only hoped was still alive. As such, the smart response would have been to keep my head down and to stay out of trouble. I couldn't go haring off after a total stranger based on nothing more than a whim combined with a trick of the light.

Chase him. Find him, my inner beast countered. She urged me to blow off human worries and slip into the skin of our wolf. To follow our instincts and run. Now, she added impatiently.

But before we could duke out our disagreement, the distinctive odor of wolf began receding into the distance. Within seconds, the hint of fur had faded to nothing, hidden beneath the overwhelming aromas of rotting garbage and over-applied perfume.

Perhaps the danger had never been present in the first place other than in my own over-tired brain.

And as the scent trail dissipated, I was once again left alone in a strange city with only a few possessions at my disposal. A suitcase, four cupcakes, and a phone that promised connection to my beloved pack mates. The combination would have to be enough.

***

THE UBER APP REPORTED that my ride was still several miles out and my stomach ached with the enforced distance from pack. So I sank down onto the curb and succumbed to that most lupine of yearnings--the necessity of calling home.

"Ember." The voice of my father--who wasn't biologically related but who was very much my alpha--crept over me like the scent of a newly mown meadow. Shoulders that had hunched up around my ears for the last eighteen hours drifted gradually downward and I eyed the cupcake bin strapped to the top of my suitcase with renewed longing.

Not yet, I chided myself. Hearing Wolfie say my name might have made me feel at home, but I hadn't actually reached a safe harbor. Which meant it wasn't time for my much-anticipated treat. Not quite yet.

"Dad," I answered instead, trying to sound like a capable twenty-five-year-old woman rather than like a scared little girl. Despite my fanged alter-ego, this was the first time I'd left Haven under my own volition. No wonder I felt as jumpy as a newborn colt.

And my father must have sensed the worry imbuing that lone word. Because he dove right into the heart of the issue with all the single-mindedness of a born wolf. "Trouble?" he asked.

"Nothing I can't handle." My tone was firm but I knew Wolfie heard the lie in my voice as easily as I'd picked out the pride and affection in his. So I strove to make the next sentence true by recalling the way the scent of fur had faded almost as soon as it entered my nostrils. "I'm fine," I added, focusing on the fact that the trouble really was gone. I had handled the potential problem. So my initial words weren't really a falsehood after all.

And the evasion seemed to work. Unfortunately, my father moved on to a question that was much harder to sidestep. "Are you eating your cupcake yet?" Wolfie asked next, his deep rumble the lupine equivalent of a relaxing purr.

This time I hesitated, unwilling to fudge a question so tightly tied to a beloved childhood ritual. Because Dad had been baking gift cupcakes ever since I'd reached my teens, using the unique pastries to celebrate hurdles overcome and milestones achieved. In today's case, the pastry Wolfie had concocted with his own two hands--unlike the more numerous ones I'd made myself--was tucked away deep within my suitcase, a single-serving bin hiding what was bound to be a work of art.

I hadn't even seen my present yet. Was saving that particular boost for the moment when I was finally able to let down my guard and relax into my bed tonight. I wanted to eat the gift with care while feeling the pack bond encircle me just like my father's arms had done so many times before. I wanted to use Dad's cupcake to remember I was loved.

So, in the end, I didn't even attempt a lie as I answered my father's second question of the evening. "Not yet," I admitted. Then, remembering my supposed independence and the very real distance separating me from my home pack, I added: "But you can go to sleep anyway. I have this covered."

Wolfie hummed acknowledgement of my honesty, but that didn't mean he was willing to let me off the hook just yet. "If you're not eating, then I'm not sleeping," my father murmured, his words warming my belly far more than a mere morsel of chocolate might have done.

But then the silence between us turned brittle, and I sighed, knowing which often-repeated conversation was coming next. "You don't have to say it," I interjected, cutting my father off at the pass. "This might be a wild-goose chase and Derek might not want to be found. If my brother really intended to get to know me, he would have come to visit in person rather than sending cryptic messages that resulted in me crossing territory lines. That all makes just as much sense as it did the first time you said it...but I'm willing to take the chance. I can't leave my brother dangling if he's really in trouble."

"I know," Dad rumbled, his voice just as warm now as it had been a moment earlier. He didn't correct my semantics, either. Didn't mention that Derek was only a half-brother or that our shared mom had chosen to abandon me at birth. Instead, Dad's next words proved that my adopted father, at least, would always be on my side even if he disapproved of my current actions. "That wasn't what I was going to say at all."

The phone went silent as my father paused, and I closed my eyes to better sense his presence. Despite the hundreds of miles that separated us, merely breathing in tandem revitalized exhausted muscles and soothed traveling jitters. I would have gladly sat there all night, soaking up Wolfie's strength and reveling in the connection of pack.

But I had places to go. Brothers to meet. Alphas to charm. So, at last, I prodded my father back onto track. "Dad?"

Immediately, Wolfie's deep rumble filled my ears once again. "No matter what happens, Buttercup, I'll be here to back you up. You can always come home."

A human twenty-something would have responded with an agitated eye roll. There were even some shifters who might have felt stifled by an adopted parent's clear obsession with their continued well-being.

But I wasn't one of the latter. For me, family was everything. As such, I had every intention of finding the half-brother I'd never before met, making sure he wasn't in trouble, then high-tailing it back the way I'd come as quickly and carefully as possible.

Unfortunately, now wasn't the time to bask in familial reassurances. Because the scent of fur had returned, filling the air more strongly than ever. And this time, it was all I could do to swallow down a lupine growl.

"I've gotta go," I said instead, disconnecting the call without waiting for a reply and slipping my phone into a pants pocket for safekeeping. Then clambering to my feet, I stared out into the darkness in search of a wolf.

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# Chapter 2

When the stranger emerged from the shadows at last, an inexperienced human would have found him inconsequential. His lupine belly nearly scraped the pavement and each step was placed more cautiously than the last, producing the impression of an abused and tentative stray dog.

But, to a shifter, the threat was obvious. This wolf wasn't skittishly searching for a handout. He was exercising the careful moderation of a practiced hunter. And, as the only living being within eye shot, I was definitely the one who'd been earmarked as prey.

Opening my mouth, I rolled a great gulp of air across my taste buds in an effort to analyze the stranger's threat level. He wasn't particularly dominant--I could smell that much from a distance. But despite his lack of alpha oomph, the male was crouched in readiness to spring while his teeth were plenty long enough to take down an average human.

Luckily, I was neither average nor human.

"I'm Ember Wilder-Young," I said loudly, taking one long step forward as the stranger paused at the edge of the slim circle of illumination provided by the streetlight above my head. A werewolf shouldn't have needed excessive volume to pick out words across the distance that separated us. But I opted to raise my voice anyway, mimicking the firm yet gentle dominance my father had embodied for my entire life. "I've got a ride coming and your alpha's expecting me. So there's no need to wait around. I'm good."

I seemed to be telling everyone that I was good today...and no one was willing to take my assertion at face value either. Like Wolfie, this shifter snorted out a huff of air that called my sanity into question. But then he lifted his muzzle and inhaled deeply through his moist, black nose.

I could see the moment the stranger caught my scent. The breeze, such as it was, had been blowing in the opposite direction from the beginning or this wolf would have gathered all salient details before even stepping out of the shadows. Now he froze, head cocked to one side as he tried to figure out how a woman like me came to be in a place like this.

"You smell like rich, irresistible chocolate to any red-blooded shifter male," one of my cousins had told me the day before. "You're nuts to leave pack lands unprotected."

Other family members had chimed in with similar admonitions, trying to keep me at home where I was safe. But I had reasons to be here and I definitely wasn't going to let the first starry-eyed shifter with more libido than sense send me scurrying back to Haven with my tail between my legs.

So I stood my ground as the wolf drifted closer, his eyes gleaming and the first hint of slobber trailing across pink gums. Yuck. Apparently even the mention of an absent alpha wasn't enough to get me off the hook this time around. Time to come up with a plan B.

Let me, my wolf murmured underneath my skin. She wanted to speak with my tongue, to order the less dominant wolf to stand down. The compulsion would have worked, too...and yet I hesitated, shifting nervously from foot to foot rather than reaching for our most obvious line of defense.

Because I'd learned the hard way that bending a weaker wolf around my little finger with a simple verbal command wasn't as painless as it appeared from the dominant side. Instead, being controlled by a stronger shifter was akin to listening to nails scrape across a blackboard while watching someone vomit out great big gobs of stinky stomach contents...all while dangling upside down over a deep abyss that ended in a trough of voracious alligators. There was no long-term damage associated with the compulsion, but the ordeal itself was certainly unpleasant in the moment.

So, yes, I could bark this growling shifter into line...but should I? What if my initial impression had been wrong and the male wasn't busy stalking women who'd made the unfortunate mistake of walking alone at night? What if I was merely on edge from my recent trip and this male intended to remind me not to traipse through someone else's territory without permission?

When in doubt, don't, I decided, opting against forcing my opponent to back down the easy way. Instead, I stood a little taller and gazed directly into the wolf's greenish eyes. "You really don't want to mess with me," I promised too quietly for a human to hear.

Then, relaxing my hold over my own inner beast, I allowed the stranger to see a hint of the animal hidden beneath my human skin.

She might have been smaller than my opponent's animal, but my wolf was no lightweight. Instead, she was twice as dominant as our aggressor, twice as able to stand up for herself in either a physical or verbal battle. As intimidation tactics went, showing a glimpse of her behind my eyes was akin to a war-like nation threatening to drop an atomic bomb.

And, sure enough, plan C worked like a charm. Drool dried up in an instant as the shifter swiveled without a sound. Then he was heading back into the shadows from which he'd come, not a single yip of protest reaching my ears.

There was nothing like a stronger force to make a budding bully back down.

"And my Uber's almost here too," I noted, glancing down at my phone. I'll admit my voice was a little smug as I watched headlights flicker across the wall behind me. Already, I was thinking three steps in advance, counting my remaining cupcakes as I imagined doling them out to each person I'd need to charm before I could lay my head on a pillow and drift into rejuvenating sleep.

One for the Uber driver, one for the Greenbriar pack leader, one for my eventual host. Luckily, I had precisely three cupcakes left...not counting my own treat smashed between clean undies and a work blouse, that is. Perfect.

Which is when I picked up a sound from the direction in which the wolf had fled. A wolf's growl. A woman's gasp.

Meanwhile, the air around me filled with the sharp scent of overwhelming fear. Perhaps I shouldn't have given that wolf so much benefit of the doubt after all....

***

MY INITIAL IMPULSE was to take off in search of my erstwhile companion, but the oncoming vehicle had already purred to a halt before I could make my move. And as I stood eying the expanse of sleek, shiny metal, a tinted window rolled down to reveal a man twice as beautiful as the hunk of steel that surrounded him.

"You called an Uber?" the driver asked, sable hair floating down to partially obscure equally dark and mysterious eyes. Despite myself, I leaned in closer to harvest a sniff. Soap, smarts, confidence. The scent was intoxicating.

The driver was human, though, which in this era of extreme shifter secrecy meant he was also entirely off limits. Forcing my head away from the open window, I bit my lip and squashed the hum of lupine interest threatening to rise up through my human throat. Never mind the rules--there was no point in considering a relationship with a one-body when I had no intention of mating outside my pack.

My wolf whimpered within my stomach, chastened by the reminder. But it was the muffled shriek--just distant enough to be indiscernible to a normal human--that pulled me back to the present with a jolt. "I forgot something down there," I said hurriedly before twisting my arm to gesture awkwardly at the suitcase by my feet. "Help yourself to a cupcake," I added, "and I'll be right back."

Hoping the treat would keep my driver occupied while he waited, I took off at a run just barely slow enough to appear human. Then even that pretense fell away as shadows settled around my furless skin and shielded me from view. I'd made one mistake already in letting the stranger off scot-free. I had no intention of allowing him to harm a human on my watch.

Still, even as I raced down the dark alley intent upon rescue, my mind was attempting to assemble a puzzle whose pieces didn't quite add up. I was new to this city and unfamiliar with local customs, but it made no sense for a shifter to be attacking females willy-nilly. After all, the Greenbriar alpha would be acting under the same mandate that guided Dad's governance--the imperative to keep the peace within his pack while also ensuring werewolves remained hidden from prying human eyes. Moral implications aside, Chief Greenbriar would have to be an idiot to allow underlings to draw attention to themselves by breaking one-body laws.

Shivering despite the warmth of the night, I allowed my wolf to rise up and join me within our human skin at last. She wasn't concerned about the inconsistencies presented by this city's rotten underbelly. Instead, her attention latched onto the renegade werewolf who'd cornered a human woman in the shadowy enclave between a metal dumpster and an unyielding brick wall.

Despite the darkness, my shifter senses made the scene all too clear. And I winced as I realized the attacker had taken yet another step into the unthinkable during the moments he'd spent alone. Because he wasn't a wolf now. Instead, the male was two-legged and naked, presumably having transformed right in front of the young woman he was currently attempting to maul.

Unsavory repercussions flew in front of my mind's eye in one jumbled heap. There was no wiggle room in this particular law. No way to save a human who had been privy to a shifter's transition from wolf to man. Instead, if this woman had been able to discern her attacker's shift despite the darkness...well then, she'd have to be killed for the sake of werewolves everywhere.

I'd just have to hope the woman's eyesight wasn't up to the task.

The victim didn't need night vision, though, to be terrified. Not when her attacker had ripped open the front of her blouse, his other hand fumbling with the buttons of her jeans. "You're fertile," the male murmured, his words more wolf than human. "Ripe, round, ready."

And despite my former intentions not to make waves, I abruptly saw red. This wasn't the way werewolves acted. Forget the mandate not to show ourselves in public, this was uncivilized.

Uncle Hunter would have punched out the attacker's lights. Dad would have shifted into lupine form and torn into this stranger with tooth and claw. Right now, either option seemed like a good one to me.

But stumbling footsteps in the alley behind my back marked the approach of my Uber driver, his advance slow but steady. Darn his cute face, the guy was too chivalrous to allow me to be assaulted in a dark alley on his watch.

Which meant, unfortunately, I didn't have the wiggle room to assault anyone in a dark alley either.

So, instead, I readied the talent I'd rejected earlier as akin to killing a mosquito with a sledgehammer. This time around, I figured the bug in question deserved to be squished. "Go home," I ordered, my voice too quiet for either human to hear.

The stranger, though, not only heard but felt. Predictably, he jerked like a puppet whose stage manager had pulled the strings and bade him to dance. But the shifter didn't flee immediately. Instead, the bastard tried to fight against my overt command, swiveling around to glare at me over one naked shoulder as he fought against the compulsion to obey.

Then the Uber driver was in the alley behind us. His flashlight shone across the wall and dumpster before glinting against the woman's eyes...and that was all the illumination the latter needed to raise the canister of Mace she'd been clutching in one white-knuckled grip and spray it directly into her attacker's face.

My shifter dominance would have done the trick eventually...but I have to admit the effects of pepper spray were far more satisfying. Because the attempted rapist yowled as if his victim had stuck a knife through his groin. Then he was running down the alley in the opposite direction, air humming with electricity as he shifted into lupine form just out of sight.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I crossed my fingers and hoped the two humans didn't realize they'd just sighted the impossible--a person able to transform into the body of a wolf at will. Because if they put two and two together, the law said I had to put them down.

I definitely didn't have enough cupcakes on hand to deal with that sort of catastrophe.

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# Chapter 3

To my relief, neither human appeared to notice anything beyond the obvious--that a terrified woman had finally found safety once her attacker was chased away. My luck continued to hold, too, when the victim made it all the way to the sleek sports car before collapsing into a tearful heap in the leather-lined safety of the small back seat.

The female didn't respond to any of my condolences, though, suggesting that she needed a little time to collect herself. So, after offering yet another unnoticed pat on the back, I glanced up and caught the Uber driver's gaze in the side mirror instead.

In stark contrast to my own suitcase-top perch outside the car's open door, the driver was visibly distancing himself from the feminine gaggle behind his back. Not that I blamed him--he probably needed to get back to making a living. Figuring it was only fair to let him off the hook, I smiled grimly and offered the driver an easy way out.

"I'm sorry," I began. "I think this is gonna take a while. It won't hurt my feelings at all if you need to go find another fare...."

And in response, a wave of emotion so intense I could smell it from outside the car flickered across the driver's chiseled face. "Are you serious? You think I'm going to leave you two here alone in the middle of the night when there's a potential rapist on the loose?"

The male's tone was as curt as any alpha werewolf who thought his pack mates were in danger. And despite the driver's complete inability to change forms, testosterone sizzled through the air while barely banked rage attempted to break through his cool facade.

Huh, guess I had him pegged all wrong. Here I'd thought my driver was irritated and uncomfortable with the crying woman parked in his back seat. Instead, the human was furious about the events that had come before. In fact, I got the distinct impression he wanted nothing more than a chance to pound that potential rapist into the pavement.

Well, that makes two of us.

As quickly as the rage appeared, though, the man's face smoothed and I was left wondering if I'd merely imagined the strength of his former reaction. "I'm here for the duration," the driver continued, twisting his body sideways and reaching into the space between the seat and door so he could shake my hand. "So I guess I might as well introduce myself. I'm Sebastien Carter...and you're Ember Wilder-Young."

"How...?" I asked, the human's firm grip short-circuiting my already weary brain. Close up, Sebastien's odor enveloped me like a warm hug, the faint addition of sandalwood-scented sweat lingering beneath his more signature aromas. My companion smelled like adventure and danger and hidden potential...and I wanted to transform into a wolf so I could jump into his lap and lick his square-jawed face.

Releasing the large hand a tad too quickly for the sake of politeness, awareness fled in an instant as my usual perspicuity returned. Of course my name would have been listed on the user profile when I requested a ride. There was nothing magical about an Uber driver knowing who I was.

"And I'm Harmony Garcia," the woman beside me interjected, straightening at long last in response to our more-intimate-than-intended exchange. As I finally got a good look at her, I realized that she must have been on her way home from work despite the late hour. Because a black pant suit hugged her trim curves while carefully applied mascara remained pristine despite her recent sob-fest.

Impressive on both counts. Perhaps I'd underestimated the average human woman's inherent spine.

Still, even with the steely inner strength Harmony displayed, recent shock pinched the corners of her lips and grayed her skin. She needed a little boost to fully brush off the close call with a werewolf. Good thing I had just the ticket right here on top of my suitcase....

The woman's lips curled upward into a hint of a smile as I silently offered the cupcake carton in one outstretched hand. And after perusing the selection with all the intensity of a stock analyst choosing where to invest her retirement income, Harmony plucked out the strawberry-flavored confection I'd made with someone very much like her in mind.

Now it was my turn to grin as Harmony inhaled half the pastry in one great gulp before leaning back against the seat with a sigh of relief. Success. My greatest weapon--the mighty cupcake--had come through at last.

***

FIGURING HARMONY WOULD fare even better if not forced to eat alone, I held out the nearly empty carton to Sebastien next. And to my surprise, the Uber driver plucked the triple-chocolate overload rather than the raspberry-crumble I'd figured would be in his wheelhouse.

Huh. We both have the same favorite flavor? What are the chances of that?

But before I could verbalize my surprise, the chime of my phone reminded me that I had far more important matters on my agenda than psychoanalyzing humans based on their cupcake selections. Because even though the name on the screen--"Top Dog"--wasn't one I recognized, the associated text message sent a shiver running down my spine.

No greeting, no small talk. Just a street address and a deadline. Midnight, the final word read, curtness evident in the truncated command.

Reading between the lines, I could only assume that my hosts had noticed my uninvited presence in Greenbriar territory far sooner than I'd anticipated. I'd considered calling ahead and using diplomacy to find a legal way into this city, but in the end had decided it was better to ask forgiveness rather than permission.

Actually, I'd kinda hoped I could find my brother and hop back onto the bus before anyone was the wiser. No harm, no foul. Perhaps I'd send Chief Greenbriar a fruit basket once I was safely back in Haven.

Only that wishful-thinking bubble now burst like a Yorkshire pudding falling flat as soon as the pan left the oven. Chief Greenbriar had discovered my intrusion far faster than I'd estimated. And now I possessed twenty short minutes to achieve the lair of this region's alpha before my neck would be on the chopping block...perhaps quite literally.

Despite the need for speed, I felt a strange aversion to the idea of running off and leaving these humans behind. Instead, I watched wistfully as the color returned to Harmony's cheeks while the male in the driver's seat leaned inward to shield her body from imagined danger. Strawberry and chocolate go well together, I reminded myself, ignoring the flutter of disappointment that rose in my chest at the very thought of leaving my Uber driver to take the other female home.

Still, I did what had to be done. Snapping the nearly empty cupcake container back into place, I yanked up on the handle of my suitcase in preparation for making tracks.

But I wasn't quite quick enough. Sebastien's door opened and his large hand clamped down around my luggage-handling wrist before I even saw him coming. The guy was nearly werewolf fast.

"Where do you think you're going?" the male demanded.

"Sorry about the fare, but I just realized I'm running late," I answered, words tumbling all over themselves in their rush to exit my mouth. "If you don't mind, can you take Harmony home and charge the trip to the credit card I have on file?" Then, glancing backwards at the aforementioned female, I added, "It was a pleasure to meet you! Have a good night."

Finally, I pulled away, thoroughly expecting Sebastien's hand to fall free as I exerted myself. But instead, I found myself swinging back around to face the human, his iron grip refusing to budge. "No," he said simply.

My brows drew together. Really? Dude thought he could keep me from going where I wanted to go?

And even though I was predisposed to like anyone who opted for a chocolate cupcake, muscle memory took over as soon as I found myself restrained. Dropping my weight into a semi-squat, I bent my elbow and pushed forward with all of my might.

Sure enough, Sebastien grunted and let go. In a contest between muscles and skillful use of physics, physics won out every time.

Thank you, Uncle Hunter, I thought silently, ignoring the grumbling of my wolf at the less-than-savory parting.

But I had no time to apologize, no time to make nice with the humans. Instead, turning on my heel, I ran down the sidewalk into the night.

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# Chapter 4

Despite my haste, I paused just out of sight and listened until the murmur of voices ceased and two car doors slammed shut. Sure enough, Harmony had accepted Sebastien's offer of assistance, her throaty voice reciting a street address that I quickly keyed into my own phone...just in case.

Then my human companions were gone and I was left to chart a course through the unfamiliar neighborhood by myself. And even though the mapping software on my phone would have come in handy to ensure I made no wrong turns on the way to my intended destination, my gut told me I'd be better off taking this trek unencumbered. So I made a short pit stop first.

Heaving my suitcase into a storage locker in the antechamber of the bus station, I then emptied my pockets until all I had on me was a t-shirt and jeans. Even my phone went into the keypad-locked metal box, the gesture essential if I didn't want to be tracked by a shifter who had already found a way to hack into my supposedly untappable phone.

The mystery of that cleverness would have to wait, though. Instead, I slithered up a tree, scampered across a balcony, then chinning my way onto a low rooftop that would serve as a stepping stone to those levels higher up. This part of the city was so densely packed that it was feasible to turn buildings themselves into an aerial pathway...as long as I didn't mind making running leaps over alleys from time to time, that was.

My wolf definitely wasn't fazed by the necessary loss of contact with the earth. In fact, I barely managed to squash her howl as we embraced freedom together, sprinting across the wide open spaces and stretching legs that had been pent-up within the squashed confines of that dratted bus for far too long. The ability to run unfettered was pure bliss.

After a few seconds, though, we got back down to business. Beneath our feet, humans clomped by entirely unaware that a predator could drop down upon them at any moment, and I had high hopes that any nearby shifters were equally oblivious to my current MO. Still, I wasted a few precious minutes looping the loop until I was certain no one trailed my current movements or accidentally stumbled across my path.

Only then did I dig into my memory of the city's map and begin making my way toward the location Top Dog had ordered me to attend. My destination was relatively close by....but I still began second-guessing my own navigational abilities as I neared Top Dog's designated intersection.

Because this wasn't the wealthy and polished neighborhood I'd expect to find housing an alpha werewolf. There were no park-like expanses of trees, no fenced mansions to keep prying eyes at bay. Instead, human hookers posed on street corners while boys far too young to be out and about so late at night sold small baggies of illicit substances to an endless stream of easy marks.

As I passed unnoticed above all of their heads, a clock tower tolled proof that my evasive maneuvers had already put me behind the designated hour. I'd need to apologize for my tardiness now as well as my cheekiness in arriving unannounced...but who was supposed to grant me amnesty when I hadn't smelled a single shifter since leaving the bus station behind?

Then I saw them. Three wolves lounging beneath a basketball hoop where the streetlights just happened not to shine. Gray fur blended easily into the silver moonlight, explaining why they felt safe walking four-legged while one-bodies worked nearby. Their camouflage was good. Still, I suspected Dad wouldn't have allowed this level of overt wolfishness to fly.

But threats to shifter secrecy weren't the largest issue currently on the table. I'd hoped to keep roof-running as a backup plan in case the upcoming meeting went south, but the wind was out to get me. Even as I began planning a circuitous descent, a gust of summer trickery carried my scent down toward the pavement. And as one the trio tilted their heads to peer upwards into the dark.

I'd been sighted. Now, there was no going back.

***

I HESITATED, CONSIDERING flight for one short second. But my brother was still out there, somewhere, waiting for me to answer his digital plea. And I had other aces up my sleeve even if the roof was no longer my personal playground.

So, using an awning to slow my descent, I landed gracefully on two human feet even as strange wolves came padding up to greet me.

Okay, so perhaps "greet" wasn't the right verb. Instead, as soon as I hit the ground, the pack was chivying me deeper into the shadows and further away from human eyes. The largest male led the way while others nipped at my heels, brushing against my legs hard enough to make me stumble.

"You don't have to be so pushy," I grumbled under my breath, nonetheless picking up my heels as we all padded away from the more trafficked street corner at a ground-eating trot.

The only response to my complaint was another bite, and this time the wolf in question didn't bother to exercise restraint. Instead, his sharp teeth tore through the fabric of my jeans, making me wince as the metallic tang of blood rose to permeate the warm evening air.

Just what I needed--to excite these predators further with the scent of flowing blood.

True to form, the lead animal immediately dropped all pretense at stealth, raising his chin to the sky and howling into the night. Luckily, by this point the neighborhood we were traveling through had changed from inner city to well-heeled gentry, which meant the residents were all tucked away snug in their beds. Hopefully no one heard the truncated howl...or the more elongated scuffle as three impatient wolves herded a mostly-willing human down the pavement beside an endless string of night-darkened homes.

Only there weren't only three wolves hemming me in any longer. Two others had slipped out of the bushes while I wasn't looking, after which a pair of youngsters pranced up to join the hunt. So there were eight of us, all-told, when we paused at the edge of a busy, two-lane road.

The pups were what prompted me to make it easy for my escort at last. "I assume you want me to go straight on through," I told the leader, who hadn't once glanced over his shoulder since beginning to lead us all on this entirely unnecessary dance. "How about I cross here and you meet me on the other side?" I continued, speaking to ears that swiveled even though the male's snout remained firmly facing the brightly lit pavement twenty yards ahead.

And I must have struck the right tone at last because the male finally turned to face me head-on. I'd assumed from his high-handedness that our leader was an elder, but a glance at his muzzle now proved that he was actually no more than a year or two older than myself.

More important than his age, though, was his mood. Our current leader was understandably annoyed by my recent tardiness, was pissed at having been asked to herd me along in the first place. And yet...the male was currently in lupine form and tuned into the thoughts of an animal rather than to those of a man. As such, a willing addition to the hunt overrode all petty grievances from the already foggy past.

Soon enough, the leader's eyes widened slightly, a request for me to clarify my recent words. And, willingly, I repeated my offer. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I'll follow wherever you lead."

I'd expected perhaps a nod of acceptance or a snarl of retort. Instead, in a strange burst of inclusiveness, a temporary pack bond settled across my shoulders, attaching me to wolves I barely knew. I could feel not only these shifters waiting impatiently on the street corner, but also members of the pack not currently present who--I now knew--were running toward us along other darkened city streets.

The sensation was scratchy and uncomfortable, blocking me off from more familiar connections to my father and home clan while tying me to strangers I'd never even met. And while I wouldn't have wanted to keep a Greenbriar mantle in place for very long, its current presence was welcome nonetheless.

Because being tied into the local network meant an end to backbiting and herding. An end to the skepticism that filled the air like the scent of moldy bread. This Greenbriar leader didn't precisely trust me, and I also hadn't tied myself so thoroughly to the other shifters that I couldn't veer away at will. Despite those caveats, we were all in total agreement. For tonight, at least, we'd chosen each other's company for the upcoming run.

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# Chapter 5

As soon as the decision was made, we were off. Wolf-form shifters slipped away into the shadows, darting down alleys before reappearing atop an unlit bridge that crossed the thoroughfare two blocks away. For my part, human feet carried me more sedately across the closest intersection and I nodded at a policeman before picking up my heels on the opposite side. Just a human, out for a run, I told the official with the relaxed set of my shoulders. And, like most one-bodies, the policeman saw what he expected to see.

On the other side of the avenue, even more wolves settled in around me until I was trotting amidst a sea of fur and paws. The road we were following twisted into seclusion here, trees cropping up as we passed through an abandoned industrial district. Then a vast chain-link fence rose before us just where I'd thought a human park would exist based on my perusal of satellite photos during the long bus ride north.

My assumptions had apparently been flawed, though. Because a shifter waited at the gate, suggesting that this area wasn't open to the public...nor was it frequented by the two-legged set. Unlike the other shifters milling around me, this teenager was in human form. But he was also entirely naked save for an incongruously orange pair of flip-flops that slid around his otherwise bare feet with every step.

"Welcome to the Greenbriar pack," the male told me, swinging open the gates then standing back as the flood of wolves streamed through, jostling against each other in their haste to achieve the wooded side.

I stood back to let them pass but didn't attempt to argue with the gate guard about the temporariness of my recently assumed pack mantle. Instead, I slipped fingers over each shoulder then below my waistband, unsnapping special fasteners I'd added to my underwear after learning that my dominant nature made the upcoming party trick feasible.

Then, as the two-legged shifter who'd let us in began a slow and laborious transition into lupine form, I dove forward...and shifted into wolf so quickly that my trousers and shirt, my panties and bra all fell into a crumpled heap beneath my paws.

Finally, four-legged, I followed the other werewolves into the trees.

***

CHIEF GREENBRIAR MET us at the top of the highest rise, his grizzled muzzle lined with scars from battles long past. Otherwise, though, his markings were reminiscent of those on the shifter who'd played Pied Piper during my recent journey through town. And as I breathed in similar aromas emanating from either side of me, I realized the two males likely also shared common blood.

Father and son, I decided, noting the way all other wolves dropped to their bellies and lowered their eyes at the sight of their waiting leader. In stark contrast, my guide walked right up and sniffed his alpha's nose without obvious sign of deference. So this wasn't the sort of pack were an heir apparent was required to defend his place ad nauseam. A very good sign.

Too bad I didn't have a cupcake on hand to grease the wheels of my own arrival and prompt similar familiarity. Still, I opted to assume Chief Greenbriar would be a raspberry sort of fellow just like the cupcake I'd saved for him--a bit sour and well able to hold his own amid other flavors, but sugary sweet on the inside.

Testing my hypothesis, I pranced up to the alpha just as I would have to my own father. Then, without waiting to gauge his reaction, I granted the older wolf a playful but deferent lick beneath his furry chin.

My breath caught as the older male's ears pinned back for a millisecond, but then his tongue lolled out in a lupine laugh. Accepting my far-from-formal introduction, he took my head between massive jaws and shook me gently from side to side in a formalized rebuke for my tardiness. But at the same time, the scratchy connection that his son had applied eased into silky smoothness across my back as the strongest alpha in the vicinity approved of my temporary inclusion within his clan.

In stark contrast to the loosely applied mantle that had broadcast nothing more than the pack's shared enthusiasm earlier in the evening, individual reactions now rolled toward me in emotional waves. The two youngest werewolves were full of trepidation, unsure whether they'd show themselves to advantage during their first formal hunt. One adult shifter was hungover, while another harbored annoyance at being required to attend an event that cut into previously scheduled plans.

Despite these few dissonant notes though, most of the wolves were raring to go. They were impatient with the hunt's late start, uninterested in my unexpected presence, and thinking of nothing more than running flat out while cool night breezes wafted through stifling fur.

But the alpha didn't give us permission to begin at once. Instead, he tightened the reins and held us all in check for a long moment until we were stamping like race horses impatient to be off. Then he cocked his head...and gazed directly into my waiting eyes.

I tensed, fully aware that an eye lock like this one would have been a stark challenge among alpha males. But I was female and often capable of wiggling out of dominance battles with an appeasing smile...assuming no handy cupcakes were lying around waiting to be doled out, that is.

This time, though, I didn't even need to resort to feminine wiles in order to defuse the tension. Because Chief Greenbriar wasn't confronting me. Rather, he was assessing, measuring, asking if I'd like to be the one to lead the evening's hunt.

The gesture was still a test, of course, albeit a more palatable one than the stare-down he could have chosen. Definitely far better than I'd expected from a pack leader who had no reason to even allow me to walk his streets unhindered, let alone grant me the honored position of leading a full-pack hunt.

Of course if I failed to find prime prey....

Luckily, I was always up for a challenge. Closing my eyes, I raised my nose as if scenting the breeze, and in the process recalled the maps I'd stared at for hours as the pitifully slow bus paused in each small town along its path.

Based on those images, this fenced-in sanctuary was too small to contain anything more tasty than a doe or two. On the other hand, if the pack headed downhill for a few short miles, we'd come upon an arm of national forest that my research suggested had been stocked with elk decades before.

The large ungulates had done so well for themselves during the intervening period that the state's department of game and inland fisheries had instituted an annual hunting season with the goal of preventing overpopulated elk from wandering down city streets in search of flowerbeds to nibble on.

And if humans were allowed to hunt elk...well perhaps werewolves were too.

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# Chapter 6

No one argued when I took off to the south. Instead, they fell in line behind me as easily as if I were their usual guide rather than an uninvited guest. And before we'd even reached the limits of the pack's fenced sanctuary, the alpha's son was running by my side, his shoulder bumping playfully against my own.

Well that's a change of tune, I thought wryly. Still, I couldn't blame the younger male for dropping his former aloofness as soon as Chief Greenbriar offered explicit approval of my presence. After all, the city's leader was that rarest of alphas--a male like my father whose profound power meant he had no need to threaten or punish in order to make his pack obey.

By his actions, Chief Greenbriar had suggested I was more important to their pack than anyone had initially suspected. So now his son was wooing me far more seriously than was merited by our short acquaintance.

In response, I played along. Well, not too overtly--after all, the younger male's scent of warm granite and damp clay did nothing for my libido and I had absolutely no intention of formalizing the borrowed Greenbriar mantle by mating within their pack. But I didn't push my hunting companion away either. Instead, I matched him nudge for nudge, even allowing the alpha's son to pull ahead and choose the direction of our travel when the path we were running along split in two.

After all, I'd scented elk in both directions. No reason not to let the heir apparent claim the final prize of leading us all to a feast when my own short-term status meant I had no dog--or, rather, elk--in this race.

Instead, I merely relaxed into the heady sensation of running with a pack. The moon was high, the cool air flowing gently over my hot fur. I wasn't home, I wasn't with family, but I was happy.

And then, abruptly, a very different sort of scent froze my feet and reminded me that I wasn't just an uninterested bystander acting as an audience to Greenbriar power plays. Slipping out of the stream of wolves, I padded over to sniff at the earth beneath a straight-trunked walnut, trying to determine whether it was my nose or my mind playing tricks.

The answer was--neither. A wolf had definitely peed here not long ago...which wasn't a big surprise since the hole in the fence we'd passed through half an hour earlier suggested this area was often treated as an addendum to the pack's more official hunting grounds. The identity of the scent-marking wolf, though, raised hairs along the entire length of my spine.

Derek. My brother had been present in this very spot no more than a week earlier. And in the way of wolves, he'd imbued not only his identity but also his mood into the chemicals that laced his urine.

The youngster had been scared. Not outright fleeing from a dangerous pursuer, but skulking as lone wolves tend to do around the periphery of an established pack.

Only Derek hadn't been looking for a way in. He'd been looking for a way back out.

I lowered my muzzle closer to the earth, doubting the evidence of my own nose. The facts simply didn't add up. Not when Chief Greenbriar and his son had drawn me into their ranks as adroitly as ever my own father had soothed the fears of time-worn loners and given them a place to call home. I'd arrived in the city late and uninvited, expecting to be chased out of town on a rail. And instead, no one in the host clan had so much as hassled me during the recent race through forested glades.

Pawing at the earth, I whined out my confusion. And, to my surprise, the dusty patch yielded up a more tangible prize.

A key on a chain. And nearly hidden beneath the scents of urine and earth, the faintest aroma of moss still adorned the metallic surface. Derek had definitely been the one to tuck away this offering. Perhaps I could use the clue to track my elusive brother down?

Glancing over one shoulder to see if anyone had noted my absence, I slipped my head through the chain and shook myself until the metal settled down invisibly into my thick lupine fur. I didn't know why Derek had come this way several days earlier. Could find no further indication of why he had been frightened or who might have been hounding his trail.

But my missing sibling had left behind a key. I had to assume that meant I was finally on the proper track.

***

UNFORTUNATELY, THE mystery of Derek's disappearance would have to wait. Because I could feel the alpha's son racing in for the kill via the borrowed Greenbriar mantle. Meanwhile, a change in the connections streaming between me and the other shifters suggested I was about to lose my chance at making a good impression on this borrowed pack.

Sure enough, when I glanced up, Chief Greenbriar's gaze met mine through gaps in the intervening trees. The older male's eyes narrowed in speculation, and I could almost feel his questions streaming toward me down our temporary pack tether...

...only to be cast aside as a glint of reflected moonlight illuminated the younger Greenbriar male's teeth. Fangs latched onto the loose skin beneath the neck of a tremendous elk, and across the scrimmage the alpha howled his immediate approval. Then both alpha and son were lost from view as a surge of wolves darted past the prey animal's feet, snapping at flanks and belly in an effort to take the elk all the way to the ground.

It was time to join in or be left out entirely, I realized. There needed to be blood on my fangs before this night was over if I wanted permission to hunt in this city ever again.

To that end, I pressed forward, thankful that the wolves on the periphery of the battle so readily allowed me to pass. Well, they all stepped aside...save for one skinny beast whose fur stank of fox-musk and dirty socks.

I recognized the rapist more by scent than by sight. Somehow, I'd assumed Harmony's attacker would materialize into a lone wolf like my brother. After all, who but a packless beast would have the temerity to break such a serious law? The male likely made a living out of skulking around the perimeter of claimed territory, succumbing to gaffes that would eventually get him tossed out on his ear...assuming the pack leader was in a good mood at the time and didn't produce a far more final form of punishment for the indiscretion.

But in this case, the foul-scented male was right in the thick of the action. And unlike his fellow pack members, he didn't budge as I approached. Instead, the shifter remained directly in my path, lip curled and teeth bared in a reminder that not every resident of the city was thrilled by my uninvited presence on their home turf.

I was more surprised by the male's ability to rub shoulders with hunt participants than I was scared of his menacing posture, but my vacillation must have resembled fear from a distance. Because before I could make a move to push the troublesome shifter out of my path, Chief Greenbriar barked out a curt command and his son released the elk's neck with alacrity. Then the younger male was leaping between me and perceived danger, fangs bared and lips curled back as he dove in for the kill.

The battle that ensued felt far harsher and stranger than I would have expected. Snarls soon turned to yelps, and a spray of blood forced me backwards even as I shook my head at the severity of the attack.

This isn't how it's done back home, I couldn't help thinking. Dad would never have turned punishment over to an underling then watched what appeared fated to become a battle to the death.

And even as I backpedaled away from the altercation as quickly as possible, the rest of the pack pushed closer, hemming me in while also providing the formerly beleaguered elk with breathing room in which to make its escape. I only realized I'd been pushed to the outer edge of the circle, in fact, when hooves bit into moss inches away from my unprotected tail, nearly startling me out of my skin.

Whirling, I leapt sideways and found myself spinning up against a female who'd been preparing to dive in the opposite direction. My shoulder knocked against her foreleg and she fell...directly into the retreating ungulate's flight path.

Long legs and blunt teeth prove that elk consider themselves prey rather than predators, but even runners eventually fight back. The beast shrieked at what it must have considered renewed aggression, and one hard hoof kicked out sideways to slam into the female's skull with a sickening crack of keratin against bone.

The wolf beside me fell to the earth as soundlessly as death.

Rushing to the female's side, I leaned down to lick away the blood streaming from a cut across her brow. But before I could make contact, closed eyes opened and teeth snapped shut inches away from my muzzle, proving that the other wolf had no interest in being soothed.

Well, if she can bite, she can walk, I decided. Stepping back, I paused and took in the scene that had, seconds ago, hosted two equally vigorous fights to the death.

The clearing was now silent, the elk gone and the shifter-on-shifter scuffle ended. To no one's surprise except perhaps the lupine underdog, the alpha's son had been triumphant in the latter battle. And now the fox-scented male lay on his back with belly exposed to the heir's sharp teeth.

I held my breath, expecting further carnage to ensue. But after the merest hesitation, the loser reached up to lick the winner's chin. And rather than growling further reprimand, the alpha's son released the latter from his grasp. Just as at Haven, once subdued, the loser was set free.

I overreacted, I decided, releasing my pent-up breath in a gust of relieved air. No one had died, no one had even been seriously wounded. Finally, we could return to the hunt.

Only, Chief Greenbriar wasn't content with the current state of affairs. The alpha's displeasure bent down my spine until my tail tucked between my legs and my ears fell back against my skull. There was no explanation and no warning for his change of heart. Instead, our leader merely lashed out with a heaviness that threatened to split my body in half.

And I wasn't the only one affected. All around the clearing, I could hear my fellows similarly wince and whine. We'd failed to please our alpha. We'd failed the pack. Pain was our reward.

Dropping to my belly, I attempted to escape into the earth. This wasn't how I'd intended the hunt to end. For the third time that evening, I wished I could sweeten up my companions with a bin of distant cupcakes.

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# Chapter 7

Despite the less-than-auspicious middle of the hunt, we did manage to track down a deer in the wee hours before dawn. The lone animal didn't possess enough flesh on its bones to turn snack into feast. Still, the carcass provided a bite of rich, red meat for each of us, the sustenance soothing ruffled tempers and cementing my temporary place in the pack. Good enough.

After that, sleep deprivation caught up with me at last and turned pack-wide jubilation distant and hazy. I lay down nose to tail, flanked on either side by similarly exhausted werewolves...and when I woke, dawn was already coloring the distant horizon while the ground beside me had turned cold and bare.

My host pack was gone.

Shivering, I shook a spray of dew out of my fur as I rose onto furry feet. Someone had taken the time to bury the deer's entrails, bones, and hide, so nothing remained of the previous night's carnage save the jolt of warmth that always lingered in my stomach after enjoying meat in lupine form. Unexpected solitude threatened to extinguish that glow...but then curiosity snapped the sensation back into place with a vengeance.

Because an odd, blocky object poked through the fog at the edge of the tree line. And when I padded closer, I recognized the shape at once. A suitcase. My suitcase.

Cocking my head to one side, I tried to make sense of finding my own luggage--complete with untouched cupcake container--out in the woods when I'd last stuffed all possessions into a locked metal cage back at the bus station for safekeeping. The realization that Chief Greenbriar had ordered a lackey to trail my footsteps back to the bus terminal and retrieve my possessions froze the last hint of warmth out of my belly. The city pack had by-and-large seemed open and inviting last night...so why would they ditch me, stealing away in silence before delivering a clear warning to beat it out of town?

Meanwhile, the buzz of my phone, slipped into an external pocket of the hand-delivered suitcase, drew me out of my brown study. And, immediately, I winced for a different reason entirely.

Oops. How could I have left my father dangling all night long without checking in? I'd probably scared Wolfie so badly when the borrowed Greenbriar mantle settled onto my back and hid our own connection that he'd likely jumped into his car to drive north and rescue me.

I need to fix that, I thought, preparing to tug on Dad's connection and reassure him the easy way. But when I rolled my shoulder blades experimentally, I was surprised to find the Greenbriar mantle still present and accounted for against my skin. Which meant I couldn't set Wolfie's mind at ease nonverbally, not when another pack's network of connection continued to stifle my own.

On the other hand, when I closed my eyes and sought the threads that bound me to other wolves, a tug in my stomach directed my attention west and proved that I wasn't alone after all. Dad will have to wait, I thought, swiveling to face the newcomer even as Chief Greenbriar stepped out of the trees in human form.

"Gretchen forgot to drop off your clothes when she brought the suitcase," the alpha greeted me cordially, holding out carefully folded garments in one long-fingered hand. The gesture was strangely subservient for a pack leader. Still, my companion was walking on two legs while I still boasted four, so perhaps I was missing something that would have been obvious to a two-legged being.

Shifting upward in an effort to tune into my more rational human brain, air turned cooler and damper against bare, furless skin in an instant. And it wasn't only the fog that made me shiver as my companion drew closer. It was Chief Greenbriar's eyes, which roved across my exposed body as if I was a horse at market that he was planning to sell...or to buy.

In response, my hand rose to the chain that still dangled around my neck, clasping the key in one fist a moment too late. But that item wasn't what had caught Chief Greenbriar's attention. Instead, despite shifters' usual casual approach to nudity, the alpha's gaze resembled slaps and pinches as it slipped across my bare breasts, around my innie belly button, and down into the V between my legs. For the first time in my life, I was made to feel naked while...well...naked.

"Thanks for bringing my clothes," I said instead of commenting upon the alpha's faux pas. And in response, my companion's scent strengthened, the hard granite that he shared with his son turning rougher and more abrasive. Chief Greenbriar took a single step closer...and I bent to snatch up the plastic container I'd found atop my suitcase, using its rectangular bulk to fend off my companion's further approach.

"I saved you a cupcake," I offered, noting the way water had beaded atop raspberry frosting as humid air adhered to the sugary coating. Remember your sweet core, I admonished Chief Greenbriar silently, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear my command.

But it was almost as if the alpha had plucked the words straight out of my mind. "I'll trade you," he said, eyes returning to my face as he slipped the tupperware bin out of my hand and replaced it with a stack of folded fabric. Then, less like a wolf and more like a fine-food connoisseur, the older male took a single particle of pastry into his mouth before allowing his eyelids to drift shut in appreciation. "This is delicious," he said at last around a mouthful of frosting and fluff.

Just like that, the strange energy that had infused the air dissipated without a trace. And the male before me was once again a civilized man rather than a randy wolf.

"I'm a wolf of many talents," I answered, donning clothes far more rapidly than I would have done in the company of any other shifter. My stomach remained queasy, but my fears did ease a trifle...

...Only to return in full force as Chief Greenbriar opened his eyes and pinned me with a steely gaze. "I've decided," he told me, "that you will make the perfect match for my son."

***

BACK HOME, I WOULD have laughed in the alpha's face. Here and now, I instead felt like I was tuning into the grand finale of a TV series I'd never before watched while surrounded by the show's most ardent and devoted fans.

Because there was no way I planned to tie myself permanently to a Greenbriar werewolf when doing so would cut off the most important part of my life--the bond to my home pack. Of course, it would be rude to say as much. Instead, I pasted a polite smile onto my face...and deflected like a pro.

"I didn't get to tell you about my job earlier," I started. "But I'll be working on campus. Baking cupcakes. Well, and other stuff too. Plus manning the coffee bar and taking out the trash. Actually, I'm supposed to start today...."

"You're babbling," Chief Greenbriar interrupted after a long moment. His nostrils flared and he cocked his head in consideration. But to my relief, the older man appeared amused rather than annoyed by the cascade of trivialities.

"Yes, sir. Sorry," I answered. "I just really, really like cupcakes."

Having run out of further blind alleys to talk us down, I held my breath, hoping the verbal detour would succeed. Unfortunately, Chief Greenbriar didn't let me off the hook so easily. Instead, he pierced me with one of those gazes that seemed to peer directly into my soul before pinning me right back down with pointed words. "You're saying you traveled all this way to work a job among humans?"

And there it was, the call to either lie about my brother or tell the unfortunate truth. Something in my gut said that Chief Greenbriar wouldn't be so thrilled to invite me into his pack if I let slip that I wasn't simply a mating-age female hunting for a new pack to call home. But would I be putting my brother at risk by bringing his presence into the limelight?

With no better option on the table, I accepted the inevitable and told the truth. "No, sir. This has nothing to do with humans," I admitted, ignoring the vivid mental image of dark hair falling across equally dark eyes that impinged for a brief instant upon my internal landscape. Shaking my head ever so slightly to remove Sebastien's face from view, I elaborated. "I'm here hunting for Derek...."

Then I winced, realizing I lacked a surname to tack onto that threadbare explanation. For all I knew, the first name I'd been using wasn't even the right one. Because my brother had initially introduced himself online as Roadrunner, and he'd equivocated for quite some time before offering any additional information beyond that. Who was to say "Derek" hadn't been lying, at least by omission, when he finally coughed up a real name?

And who was to say--given my previous lack of contact with biological family--that Derek was even my brother at all?

None of my internal confusion was lost upon Chief Greenbriar, who placed a fatherly hand atop my bowed shoulder. "If you don't even know this male's last name, perhaps he's not worth searching for," he told me kindly. "My son, on the other hand, has a pedigree that traces back to the Mayflower. In twenty years, he'll be alpha in my place...and you could be that alpha's mate."

I could have argued that I'd never been told this heir apparent's first name, which definitely put him a step below Derek on the know-o-meter. Still, that wasn't the point.

Instead, I spent a moment assuming the demeanor of strawberry shortcake, all fluffy and sweet with vanilla-flavored whipped cream on top. Then I tilted my head to emphasize our height difference before playing my trump card. "I think I gave you the wrong impression, sir. I'm not here to find a life partner. I'm hunting for my brother."

"Ah."

Chief Greenbriar's self-satisfied smirk relaxed my shoulders for the first time since I'd woken up alone on the cold, hard ground. My temporary alpha hadn't been thrilled at the idea of me spouse-hunting outside his nuclear family, but I felt as clearly as if he'd spoken that he was quite willing to let me stay on in order to track down an elusive sibling. After all, what better way to trick a non-pack female into partnering with his son than to keep me close at hand where I could be easily managed?

Sure enough, when the alpha spoke again, it was to lay out ground rules I was easily able to accept. Well, not the first one--I lied and told my host that I already had a place to stay when he tried to offer up his guest room for my accommodations. But I willingly agreed to dine with the Greenbriar family every evening...despite the sinking suspicion that a single mating-aged son would be the only shifter to show up at the event, turning what should have been a pack affair into a de facto date.

"I appreciate your hospitality," I told Chief Greenbriar rather than arguing the point. These rules I could live with, and I was glad to have been let off the hook so easily.

But my temporary alpha continued speaking, talking over me as if I hadn't even opened my mouth. "And on the seventh day, you and Aaron will make your mating bond official. It will be my pleasure to welcome you as my daughter-in-law and as the newest member of the Greenbriar pack."

Well, at least now I knew my supposed fiance's name. It was a start, right?

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# Chapter 8

The dawn meeting with Chief Greenbriar took the wind out of my sails so thoroughly that I slumped atop my suitcase for ten solid minutes before remembering I had places to go and people to see. But first, I pulled out my phone and paged back through missed calls. Dad, Dad, Dad, Mom, Dad, a cousin, an aunt, an uncle, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad.

At least I wouldn't have to flounder around trying to decide who should be contacted first. The frequency of Wolfie's calls suggested he was a hair's breadth away from worried-parent meltdown. Time to pull out the big guns and remove my father figure from the hunt.

To that end, I spent another minute unzipping my suitcase and rifling through my possessions in search of the small plastic container that held my own personal party favor. And when I popped open the lid to the single-serving cupcake box, my throat tightened with homesickness so abrupt it nearly sent me scurrying back to the nearest bus station with my tail between my legs.

Because I'd half expected to be sent on my way with a joke cake, maybe something built out of doggie bones to remind me to trust my lupine instincts. I'd been ready to take my father to task if he dressed up the icing in my least favorite color--orange--or ruined the sugary concoction by imbuing it with a yucky licorice flavor.

Instead, Dad must have spent long hours with frosting bag in hand in order to craft the work of art that currently sat atop my pastry. The scene was as elaborate as that found on the highest class wedding cake despite its diminutive size.

Haven--my home--sat upon a field of chocolate, small houses interspersed with wolves and humans built from spun sugar seasoned with carefully applied food coloring. I could pick out individuals easily, not just based on their location across the landscape, but from their stances and actions as well.

Next door to Wolfie's and Terra's home, my gardening aunts were busy tending roses that spiraled up the face of my own small cottage. Meanwhile, my car-loving uncle scrubbed his Ferrari while two pups frolicked in the spray of water that was supposed to be washing down the sleek black hood.

Off to one side stood my parents, Dad in lupine form and Mom human with one loving hand resting atop her mate's furry head. Their customary pose showcased more than two decades of shared affection, and I could almost smell their signature aromas as I leaned in for a closer look.

That was just the window-dressing, though. The clear purpose of this cupcake message lay in the exact center of the village green: a tremendous yellow flower that didn't actually exist. Well, the plant wasn't literally present in our community gathering space...but metaphorically I knew at a glance that the floral monster referred to me.

Because "Buttercup" had been my father's pet name for me ever since I was a child. And the plant was not only physically central to the scene, every eye was riveted upon its glowing yellow expanse.

The cupcake meant love...and Dad knew I'd be unable to eat the dessert without picking up the phone and giving him a call. So I pressed his name on the screen with one sticky finger even as I licked a cousin off the edge of the frosted panorama. This particular teenager tasted like oranges and cinnamon--his signature aroma perfectly replicated in sugary splendor. Exactly how long had Dad spent crafting this offering to have imbued such loving detail into every aspect of the scene?

"I'm eating my cupcake," I croaked around a mouthful of frosting and tears as soon as the click on the other end of the line indicated my call had gone through. And while a human father would have been torn apart by the emotion so vividly apparent in my voice, Wolfie merely hummed his approval with the smugness of a wolf.

"Then I guess we can turn around," Dad growled, his voice just barely human. And I couldn't prevent the short bark of laughter as I realized Wolfie really had jumped into the car as soon as the Greenbriar mantle obscured his usual ability to tap into my mental state.

Wait a minute. He wasn't.... "You're driving?" I demanded, imagining the four-car pileups that would result when Wolfie decided to slide around corners at his inner beast's behest....while completely disregarding all human rules of the road. Preventing my father from driving was one of the pack's most closely adhered to tenets. What had they been thinking to give him access to the keys?

"Relax." This was Mom's voice, fainter but still easily understandable despite the phone's tinny speaker. "I'm the one behind the wheel. And I'm pulling over...right...now."

Only when Terra spoke did I notice that there was a second item at the bottom of the box where the cupcake had recently sat. Once again, my throat tightened as I recognized the small rectangular card, worn and tattered from the endless games she and I had played during my three-year-long Monopoly obsession.

"A get-out-of-jail free card?" I asked, words ungainly as I took another bite out of the frosted adornments, this time chomping down on my uncle's beloved car. Luckily, the machine tasted like lemon rather than gasoline or oil--a sly nod to the fact that Chase's vehicle had cost so much to bring back up to speed that he might as well have bought it brand spanking new.

"Just in case you need the help," Mom answered. "Not that I think you will."

Then all three of us lapsed into companionable silence as I ate my way through the rest of my relatives and their most precious possessions. Dad had been more poetic than literal in several instances...which meant the entire cupcake turned into a medley of deliciousness rather than harboring hints of swamp muck and leaf mold. And by the time I'd eaten down to the fluffy cake interior--and discovered a molten truffle core--I could feel the strength of dozens of beloved werewolves buoying me up despite the borrowed mantle that cut off our direct mental connection.

"I have to be at work in two hours," I told my parents at last rather than explaining why I'd taken so long to call...and that I was now promised to an alpha's son if I didn't track down my brother and beat it out of town within the next six and a half days.

Usually, Dad would have sensed my conflicted emotions down the pack bond. He would have nibbled away at my resistance until I admitted that I'd woken that morning with the deep-seated urge to run home to Haven with my tail between my legs. Slowly, he would have drawn me out until I admitted that I'd been badly shaken by Chief Greenbriar's ogle and subsequent ultimatum. And then my father would have done everything in his power to make those problems go away.

But today, the borrowed mantle eliminated our usual close connection, so all Wolfie had to go on was the sound of my voice on the other end of the phone. He could hear me inhale deeply, but he couldn't understand that with each lungful of air came the deep realization that I was risking the family I adored more than anything in the hopes of finding a brother who might not want to be found. Wolfie heard me exhale, but didn't feel my gut-deep acceptance of the risk I was accepting for the sake of a sibling who'd never even told me his own last name.

"I love you," I said at last, rather than trying to use words to explain what Dad and I usually communicated with raw emotion and short grunts.

"We love you too, Buttercup," Wolfie replied. And for a split second, I could feel him encircling me with those strong, familiar arms despite the Greenbriar bond that dulled the contact with my true pack. I closed my eyes and stretched my mind as far as it would go until everyone was there around me for one split second--Mom and Dad and uncles and aunts and cousins too numerous to count.

Finally, without another word, I let my lids rise and the connection fade away. Clicking off the phone, I tucked my empty cupcake wrapper back inside the waiting suitcase and rose to my feet.

I had pastries to bake and a brother to find. Only then could I return to Haven and take my proper place within the pack.

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# Chapter 9

After dragging a heavy suitcase across several miles of bumpy terrain during my return to civilization, I was huffing and puffing and running a bit behind. But my wolf gnawed at my stomach, angling us away from campus and toward a different neighborhood entirely. And since I was just as worried about Harmony as my animal half was, I chose an indirect route toward my ultimate destination, disembarking from the train in a poorer section of town than the one that college students usually frequented.

Human muggers weren't the reason a growl rose from my throat, though, as I stepped up to the soot-streaked wall surrounding Harmony's apartment complex. No, I found myself clenching my fists and fighting for control for a different reason entirely. The door smelled like wolf.

Instantly, my formerly somnolent animal half rose up behind my eyes, nearly ripping control out of my human hands with the intensity of her reaction to perceived danger. And with the beast at the fore, scents grew so intense that I was forced to stop stock still, only vaguely aware that I was blocking the flow of traffic while gazing intently at the building's front door.

Together, my wolf and I assessed the barrier. A hefty lock promised to guard against unauthorized admittance. But any Tom, Dick, or Harry could currently walk right on through since a length of wood had been wedged between the door and frame to keep the portal from falling all the way shut.

An even louder growl ripped itself from my human throat. And as my lips parted to allow the sound out, the scent of shifter slammed its way in. Fox musk and fur. Lust and the urge to mate. The rapist had been here. This morning...but also yesterday afternoon and the night before and the day before that. He'd walked through this opening dozens of times, had done who knew what to Harmony while I'd slept off my deer dinner in the national forest the night before.

The fox-scented shifter had harmed someone who was mine. Now I would find him and tear him apart.

Then a human shoulder slammed into my side, knocking me out of the path of foot traffic and reminding me that I was supposed to be squashing my lupine nature while surrounded by innocent one-bodies. Accepting that nudge for the impetus it was, I followed my nose up the stairs and down a narrow hallway before sliding to a halt in front of a banged-up wooden door.

I could smell the rapist here just as clearly as I'd sensed him outside. He'd stood in this exact same spot mere hours earlier, sniffing at the crack just like I was currently doing. He'd waited on Harmony to emerge from her protected lair. And...then what? Had the stalker finished the job begun earlier in the evening? Had he assaulted the woman my own inner wolf had chosen as part of our pack?

I shook my head to clear it both of rage and of less familiar emotions that currently ricocheted through my body and brain. My wolf was urging me to draw this human into our inner circle, to bare our teeth and protect her with our life. But that instinct, while gospel to my lupine nature, made no rational sense to my human brain.

Because, sure, it was my responsibility to prevent Harmony--and any other innocent human--from falling afoul of shifter power struggles. But the female in question wasn't a wolf and she wasn't part of my pack. As such, the proper way to protect an unwitting one-body was to go up the chain of command and let Chief Greenbriar deal with the issue as he saw fit.

Tonight, I promised my wolf. I'd talk to the local alpha at dinner and ask him to place Harmony under his protection. In the meantime, the best option was to walk away so my presence wouldn't draw additional werewolf attention to this human's battered door.

I hadn't quite managed to talk my feet into motion, though, before the portal swung open to reveal the woman my wolf and I had gone to such lengths to track down. Harmony was far less coiffed than previously, a food-splattered sleep shirt barely hiding her curves while a wriggling toddler bounced on her left hip. But despite the domesticity of their pose, two sets of dark eyes widened as one when they took in the presence of a predator waiting in the hall.

***

BERATING MYSELF FOR allowing wolfishness to terrorize the innocent, I struggled to tamp down my inner animal post haste. But before my lupine half was even partially subdued, the child began babbling out a welcome that meant nothing to my human ears yet said "Oh boy!" and "Hello!" and "Play with me!" to my wolf.

For her part, Harmony's greeting emerged a mere hair's breadth behind. "Come on in," the woman told me, opening the door wider and motioning me inside. Despite her initial emotional reaction, the human clearly recognized me from the previous evening and appeared abundantly willing to give me benefit of the doubt.

Not smart, my human brain decided.

Still, feet carried me forward on the wind of wolf instinct even as my rational brain rebelled against entering Harmony's domain. I really hadn't intended to do anything beyond reassuring myself that my current companion had bounced back from last night's trauma. But the child's eyes drew me closer step by step until my finger trailed across feather-soft wisps of fur atop her tender infant skull. And I softened yet further as the youngster's fingers curled gently around my outstretched thumb.

To my surprise, Harmony didn't swipe her offspring out from under my nose the way I would have expected. Instead, the other female glanced down at my suitcase then up at my matted hair with narrowed eyes. Finally, closing the door behind my back, she slid the safety chain into place and locked us all inside. "You spent the night on the streets," she said.

A human would have sidestepped the issue, would have danced the polka of politeness until the woman before us let the issue drop. But I wasn't human. And I'd realized as soon as the pup's tiny fingers touched my skin that I wasn't leaving this family undefended.

Because why relinquish Harmony into Chief Greenbriar's dubious care when I could protect her the easy way, by staking my own claim hard and fast? If that meant making the other female think I was homeless so she'd invite me to spend the night...well, that would be easy since I technically had no other place to stay.

Ours, my wolf reiterated simply, and this time we were in full agreement. I'd move in and scent mark every inch of this building until any shifter in his right mind gave the residence a wide berth. Eventually, we'd find Derek and be forced to make other arrangements. But for now, these humans were ours to protect.

To that end, I smiled shyly and agreed with Harmony's assessment. "I'm looking for a room to rent," I told the mother boldly while wiggling my ears to entertain her offspring. The latter descended into a chorus of musical giggles, proving that wolf pups and human pups weren't so different after all.

Another string of babble emerged from the little girl's lips, then she was flinging herself through the air between us, landing in my waiting arms as ably as any monkey. And as the child's warmth soaked through the intervening t-shirt, I could have sworn infantile heat made its way through my skin and impacted the heart underneath.

"You are a charmer," I whispered, lowering my head to nibble ever so gently upon the lobe of one tiny ear. The toddler smelled like innocence, joy, and sunshine. Tastier than a cupcake, more tantalizing than any bar of European chocolate. I wanted to shift into lupine form and snuggle the little critter until she fell asleep cradled between four furry paws.

And while I would have expected Harmony to swipe the child back, my hostess instead stuck to business. "How long will you be in town?" the other woman asked, seemingly unconcerned by her daughter's traitorous jump into a stranger's waiting arms.

"Six nights," I answered quickly. No way was I planning to remain behind once Chief Greenbriar's clock ticked down to marriage-ville. And if I was forced to leave earlier...well, from the looks of Harmony's scrupulously clean but seriously shabby furnishings, my hostess could use the extra cash.

The time frame seemed to be acceptable to all involved. "For a week, I can move into Mama's room and give you my bed," Harmony began.

Only, before my companion could name a price, the sound of a cane tapping across linoleum put our incipient deal on pause. The newcomer who appeared around the corner was wizened with age, a bent back and a preponderance of wrinkles giving me the impression of a fragile elder who should be cosseted and protected.

But the matriarch's eyes were even darker and more piercing than her daughter's. And her head whipped from side to side with the speed of a power mixer. "No," she told Harmony before erupting into a stream of Spanish far too rapid for me to follow.

I did catch one word, though. Bruja. Harmony's mother was calling me a witch.

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# Chapter 10

"Mama," Harmony protested. Still, she plucked the toddler back out of my arms as adroitly as ever a mother bear stepped between a pack of dangerous werewolves and her curious yet innocent offspring. "We aren't campesinas supersticiosas. Speak English so our guest can understand."

I forced a healthy helping of confusion onto my face even though my own grasp of Spanish was good enough to know that Harmony was accusing her mother of being a superstitious peasant. Unfortunately for me, the older woman's subsequent words were even easier to understand.

"You. Leave," the matriarch ordered, pointing at the door behind my back with all the force of a parent chasing a stray dog out of her spotless kitchen. Meanwhile, the older woman's grip slid down the shaft of the cane as if she fully intended to use the weapon to protect herself...or perhaps to club me to death.

And no wonder. As I edged around Harmony and neared the diminutive yet powerful elder, I caught a hint of fox musk clinging to her weapon. Had the old woman risen in the night, seen a werewolf at the door, and chased him away with her trusty stick? Did something about my own posture reveal the lupine nature hidden beneath my human skin?

Sensitive one-bodies often reacted negatively to alpha werewolves like myself, which was part of the reason why I'd brought so many cupcakes along on my road trip. Unfortunately, I was completely out of sugary bribes at the moment. Instead, I donned my most sincere smile and attacked with an honorific combined with pure honesty.

"Doña, I'm not here to harm your daughter and granddaughter," I told the older woman, raising my hands as if their emptiness would prove I was neither witch nor wolf. "I'm just looking for a place to spend a few nights. Nothing more, I promise."

In response, the grandmother's nostrils flared and her eyes flashed. I could tell that she'd noticed my lapse, had tuned into the way I'd skipped right over the human promise to leave if I wasn't welcome. The trouble was, I knew I wasn't welcome...and I still wasn't leaving.

Well, not for another hour and fifteen minutes, at which point I needed to be on campus and ready to start my first shift at the coffee shop.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to figure out how to change a mind that appeared as stubbornly made up as my own. But Harmony solved the problem for me. "Mama, this is ludicrous," the younger woman said, stepping in front of her mother's cane without worrying that the stick might come down upon her unprotected back. "Ember is a friend and she's staying here this week whether you like it or not."

The old woman didn't buy her daughter's reassurance, I could tell. Instead, she and I locked gazes in a stare every bit as intense as a werewolf challenge of wills.

But, in the end, my opponent gave in. Shaking her head angrily, she turned away and stomp-tapped back down the hallway. She wasn't happy...but apparently Harmony was alpha in this household despite the latter's relatively tender age.

I'd definitely need to mend that bridge in the future, but there was nothing I could do about the old woman's dislike now. On the other hand.... "Blueberry muffins?" I whispered to Harmony, hoping old ears weren't werewolf-sharp.

"Her favorite," the younger woman agreed.

***

LEAVING MY SUITCASE behind in the hands of a human family who already felt strangely like pack, I hightailed it back toward the subway station and boarded a train bound for campus. And in that moment of enforced stillness while the vehicle conveyed me toward the college, I pulled the chain out from beneath my shirt and considered my brother's hidden key.

The number "404" was engraved in the center, ringed by a smaller admonition: "Do not duplicate." But there was no explanation, leaving me with more questions than answers.

Did the key belong to a room? To a safe-deposit box? To a padlock? I wasn't sure...and I didn't have time to worry the issue further because I needed to switch lines and clock in at my new job ASAP.

Still, I nibbled around the edges of the enigma while racing across a summer-empty walkway in order to catch up with the cafeteria manager who'd offered me this gig. And I worried the problem up and down while collecting a pass card that allowed me to open the doors of my newfound shop.

And, okay, I'll admit that I lost track of the mystery for several long minutes while relaxing into the wonder of having a commercial kitchen at my beck and call. There were brownies to bake, frozen blueberries to retrieve from the pantry in preparation for creating a batch of muffins bound to sweeten the sour temperament of Harmony's elderly mother. After that....

"Are you open?"

The jingle of a bell combined with a timid voice caught my attention as the first customers of the day blew in from outside. The two females were evidently students...perhaps friends of Derek's? And while I served them with a smile, I also nudged my smartphone a little further down the counter, brushing my fingers across the darkened screen to bring Derek's unsmiling face eye-catchingly to life.

It was time to remember my larger goal and lure in some confidences out of the wild.

Unfortunately, the gaze of the shorter girl skittered over my brother as if he didn't exist. The other customer's pupils, though, dilated with interest. "Do you know him?" I asked innocently, gesturing toward Derek's handsome face while handing over a paper cup full of steaming liquid.

"Your boyfriend?" the second student answered. "Naw, but he's a hottie."

And, just as quickly as I'd thought her hooked, I cranked in my reel to find bait gone and line empty. "See you tomorrow," I told the two with a nearly inaudible sigh, not bothering to correct the student's assumption about Derek's and my relationship. Then I forced my feet to dance with their previous joy as I returned to the oven, casting off the leaden weights that had threatened to materialize at the ends of my formerly buoyant feet.

"Of course it won't be that easy. I don't even know if Derek went to school here," I reminded myself, my voice echoing oddly in the empty space as I got back to work creating treats so tantalizing they'd draw just the right sort of prey in my door. There were plenty of people on this campus beyond the students. Perhaps Derek had cleaned the floors or merely wandered along the walkways enjoying the scenery. Whatever his reason for mentioning the spot during our video chats, I was confident that some person with information pertaining to my brother's current whereabouts would eventually drop by. I just needed to settle in and wait....

To that end, I whipped up a batch of triple-chocolate cupcakes, decorating the domed tops with artful curls of yet more chocolate along with a thin drizzle of raspberry syrup. Those were immediate crowd pleasers, so I branched out into another confection...this time concocting a chocolate croissant intended to gratify the supposed fiance I'd meet for the first time in human form tonight.

After that, business picked up to the point where I no longer had time for baking. Instead, I busied myself changing customers' minds about what they thought they wanted. First, I tempted an elderly professor into choosing the brownies over the muffin he thought would please his health-conscious wife, then I actually managed to bring a smile to a scowling student's lips as she nibbled around the edges of a tartlet filled with rich, sweet blueberry jam.

And yet, every time I nudged my phone to life and drew human eyes to my brother's image, a sublime lack of awareness remained on my customer's faces. Meanwhile, with every moment that passed, Chief Greenbriar's deadline hung heavier upon my slender shoulders.

Had Derek just been teasing me with his frequent mentions of this tree-lined campus? Or perhaps my brother had been trying to impress by referring to an institution that possessed sufficient name recognition for its prestige to carry over into the werewolf world.

By four hours into my shift, I was hovering on the edge of quitting the job I'd only just begun. Because I was tying up half of every day in a coffee shop when I could have been out pounding the pavement and sniffing for any sign of my brother's scent throughout the city. Perhaps it was time to be honest and admit that I'd applied for this position not because of Derek's dropped hints but instead due to a selfish urge to surround myself with baked goods during my first solo adventure away from my home pack.

Before I could tease apart my own ulterior motives, though, breath caught in my throat. The brownie-eating professor had slipped out the door while I pondered further options, and in the process a tendril of outside air blew inside in the older man's wake. The hint of aroma flooding my workspace shouldn't have been out of place on a college campus...yet, it still froze me in place just as thoroughly as the scent trail of an elk had done the night before.

The air was filled with the tang of dusty old books. Scintillating sandalwood. And heart-pounding adventure.

Forcing reluctant muscles to flex while slowing my breathing with an effort, I lifted my chin to take in the scene beyond the window...and my gaze instantly locked with dark orbs as familiar as my own. Sebastien--my Uber driver--was peering through the plate-glass and directly into my soul.

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# Chapter 11

For fifteen interminable seconds, my body rebelled against explicit instructions to stay calm, cool, and collected. My chest heaved, my cheeks reddened, and I panted like a sprinter stuck at mile five of a marathon as I attempted to wrap my mind around the vision outside my shop. Had Sebastien really been this handsome when I ran into him the previous night?

Struggling to breathe against the vise-like pressure in my chest, I found myself tracing the human's outline with hungry eyes. Sunlight glinted against jet-black hair and the lines of Sebastien's jaw were so sharp that my hand rose without permission in an effort to stroke his stubbled chin. The human's chest was as broad as any werewolf's, his stance calm and confident. But it was his eyes that snagged my attention and drew me in further yet.

There were mysteries hidden within those dark depths. A flicker of pain, a hint of regret. Mostly, though, the newcomer's face told me what I desperately wanted to hear--that Sebastien considered me every bit as enticing as I found him.

The muffled tinkle of the bell above the door broke through my reverie, then hard-soled shoes rang out across intervening tiles. "Is it too late to snag a coffee?" Sebastien asked, gaze rising to the clock above my head before his eyes pierced mine once more.

The cafe was supposed to close in five minutes, but I busied my hands filling a cup anyway. Better working than reaching out and pulling this human close enough to sniff the tantalizing aroma emanating from the crook of his neck....

"Were you delivering somebody to campus this afternoon?" I asked, interrupting thoughts that I couldn't afford to have flow any further. Glancing over one shoulder, I was proud of the fact that my voice remained steady despite my heart continuing to beat a staccato in my chest.

Unfortunately, I was paying more attention to Sebastien's anticipated answer than to the hot liquid nearing the top of the cup. Because just as an expression I didn't entirely understand wafted across Sebastien's chiseled countenance, coffee overflowed across my fingers, stinging tender flesh.

"Ow!" I exclaimed, barely managing to take four steps to the sink before the cup slipped and spilled across the stainless-steel expanse. So much for coffee.

Then Sebastien was there beside me. The fabric of his sports coat brushed against my arm and his scent enfolded me as the male reached across my body to turn on the cold-water tap. Before I knew what was happening, warm fingers were nudging my wound beneath the soothing flow, human contact doing more than icy water to dull my pain.

I could have stood like that for hours, soaking up Sebastien's intoxicating aroma like the scent of a baking cake. But the coffee hadn't been quite hot enough to truly burn. And if I let this go on for much longer, my wolf was going to take the lead and do something we'd later regret.

We won't regret anything, my inner animal murmured even as I slipped out from beneath Sebastien's arm and took two long steps back.

"Thanks," I said to my human companion, ignoring the complaints of my inner wolf. "I really appreciate the help. But health-department regulations require all customers to remain on the other side of the counter...."

My words flew fast and furious, building a wall between us. And, in response, my companion raised one dark brow quizzically before proceeding to obey. Footsteps against tile, the whoosh of moving air, then my companion was safely back in the seating area from which he'd come.

"Better?" he asked, elbows leaning against the scratched counter.

And I nodded...even though my affirmative was a total lie.

***

THIS TIME AROUND, I was more careful as I filled a cup with steaming liquid. And Sebastien followed my lead, retreating to surface pleasantries as I finished up my work.

"The Uber thing is just a side gig," my customer said, returning to my original question at long last. And as he spoke, he pulled out a credit card and a rectangle of card stock to exchange for his cup of joe.

"Sebastien Carter, Professor of Psychology," the business card read, along with a phone number and email address.

Huh. Now that was interesting. What college professor willingly chose to spend his evenings shuttling random strangers from point A to point B? And what perspicacious werewolf would have missed the fact that her driver's sports car was far too fancy to be used for ten-dollar taxi fares?

Kicking my ailing brain back into gear, I leapt to conclusions I should have drawn hours ago. "You're a student of human nature," I guessed. "You signed up with Uber so you could observe people in their element."

"Guilty as charged," Sebastien answered, eyes crinkling up at the corners as his face broke out into a breathtaking smile. Yet again, I found my chest tightening as I struggled to inhale.

In an effort to regain proper focus, I bent down to examine the nearly empty display of pastries, trying to decide which selection would suit my current customer the best. Last night, Sebastien had chosen the chocolate...a decadent and seductive move hinting at enigmatic depths beneath his apparently clean-cut persona.

But the choices at the time had been severely limited and the current cocoa-related option--triple chocolate chunk--was a whole 'nother ball game of complexities. Would Sebastien prefer one of the milk-chocolate oatmeal cookies I'd stirred up after realizing that most of my customers were searching for fiber along with their jolt of sweet? Or perhaps....

"That one."

Ah, so he was a decider. I liked that in a customer. No hovering indecisively above the most tasty choice while calculating future impact to heart and liver. No wishy-washy meanderings down the candy aisle, tasting each treat with hungry eyes before allowing a single morsel to touch his lips. No, Sebastien saw what he wanted...and he took it.

What would it feel like if the thing he wanted had been me?

Shivering, I raised my eyes from the display case and found Sebastien squatting with his head on the exact same level as my own. A thick sheet of glass and several feet of air separated us, but I could almost feel the professor's pointer finger trailing across my lips, around one ear, then down along the side of my jaw. For the first time in my life, in fact, I experienced a sensation more enticing than the first taste of 70% chocolate...and Sebastien hadn't even touched his finger to my bare skin.

"The triple-chocolate cupcake," my customer elaborated when I remained frozen and tongue-tied. "I like...the curls."

Tendrils of my own hair had escaped from its health-department-approved bun while I worked, and now a wisp brushed against my face in counterpoint to Sebastien's statement. The cheek in question heated up yet again and I knew my blush would be bright red and obvious--embarrassing when faced with nothing more than a little innocent flirting.

Turning away to hide my reaction, I managed to grab the most elaborately decorated cupcake...and the one to which my customer's finger had seemed unerringly drawn. "It isn't too froufrou?" I murmured, my voice catching on the final word.

"I'm a connoisseur of beauty," Sebastien said softly as the first hint of fur--a response to his presence--broke out along my spine.

And then my companion reached forward to accept the chocolate treat, our fingers brushing as paper-coated pastry transferred from hand to hand. Only as sparks of profound awareness ran from fingertips all the way down my spine did I realize that I'd meant to put the pastry in a box with a couple of napkins, to follow the health-code rules to the letter.

Yet another violation--I was seriously flubbing my job as barista today. And yet, I found that I didn't care about the lapse one bit.

My wolf didn't mind the oversight either. Instead, she pressed against the inside of my skin, hunting for a way to come out and join in the fun. Shhh, not now, I told my inner animal. But I pressed my lips closely together rather than continuing our banter, afraid of what my companion would see if I opened my mouth to speak.

After all, fur came first, but the next symptom of an incipient shift was generally fangs. Not quite what this innocent human was expecting to have delivered along with his cupcake.

Sebastien, darn him, seemed entirely unaffected by the same skin-on-skin contact that had sent me reeling. "I don't just study human nature in the wild, you know," he continued, carefully peeling back the paper from each dark-chocolate ridge of the treat in his hand. The professor paused as a segment of pastry caught on the lining, and after backing off the pressure he tried again from a different angle. This time the wrapper came away clean.

"Hmm?" I answered, not hearing a single word Sebastien had to say. Because I'd gotten lost in another flight of fancy, this time wondering what it would feel like to have that same attention applied to the buttons of my shirt, the zipper of my pants, the skin along the side of my neck....

"The business card," my companion reminded me, gesturing toward the pale rectangle that lay abandoned atop the nearby counter. "I'm running experiments this summer on campus. They're easy and fun. Each session takes about an hour and pays ten bucks plus a candy bar. It's the candy that draws the students in."

He smiled again, a devastating widening of lush lips that sent my stomach plummeting down toward the sticky floor. That expression on Sebastien's face should be outlawed. It was definitely contrary to the purpose of the health code--keeping me alive long enough to finish out my shift.

"I hope you'll come by and give it a try," the professor continued. "Maybe tomorrow?"

I think I might have nodded, although I can't be entirely certain. Instead, I watched as the pastry I'd baked with my own two hands rose toward Sebastien's lips. The experience was a close second cousin to being kissed, especially when warm breath flung the scent of chocolate and coffee out of Sebastien's mouth and toward my flaring nostrils....

Then the bell above the door rang yet again and the moment was broken. Letting the uneaten cupcake drift down to his side, Sebastien swiveled around and watched with raised eyebrows as two very angry werewolves pushed their way through the open door.

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# Chapter 12

"What do you think you're doing?" the fox-scented shifter demanded. I recognized him immediately, not from any glimpse of a face that I might have caught in the dark alley the night before, but because he looked precisely the way he smelled. In human form, the male was tall and lanky, his angular countenance made even more rat-like by its squinty-eyed expression of distaste. Harmony's potential rapist was definitely the last person I'd hoped to see that day.

But before I could usher the male out of my shop, a second voice rang out across the room. "Roger," this one warned.

The second werewolf to speak was more appealing...especially once the alpha's son reached up to place a steadying hand atop his underling's shoulder. Like his companion, I recognized Aaron by scent, and I was vaguely aware that I should have been spending this time assessing my supposed fiance as mate material. Instead, I found myself more interested in the way the heir apparent's touch so effectively reduced the angry energy of his companion down to a dull roar. Apparently Aaron shared alpha capabilities with his powerful father.

The pack leader's son also possessed the familial ability to exude geniality on command. Stepping forward, he offered a hand to Sebastien while producing a one-body-friendly smile. "Aaron Greenbriar, a friend of Ember's."

"Sebastien Carter, ditto."

I was warmed by Sebastien's claimed friendship. But then I winced as the cupcake--which had been juggled from hand to hand in preparation for the human-style greeting--slipped out of the professor's grip. He grabbed for the falling pastry, barely missed its descent, then watched in dismay as the offering landed icing down on the scuffed and dirty floor.

Sweaty skin, hot kisses, and other entirely imaginary aspects of the preceding moments instantly dissipated into grime and disillusionment. And Sebastien evidently shared my chagrin because he released a stream of syllables that I suspected was invective in...maybe Swahili?

I wanted to bask in this evidence that my attraction hadn't been entirely one-sided. But Aaron's shoulders were tense and rat-faced Roger's laugh seemed intended to start a fight that no human could ever win. So I palmed both my phone and Sebastien's card as surreptitiously as possible, then glanced at the clock to support my upcoming lie.

"I'm sorry," I said, "But I've gotta shut things down. The door locks automatically fifteen minutes after closing and I definitely don't want to spend the night sleeping on icing-covered floors. So I'm afraid I can't sell you another cupcake today...."

Never mind that there were three similar chocolate confections remaining in the case along with several other types of dessert, all of which would be good for nothing but the dumpster come morning. I'd be handing out leftovers to all and sundry after work...but I couldn't afford to let Sebastien spend one more moment in the danger zone. "See you later," I continued, my eyes adding: Why won't you go already?

And Sebastien moved...but he didn't obey. Instead, sidestepping two burly werewolves, the professor stepped closer to the counter until the two of us stood nose to nose, surroundings hidden by the proximity of the other's face. "I'll see you tomorrow," he offered far too quietly for Aaron and Roger to hear...

...Well, too quietly for them to hear if they'd been human.

Unfortunately, the two bystanders weren't precisely human and they picked up the professor's words far too well. "Should we put the chairs up on the tables?" Aaron suggested loudly, as if he'd been helping close cafes all his life. Playing along, Roger added: "Where's the broom?"

Tuning out my pesky chaperones, I scooted one hand a fraction of a centimeter further across the cool glass countertop. I wasn't accustomed to human mating rituals, wasn't accustomed to the impulse to gauge every move carefully so I'd both capture Sebastien's attention while also allowing myself to save face when and if my interest wasn't reciprocated.

Only, Sebastien didn't ignore my advancing fingers. Instead, his larger hand slipped beneath mine, our joined appendages rising as a unit until his lips could brush butterfly-soft kisses across my sensitive skin. Behind his back someone--I thought it was Roger--began to growl just barely low enough to elude the professor's ears.

I was playing with fire and I knew it. Still, Sebastien's kiss curled the corners of my mouth up into a smile while my other hand fingered the corners of the business card now buried deep within my front pants pocket. "Tomorrow," I agreed.

Then, before either Aaron or Roger could chase down the human rapidly retreating across the tile floor, I shot out orders with my best alpha oomph to back them up. "The broom is in the closet behind your back, Roger. And, yes, Aaron, we'll be out of here twice as quickly if you put up the chairs."

***

WHEN SEBASTIEN WAS present, the air had been so full of testosterone that I might as well have possessed two jealous fake-fiances rather than just one. But the instant the human turned the corner and disappeared from sight, the act--and the broom handle Roger had been holding awkwardly in his arms--clattered to the floor.

"This thing my father thinks he's orchestrating," Aaron began, waving a hand between the two of us, "isn't going to happen."

The shifter's jaw worked furiously as he prepared to dive into a long-winded explanation that likely ended with, "It's not me, it's you." But I beat him to the punch. "Agreed," I said simply.

"What you have to understand..." Aaron continued, then broke off as he realized I hadn't offered up a single argument. And, predictably, alpha werewolfishness rose up behind my companion's eyes at the perceived slight.

Because, sure, Aaron had wanted to ditch me first. But I'd been the one shooting him down in the end...and that just wasn't kosher. "Look," the male started, advancing toward me angrily.

This time it was Roger who placed a chastising hand on the shorter male's shoulder, and my eyebrows rose at the abrupt change of roles. Rather than remarking upon the inconsistency, though, I gave the alpha's son an easy out.

"Under other circumstances, I'd be honored to become your mate," I jumped in quickly, trying to make my voice sound honest despite the shiver of repulsion that raced up my spine at the very idea of mating with the Greenbriar heir apparent and leaving my own pack behind. "But that's not why I'm here. I'm in town for one reason and one reason alone. To hunt for my brother. Then I'm going home to my own pack where I belong. So, you see, choosing a mate isn't in the cards...at least, not right now."

And even though I'd been eying Sebastien avariciously ever since the latter crossed my path--making the preceding speech a total lie--the alpha's son accepted my explanation as gospel. "Well, that's good then," Aaron countered. "Because I can't come to dinner tonight. That's actually why I dropped by."

Now it was my turn to flinch. Chief Greenbriar wasn't going to take that particular news flash well at all, and it looked like I'd been signed up as the bearer of bad tidings. I just hoped the city's pack leader wasn't the type to shoot the messenger....

But while I remained profoundly concerned about the future--or rather, about whether I'd get a future--Aaron had apparently dropped all cares as soon as he got his own way. His eyes roamed greedily across the glass-fronted display case, and I sighed as I accepted the inevitable. Our meeting wouldn't be over until I rustled up some grub for my uninvited guests. After all, werewolves were always hungry and heir apparents were used to being served.

"What can I getcha?" I asked, pulling out a sheet of waxed paper to separate myself from whatever pastry Aaron might choose as his own.

Rather than responding, though, my customer wandered idly down the row, proving that he was definitely not a decider. And in response, I tapped my feet for ten long seconds before plucking a chocolate croissant off the tray to hurry our transaction along. I knew what my customer wanted better than he did, proven by the real pleasure that spread across Aaron's face when he inhaled the first bite.

"And for you?" I asked, tamping down disgust as I turned to rat-faced Roger. I had a feeling my final customer of the day was a licorice type of guy...mostly because a potential rapist deserved to join that detested flavor on my shit list. Of course, I didn't allow licorice in my kitchen, so I settled on a different guess in my efforts to hurry the duo out of the shop.

"I'll bet you like oatmeal cookies," I suggested with false joviality, hand already reaching to snatch the final lumpy morsel off its transparent platter. But then my brow furrowed as the second shifter's gaze instead latched onto the blueberry tartlets two trays down.

Blueberry? That selection didn't make any sense. Blueberry lovers possessed an inner core of steely integrity. And, sure, a tartlet was sweeter and less wholesome than the muffins I'd baked with Harmony's mother in mind. Still...I had a hard time lining up Roger's current choice with the man who'd pawed my landlady without permission the evening before.

But Aaron had already returned to business, leaving me no time to ponder the conundrum at length. "Can you get to Dad's house on your own?" the pack leader's son asked, speaking with his mouth full as he wolfed down his croissant like a, well, like a werewolf. If I hadn't already determined that Chief Greenbriar's son wasn't mate material, this display would have clinched the deal. After all, I preferred a little more savoring before the main event.

Then, remembering I'd been asked a question, I hastened to shrug off the male's concern. "No problem," I answered before shooing them both away from my counter. "Now, go. I really do need to finish cleaning up. Unless either of you wants to help...?"

As expected, my not-so-subtle hint was enough to send the duo scurrying for cover. And, for the first time in several hours, I was left with nothing but baked goods and the memory of Sebastien's shiver-inducing touch to keep me company.

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# Chapter 13

My brain hummed with questions as I jogged down the steps into the subway tunnel half an hour later...which is the only explanation I can give for why I neither smelled nor heard the mugger until his arm settled around my neck. Before I had time to retaliate, in fact, my attacker had pressed my spine up against his hard chest, giving me a good, long sniff of the aromas that should have clued me in to his presence several minutes earlier.

The stranger smelled like lust and anger and fur, the last nearly hidden beneath a human-style cologne. "This must be my lucky day," the stranger breathed, teeth lengthening into fangs as he proceeded to nibble the cartilage along the top of my ear.

I suspected the bites were my attacker's idea of foreplay. But they instead roiled my stomach and made me regret the oatmeal cookie I'd scarfed down while washing out the display cases and preparing the cafe for its nighttime rest. A teaspoonful of bile clawed its way up my throat and I opened my mouth to release odors that should have cued any sane werewolf in to my lack of interest.

But apparently my attacker wasn't sane. Instead, his whisper devolved into a nearly lupine growl as he continued spitting words and water droplets into my ear. "Imagine. A pack princess falling directly into my arms," he hummed in satisfaction. "I've landed the perfect mate."

My over-protective cousins would have told me to hit hard then run for cover. But I was more curious than afraid. Did this male really think that a little cologne to shield his scent would allow him to get away with a crime of this caliber? What was going on in this city that a friend of the alpha's son would attack a human one night and a strange shifter would go after me the next?

So I merely twisted my neck to take in my assailant's face. The male was clean-shaven, well-dressed, and looked far more like a pack werewolf than like a battered loner. Not that I recognized him from last night's hunt...but I also hadn't seen any of those shifters in human form.

"You don't look like an idiot," I said companionably while my brain raced, trying to figure out whether my favorite self-defense move would require me to drop the box of pastries I still clutched in one white-knuckled fist. I didn't particularly want to lose the blueberry muffins I'd stashed away to please my landlady's mother, but I would if I had to....

Meanwhile, I continued the attempt to return my attacker to his right mind. "You look like a smart guy without a death wish," I added. "So I can't quite figure out what you think you're doing."

Rather than answering, the male tightened his grip, cutting off all access to air. He was serious, then, not just a friend of Aaron's intent upon chasing me out of town. As if to further prove his point, the male's left hand reached across to fondle my breasts...at which point I gave up on deciphering the mystery and stomped down as hard as I could on the arch of his right foot.

The move should have worked. It would have too...had the male not been wearing such heavy boots that my attack made little impact. Without even grunting, my opponent swayed away from my flailing legs, twisting us both around until my lower limbs were clenched immobile between his hard-boned knees.

"Not so fast, vixen," he rumbled. Then, pulling upon alpha dominance that he really shouldn't have possessed, the male ordered, "Stay."

***

IN RESPONSE, I TRIED--AND failed--to shake my head in dismay. No. This can't be happening to me. Not since Wolfie had provided a taste of my own medicine when I was a child had I been barked into line by a stronger wolf. There just weren't many shifters out there below pack-leader status whose inner beasts were more powerful than my own.

And as I fought against the order freezing my lips and legs in place, fear clawed its way up my throat for the first time all day. This doesn't make sense, I growled silently, trying to keep my thoughts rational even as my wolf began whining and clawing against my insides. Why would a male so powerful he could freeze me with a single word be stalking deserted subway stations in search of an easy lay? Shouldn't my attacker be busy guiding dozens of other shifters, creating a pack of his very own instead of poaching upon someone else's?

Then reason and logic flew out the window as panic fully engulfed my inner wolf. She flung us from side to side with the force of desperation...or at least she tried to. But instead, muscles merely twitched impotently beneath our skin as the alpha compulsion held us in place as strongly as any hand.

Okay, so that's not quite true. Our struggles did manage to tip the cupcake box out of our fist, cardboard falling open against the concrete floor as blueberry muffins plus an array of treats intended for my Greenbriar hosts turned into so much flotsam to feed the rats.

And as quakes wracked my body while failing to move me an inch further away from my attacker, I found myself screaming silently within my own head. I have Chief Greenbriar's permission to hunt within the city! I told my attacker with my eyes. Then, as I grew more desperate yet: Don't you know who my father is?

Because it wasn't as if Wolfie's reputation was a local phenomenon. Even three states away, any shifter with a lick of sense should know that my father was bound to rip an attacker's entrails out through his nostrils if anyone dared to lay an unkind finger upon Daddy's little girl.

And yet, despite all evidence to the contrary, this male did very much dare to break the law. He walked around me, gaze tunneling through my clothing as a smirk filled out his weak-boned jaw. Meanwhile, the male's inner wolf rose so high behind human eyes that I wasn't entirely sure whether he wanted to rape me...or to eat me.

"Delicious," the male growled, hard fingers gripping my hips and pulling me up against his erect dick. My muscles refused to even shiver now as his head bent down to suck at the rigid tendons lining my neck.

This is really happening, I realized. Now would have been a good time to carry a canister of mace in my pocket like my landlady did...assuming frozen fingers were able to move sufficiently to deploy the physical defense, that is.

Then, before I could relinquish the final shred of hope, my attacker jolted backwards as if he'd been struck. And in the exact same instant, his cell phone chimed.

It looked like my wishful thinking had borne fruit after all. I'd been saved by the bell.

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# Chapter 14

The mugger glanced at his phone's screen then took off like a shot...leaving me frozen in place with no way to break free. Well, isn't this delightful?

I could see it now. After doing my best to keep my nose clean, I--rather than the males who seemed to be ignoring shifter laws right and left--would be the one tossed out of the city on my ear. Or worse.

After all, human travelers would flood the station as soon as the next train arrived. I'd remain locked in place as travelers dashed from train to stairs. Most probably wouldn't even notice the oddity, but I was sure at least a few would question me, prod at my unyielding form, and try to figure out what was going on.

Then a good Samaritan would call the police. I'd likely be carted off to a human hospital, might be tested and analyzed by doctors who would find my blood work highly irregular...and highly intriguing at the same time.

At which point, the carefully nurtured secrecy protecting shifter society would really fall into disarray.

I didn't expect any amount of effort to speed up the unfreezing process. But, to my surprise, pins and needles of returning sensation prickled into my fingertips while I was still pondering the implications of my current dilemma. And by the time the last echo of retreating shifter steps rang out from the stairs behind my back, I was up and moving in the attacker's wake.

Immediately, my feet took two lunging steps forward, my lupine half itching to track down the bastard and give him a taste of his own medicine...then to figure out why in the world this city of ordinary shifters had attracted so many would-be rapists to its streets. But instead, I found myself sinking down onto my butt, never mind the nastiness that threatened to rub off the well-traveled concrete and onto my best pair of slacks. I didn't exactly descend into a sobbing heap of girlie goo. Still, I'll admit that a single tear streaked down the curve of my cheek and I allowed my attacker to make tracks with no attempt to chase him back down.

This isn't what my first adventure was supposed to turn into, I screamed silently inside my own head. The excitement of the journey shouldn't have descended into a jumble of ruined pastries, a missing brother who stood me up at every turn, and a pack of shifters who acted more like wolves than like men. I wasn't supposed to feel like such a failure seated amid a heap of fallen dreams.

Pulling out my phone, I stared at the smiling faces beaming back at me out of my digital address book. Despite the sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, the array proved that I was never truly alone. Not when dozens of cousins and uncles and aunts would drop anything to come to my rescue...then never speak of the lapse again.

I couldn't contact any of them, though. Not when a mere breath of my predicament would send my father on a rampage, initiating an inter-pack battle that would tear our already splintered society apart. No, it was my turn to protect the pack...and that meant keeping my own counsel.

As if I'd called his presence into being, a new notification popped up on my display, halting my scroll through dozens of familiar faces. Dad, the caller ID read, and I smiled around the pain tightening my throat.

Predictably, Wolfie had sensed my moment of terror down the pack bond and had immediately picked up his phone to check in. It warmed my heart to possess a parent so perspicacious...but it also put me in a bit of a pickle.

Because I knew I couldn't leave Wolfie hanging. But I also didn't trust my equilibrium sufficiently to speak aloud when my father was bound to hear the tremble in my voice.

So when Wolfie followed up on his failed phone call with a short text--"Are you alright?"--I just tapped out a quick reply in the affirmative before powering the device down.

I wasn't dodging his calls. I was merely late to my meeting with the Greenbriar alpha. It was time to endear myself to the local pack.

***

CHIEF GREENBRIAR WAS surprisingly cordial when I showed up without either his son or a hostess gift...and fifteen minutes late to boot. The alpha's spouse, on the other hand, took an instant dislike to me that chilled the room by approximately twenty degrees in an instant.

"You have a little something right here," Andrea Greenbriar murmured, pointing to the spot above her left eyebrow. And even though she hadn't meant to draw my attention to her own blemish, I caught sight of a healing laceration that was still visible on the other woman's brow despite having been carefully caked over with concealer.

So Andrea was the female hunter whose toes I'd stepped on the night before. Not a good first impression...especially considering the fact that her mate intended to bring me into the family as their one and only daughter-in-law.

Of course, Aaron and I had formed an understanding to the contrary. Still, I immediately lifted my hand to pat at the offending area on my own head...and winced when my index finger came away streaked with frosting. Speaking of bad first impressions, turning up at a formal event dressed like a sugar-smeared baker definitely wasn't the introduction I'd meant to embrace.

My muscles tensed as the fight-or-flight reaction kicked in, and in response the faintest hint of a smirk curled Andrea's lips. She was mocking me...which was just the wrong approach to take if the female really did want to chase me out of her clan home.

Up until that point, my wolf had been resting inside our shared belly. But at the first sign of opposition, she woke, straightening my spine and moving my finger to pop one frosting-smeared digit into our human mouth. Rolling our tongue from side to side, we made a show of savoring the sugary concoction. "Mmm, delicious," I offered...then blanched as I realized I'd mimicked my own mugger's unfortunate terminology.

This time around, Chief Greenbriar was the one who picked up on my internal angst. "Is everything alright?" the older male asked, drawing me out of the crowd with one hand at the small of my back. And despite his ogling leer the first time we'd met in human form, the similarity of this alpha's words to those of my own father tempted me to open up. I'm listening, his stance told me. Trust me, added his inner wolf.

But I didn't fully understand the undercurrents currently flowing through this pack. So, instead of succumbing to the urge to over-share, I merely shook my head and offered: "Long day, no sign of my brother."

Then, since the pack leader and I had ended up in a secluded alcove where no one else would likely overhear our conversation, I took advantage of the moment to press my own case. "But I wanted to talk to you about something. Is now a good time...?"

"Of course," the alpha answered cordially, flagging down a passing waiter then pressing a tall flute of something alcoholic into my hand. "And I'll bet you'll feel better after a drink."

I wouldn't feel better post-imbibing, and I would need my wits about me when playing games with tricky werewolves. Still, I sipped obediently, the bubbles of a quality champagne tickling the inside of my nose. I barely managed to stifle a snort in reaction, proving that my sensitive palate was limited to baked goods alone.

Except my lack of sophistication was beside the point. Forgetting the champagne, I proceeded to launch into my own song and dance. "Something happened on my first night here, before I met you," I told the pack leader, going on to explain the bare bones of Harmony's near-rape combined with the scent of werewolf I'd found lingering around her apartment complex the very next day.

"Could you tell who the offender was?" Chief Greenbriar asked, his tone attentive yet calm. I wouldn't have dared tell a story like this to Wolfie without my mother in the room because Dad had been known to shift into lupine form the instant his protective instincts were aroused. Was my host's polished poise a sign that Chief Greenbriar possessed more control over his emotions than my hot-blooded father? I hoped so. Still, instinct told me to be vague, and I paid heed.

"It was dark and I was exhausted," I said by way of reply, telling the truth but not the whole truth and hoping my companion would spin the intended misunderstanding within his own head. "I know it's tough to do anything without being able to pin down who's at fault, but I was hoping you could still find a way to protect the human female? She has a pup and doesn't deserve to be harassed by dangers she can't possibly understand...."

"Of course. Consider it done." Chief Greenbriar's hand landed on my shoulder, the weight meant to be comforting but instead reminding me far too tangibly of my own near-rapist's touch. Only an effort of will locked me in place when both human and lupine halves of my character itched to wriggle free.

"Now tell me about my son," the pack leader continued. "And why he couldn't come out with you tonight."

This time, I didn't have to lie. "I have no idea what Aaron's up to," I answered, shrugging. "But he was polite when he dropped by to say he had to bail. I hope you won't hold it against him." Or me, I added silently.

Chief Greenbriar wanted to, I could tell. But even though he'd ordered my attendance at dinner tonight, he'd forgotten to require me to attend with his son in tow. And here I was, sipping champagne I clearly hated while appearing just as out of place as a baker tends to be at your average white-tie affair.

In the end, the city's alpha opted for fairness. "Tomorrow night, Aaron will be present," the older male promised.

Then a shifter hailed my companion from across the room and I was left alone in my corner of the busy party. Sticking the mostly full glass of champagne behind a planter, I slipped out the side door and hoofed it back to the empty subway station.

My duty was done. Now I could finally finish this seemingly endless day.

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# Chapter 15

Of course, Dad refused to be soothed by my half-hearted text. I should have guessed as much, but I was still surprised to find three missed calls from the male parental unit when I checked my phone on the walk up to Harmony's apartment building half an hour later. One I could have ignored, two might have been staved off with a second text...but three meant business.

Leaning my head against the smeared safety glass of the entranceway, I sighed and accepted that dealing with Wolfie's worry was a mandatory prerequisite for collapsing into my own bed. On the bright side, the scent of werewolf around the front door was fading, no additional shifters having passed by the spot since I walked out the door this morning. So that was one danger out of many that appeared to have become less tenacious than formerly anticipated.

Still, I wasn't quite ready to don a happy face for the sake of my discerning father. So, when my phone rang yet again, this time with my mother's name showing up on the screen, I decided to take the easy way out and use Mom as a conduit to Dad.

"Why are you avoiding your father?" Terra greeted me the instant I accepted her call. Rolling my eyes, I dropped down onto the concrete planter--devoid of life but full of cigarette butts--that marked one corner of the grungy doorway.

"I'm fine, Mom, and how are you?" I teased half-heartedly.

"Not so fine when I'm saddled with a worried mate," she muttered. I could almost see Mom's pursed lips and drumming fingernails. "Wolfie thinks you're mad at him. Want to tell me what's going on?"

"Mad at him?" And now I felt like the worst sort of scoundrel. I'd been evading my father's calls so Wolfie wouldn't show up on my doorstep with the cavalry in tow...and here Dad thought I'd somehow gotten pissed off enough to give him the silent treatment. How was it possible to hold a grudge against the teddy-bear/rottweiler hybrid that was my adopted dad? "I swear I'm not angry. Can you tell him that for me?"

"I'd make you tell Wolfie yourself, but your father's out putting the pups through their paces," Mom countered. Then, caving as she always did when faced with a potential breech in family cohesiveness, she added, "He'll be glad to hear you're doing well. Any sign of your brother?"

And that, likely, was what Dad really wanted to find out with his frequent calls anyway. Luckily, I trusted both of my parents with my life, so I downloaded every little detail...well, except for the nearness of my own miss earlier in the evening. Okay, and I might have left out my supposed engagement and the crazy attraction I felt for a human professor too. But other than that, I told her everything.

Mostly.

Mom was no dummy--she knew I was sidestepping key points. But unlike Dad, Terra wasn't adept at pushing the right buttons to get me to spill. So, after a few minutes of increasingly idle chitchat, she finally let me go.

And even though I hadn't told the whole truth and couldn't feel the Haven pack through the invisible tether that bound us together, I climbed the stairs with renewed energy. Because just touching base with home had put a spring back into my step. Meanwhile, as I exited the stairwell at the proper level, I could hear Rosie's laughter creeping out from underneath the Garcia door.

The portal in question opened before I even had time to knock, and my favorite toddler ran out crowing "She's here!" in baby-ese. Okay, so I'm totally guessing at the words. But the sentiment was obvious. Regardless of the details, the sight of welcoming faces was sufficient to carry tired feet over the last few paces between the outside world and my current safe harbor.

Today I'd baked and fought and hunted and lied. And now, at last, I was home.

***

"WE DON'T HAVE PIZZA for dinner every night," Harmony informed me, biting her lip as if she expected to be judged for lackadaisical culinary decisions. "But the lawyer I work for just won a big case, which means I get tomorrow off with pay. This is a celebration."

Rosie babbled something that sounded like "sick bay" but might have actually been a repeat of her mother's final word. Grinning, I pulled the sticky mass of pudgy limbs and boundless energy into my lap and snuggled her close while eying the final slice of pizza in the box. Maybe I should consume that lonely triangle of cheese and dough...just to make my hostess feel better about not cooking from scratch, of course.

There were only three of us sitting on the floor around the coffee table at the moment, the matriarch having disappeared into her room the moment I walked through the door. And despite the momentary wet blanket the older woman's absence caused, our celebratory mood was now so powerful that I had a hard time reminding myself that these people weren't pack.

Well, back home I would have honored a success by baking. So even though my legs ached and my eyelids drooped, I leveraged Rosie down onto her bare feet and padded into the tiny kitchen in search of supplies.

"What are you looking for?" Harmony asked, coming up to stand behind my left shoulder. She and I were still getting to know each other, so my companion left three more inches of air separating us than rightfully belonged. Still, the human's voice was easy when she added: "If you're still hungry, I think there's leftover stew in the fridge."

I opened the door of the appliance in question, but I wasn't looking for stew. Instead, I pulled out a jug of milk and a carton of eggs, then went hunting other baking paraphernalia in the nearby cupboards.

"Which do you like better--cookies or cake?" I asked Rosie after ascertaining that the bare minimum ingredients for each were indeed present. Then, realizing my mistake, I swung around to face her mother instead. "Except I'm betting it's past Rosie's bedtime and maybe she's not allowed to have sweets anyway...." The human metabolism, I knew, made werewolf-level consumption of sugar unrealistic.

But Rosie was already dancing around my feet shouting "kak, kak, kak!" at the top of her lungs. Oh boy--I'd created a monster. I winced as I raised pleading eyes to the mother who was bound to shoot us both down.

Only, she didn't. Instead, Harmony flicked on some music and lifted Rosie up to twirl around in the small space. Then, setting the munchkin down on the counter beside my baking gear, my hostess put me out of my misery.

"Usually this would be too late for dessert. But I don't have to work tomorrow, so I can stay up and wait out Rosie's sugar high. Plus," my companion said, lowering her voice and leaning in closer, "we never get homemade treats. Mama doesn't approve and I'm a terrible baker."

"You won't be after tonight," I promised, donning my teaching hat and feeling excitement course back into my veins at the same time. Harmony needed to know how to whip up something delicious at the drop of a hat--that was an essential life skill. "This recipe is so easy I could make it in my sleep. Actually, I think I did make it in my sleep once," I clowned, causing my smallest helper to hoot with laughter.

Of course, happy toddlers are clumsy toddlers. In her merriment, Rosie kicked her heels with delight....and knocked the entire carton of eggs off the counter. Only quick shifter reflexes managed to nab the container before its contents splattered all over the kitchen tiles.

That was a close one--in more ways than one. Glancing at Harmony out of the corner of one eye, I was glad to see the human's attention had been sidetracked by holding her daughter steady on her elevated perch, causing Harmony to miss out on my supernatural speed.

Time for a bit of distraction.

"Here, how about you take pictures?" I offered, pulling out my cell phone and swapping it for the container of salt Rosie was about to upend. Sure enough, the human toddler was just like the pups back home--obsessed with the idea of taking selfies--and the plaything became an immediate hit.

Child safely sedated, Harmony and I got to work...or rather, to play. Because despite baking for half the day already, moving around a tiny kitchen with my cheerful landlady filled my stomach with a strange sort of melty happiness not so different from the sensation I knew I'd get once the cake popped out of the oven and I imbibed the first steaming bite.

Of course, the kitchen was really too minuscule for two bakers. At first, we bumped into each other, laughing at our own clumsiness. But then something clicked and we were more dancing than cohabitating. Harmony's arm reached out to grab the measuring spoons and I instinctively leaned the other way to pluck flour out of the cupboard behind my back. We were on a roll.

"And that is how you bake a cake," I intoned in my most serious, professorial voice as we slid the second round pan into the hot oven. Harmony's cheeks were glowing and she appeared five years younger than when I'd first met her. Meanwhile, Rosie was still snapping photos with the vigor of a born paparazza.

"Let's see if you caught any good shots," my hostess said, pulling Rosie onto her hip and beginning to page back through the photos her daughter had recently taken. Predictably, the toddler reached forward to grab at the phone, and her mother tweaked the youngster's nose playfully while holding the device just out of reach.

But then fun fell away as Harmony's face paled. The other woman's chin rose and her brow furrowed, then she turned the screen around to face in my direction.

"Why do you have a picture of Derek on here?" my hostess demanded, her voice abruptly both brittle and cold. "Are you the reason he left his daughter behind?"

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# Chapter 16

No wonder Harmony and Rosie had felt like pack from the instant I met them. My hand trembled as I set down the butter knife I'd been using to test the doneness of the cake a moment earlier...a cake that suddenly appeared far less appealing than it had before my hostess dropped her verbal bomb.

"Kak, kak, kak!" Rosie chanted from her mother's arms. But the kid was bound to be disappointed, because no one was going to be eating cake anytime soon.

"Don't you move," Harmony told me, pointer finger extended and tone as adamant as that of any alpha werewolf. Then the human disappeared down the hallway, her voice softening as she soothed Rosie's fractious complaints before tucking the child into her crib to sleep.

For my part, the day's exhaustion fell back onto my shoulders like a ton of bricks, and I found myself sliding down the side of the counter to land on my butt on the newly mopped floor. I could smell cleaning agent all around me, the chemicals far too strongly scented to ever be used in a shifter household. And I imagined for a second that my brother had sat in this exact same spot, trying to decide what to do with a human woman he'd impregnated in complete disregard for the rules of shifter-kind.

A shiver ran down my spine as I--like he--considered the consequences. Chief Greenbriar didn't seem like the type to fold humans into his pack against the mandates of nation-level werewolf law. Instead, the alpha would have ordered Derek executed for his crimes, slaying Rosie and Harmony right along with him. No wonder my brother had stopped returning my chat requests....

Shaking my head to clear it, I reminded myself that the alpha would have killed Harmony and her daughter first since loose human lips presented a much greater danger than Derek's reckless dick. And that was an even worse thought than the initial one. The image of Rosie's lifeless body splayed out across the white floor filled my mind, the vision of toddler blood running down the cracks between the tiles so vivid that I reached out as if to touch the stain.

Abruptly, the cupcakes and cookies and pizza I'd eaten earlier that day didn't sit right in my stomach and I barely made it to the toilet before everything came back up in a stream of foul-tasting regret. Rosie was a bit over a year old, which meant it had been roughly twenty-four months since my niece was conceived. Coincidence that Derek had tracked me down at nearly the exact same time...or the beginning of a plan I had yet to fully understand?

"Please tell me you're not knocked up," Harmony demanded from behind my back, her words startling me into stillness. I couldn't believe she'd managed to creep up on me unnoticed while I was vomiting into the toilet bowl, but I guess I had enough on my mind to explain the slip.

To my surprise, my hostess's hands were kind as she pulled hair away from my face and wiped my neck with a damp washcloth. Then, in a further display of unwarranted generosity, she handed over a cup of water to clear the acid out of my mouth.

Despite her lack of overt anger, I still opted not to stand in Harmony's presence. Instead, I kept my eyes carefully averted as I accepted the liquid, and I took my time as I went through the motions of swish and spit.

Finally, though, I was forced to speak. "Not knocked up," I promised. Then, taking a deep breath, I told my companion the parts of the truth that were mine to give away. "Derek is my brother. Which, I guess, makes Rosie my niece."

For a moment, my throat tightened again, but this time from an emotion I'd never before felt. I adored my pack, cherished every single one of the people both in and out of Haven who had wriggled their way into my heart and turned themselves into my family moments after I was born. And yet...none of those clan members shared my blood.

Well, that wasn't technically true--Wolfie did. In a convoluted display of family fucked-up-ness that rivaled seventeenth-century royal families, our pack leader was technically my uncle in addition to being my chosen father. Because my birth dad had been Wolfie's brother...until our pack ran the former through with a sword, that is.

Other than Wolfie, though, I'd never before touched a living soul whose chromosomes shared so many alleles with my own. Was our genetic similarity the reason why Rosie's sweet little fingers had felt like a benediction every time they poked me in the eye?

I only remembered that Harmony was still present when the human dropped down into a squat by my side. "So where is he?" she demanded, her voice no longer furious, but anger still simmering beneath the words.

And it was at that moment that I realized Harmony was family too. She was my sister-in-law, I decided, marriage or no. Then, as I shortened the term to "sister" in my mind, warmth refilled the belly I'd so recently emptied of both dinner and lunch.

Still, when I gazed into my hostess's face at last, I winced. No, Harmony wasn't going to be pulling me to her bosom and welcoming me into her family anytime soon.

"I don't know," I answered at last, wishing I had something more salubrious to report. "That's why I'm here--trying to track him down. I actually had no clue Derek found a m...." I paused. "A wife and daughter. Running into you was just a fluke."

"Not such a fluke," Harmony answered, inhaling deeply through her nose before explaining. "Derek was a bus guy. Whenever he traveled, he always came home on the Greyhound. So I changed my routes to go past the station whenever I could, just in case." She paused, then added: "And we're not married."

Her emphasis on the final point suggested she thought it actually mattered, as if a human legal ceremony was responsible for anything beyond lowering a mated pair's tax bill. But, looking into Harmony's eyes, I saw more than a two-legger's need for formality. Instead, confusion and hurt glowed forth, along with stark uncertainty about her relationship with Derek that cut me to my very core.

I wanted to tell my sister that she was wrong, that Derek adored his mate and pup. But...my brother had never so much as mentioned their existence during our long hours of video chat. He hadn't moved into this apartment, which smelled nothing like moss, not even in the dusty corners where no one had thought to scrub. And he hadn't left any contingency plans in place to support a woman who should mean more to him than his own skin.

So maybe Harmony was right about Derek. But that didn't mean she lacked a clan. "You're my sister," I told her, reaching out one hand to pat her knee. The contact calmed my human side and soothed my wolf all at once. But then my eyes widened as I realized the disaster I'd unwittingly set into motion just a few hours earlier.

Because assuming he was true to his word, Chief Greenbriar would come sniffing around this apartment soon, seeking the stalker who had threatened my sister the previous night. Would the alpha smell what I had missed--that my brother's sperm was responsible for the baby napping in the other room? Would "Top Dog" pull the Garcias into his pack...or would he take the easy way out and slay the humans to maintain the sanctity of shifter-kind?

I digested the danger for a split second, then I made my decision. "You're my sister," I repeated. "And you have to move. Tonight."

***

PREDICTABLY, HARMONY refused to obey my ultimatum. Equally predictably, she thought I was nuts to even suggest such a thing.

"We can talk more about this tomorrow," the human interjected when my words disintegrated into a pile of muddled explanation...that didn't, you know, actually explain anything. Then Harmony disappeared into the room already occupied by her mother and baby, leaving me no alternative save retreating back into my own space to gnaw on the issue alone.

And for the first few minutes, I tried to walk my worries away right there in my borrowed bedroom. But, let's be honest, pacing down a six-foot-long aisle partially obstructed by a chest of drawers on one side and an overhanging comforter on the other isn't entirely satisfying. Unsurprisingly, I soon found myself growing more frustrated rather than less so.

Meanwhile, my brain whirled through so many might-have-beens and may-bes that I wasn't really getting any rational thinking done. So, I turned around to twist the lock on the door behind my back, then I slipped out of my clothes and relaxed into the skin of my wolf.

In lupine form, the room brightened even as the intensity of colors dulled. Rosie's snuffling breathing and her grandmother's snores traveled easily from the other room, while the subtle rustle of Harmony tossing and turning suggested that my sister--like me--had ended the evening with more questions than answers running through her head.

At least she doesn't have to get up early tomorrow to go to work, I thought, salving my guilt for having dropped a bomb on my newfound sister without thinking up an adequate explanation to go along with it. Unfortunately, my own work schedule involved no such leeway. Not only was I expected at the coffee shop at eleven as usual, I had a full morning planned before my job even began.

Still, as a wolf, I understood that tomorrow would take care of itself. There was really nothing to be done except to finish out today.

To that end, I plopped down onto the bed, tucking my nose beneath my tail and forcing aching muscles to relax into somnolence. But my ears continued to twitch at every sound emanating from the other room, and the streetlight outside the window persisted in glaring directly into my sensitive eyes.

Rising, I turned in three tight circles to soften my nest, then flopped back down once again. But this time my own panting grated on my ears, fur itching all up and down my spine as my skin rebelled against mandatory solitude.

I needed pack. At home, I would have slipped outside my cottage door and howled once, then watched as cousins poured from their homes to join me on a midnight run. Or, if I'd really felt low, I could have crept inside my parents' home and jumped up into the tiny space between Terra's front and Wolfie's back. Sure, I was all grown up...but a wolf is never too old for a heart-felt cuddle.

I knew this would be a problem, I reminded myself. I'd hardened myself in preparation for the trip, resolving to run solo through the city no matter how welcoming the Greenbriar clan turned out to be. That was the way shifter society worked if I wanted to keep my nose clean and still make it home with no entanglements I'd later regret.

At the time, the task had appeared simple enough. And yesterday, I'd managed to fend off my urge for family despite the Greenbriar mantle tugging me to form a more permanent connection with the local pack.

Tonight, in contrast, my family was present in the very next room. A sister, a niece, and a grumpy old woman who I supposed must be my very first great-aunt.

Thumping my nose against the wall that lay between us, my wolf assessed how thin and breakable the barrier might be. Drywall--not so hard to tear through as long as we didn't run into a stud.

Whoa, there, I reined in my inner beast. Creepy stalker guests might open their hostess's door and peek inside in human form. In contrast, only monsters burst through the wall to lick at humans' sleeping faces.

But I needed pack so deeply that my claws tucked in and out like those of a cat. Slobber soaked the bedspread where I'd drooled out my distress and my ears pinned back against my skull. Finally giving in, I leapt to the floor and nosed at the pocket of flour-dusted work pants.

The phone glowed to life immediately, Derek's face shining up at me as it had done repeatedly throughout the day. This time, though, I winced and looked away, my brother's enigmatic smile suddenly more confusing than it was heartening.

Still, I managed to swipe over to the call function despite Derek's ambush, then I tapped at Dad's image on the screen. And, when Wolfie answered, voice scratchy with sleep, I whined out the thinnest trickle of sound by way of greeting.

"Buttercup," Wolfie murmured with no surprise or annoyance evident in his voice despite the late hour. He must have put some serious effort into our connection too, because as he spoke the Greenbriar mantle rippled and folded back out of the way. Then I could feel my father through our own pack bond, his incorporeal arms hugging me and filling my belly with wolf-imbued warmth.

"Go to sleep," my father crooned, his words descending into a lullaby. And, curled around the phone like a life line, I obeyed my alpha. Dropping chin onto paws, I went out like a light.

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# Chapter 17

Everything always looks brighter in the morning...especially after waking up in lupine form with the sound of my parents' steady breathing on the other end of the line. Shaking off my lupine skin and picking up the phone with human fingertips, I pressed the device to my ear with a genuine smile on my lips.

"Morning, Mom, Dad."

"Good morning, Buttercup," Wolfie answered, his voice a whisper. Muffled by distance, I could still make out the steady whistle of Terra's not-quite-snore in the distance, and I lowered my own voice to keep from waking my mother up.

"I know you want details, but I've got to hustle," I started, excuses more unwieldy when I had to spin them directly into my father's ear rather than through an intermediary.

But Wolfie didn't press the point. Instead, he offered the same unconditional support as always. "You know we're here if you need us," he rumbled...and as Dad spoke I realized there was something he could do to help me protect my newfound sister without putting everyone's noses out of joint.

"Actually...do you think you could track down a phone number? I know the Greenbriar pack almost certainly keeps theirs just as deeply unlisted as we do, but maybe...?"

Dad harrumphed as if he'd been insulted. "You ask that as if you're uncertain of my skills," he growled, reminding me that his day job was keeping businesses' computers safe from internet attack. "Give me a name and I'll have the number before you're done brushing your teeth."

Then he, rather than I, was the one to click off the phone. Grinning, I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth, feeling the moss that had built up after failing to attend to basic dental hygiene the night before. Sometimes, I thought Dad was a mind reader--he certainly didn't miss a single trick.

So I texted over all the information I had available before creeping into the bathroom, carefully bypassing the cheerful voices that emanated from the other end of the hall in the process. And, sure enough, by the time I'd regained my usual minty fresh breath, Andrea Greenbriar's number sat on my phone's screen, just waiting to be used.

Only, now that the avenue had opened before me, the idea of using Andrea to fend off her mate seemed trickier than it had a few minutes earlier. Time to add a trace of self-assurance to my voice.

To that end, I pulled my most formal set of clothing out of my suitcase, slipping into a business suit that cupped my breasts and thighs while still making me feel more like a badass rather than a femme fatale. I even swiped on a coat of lipstick and splashed eyeshadow onto my lids. Then, sitting on the bed as primly as any society matron, I dialed the relevant number and waited for the alpha's mate to pick up.

The phone rang so many times I wasn't sure if the city's matriarch would even accept my call. But at last, Andrea answered, her voice both curt and cold. "Who is this?"

My number would have shown up on her phone as "unlisted," and it said something about the tenuousness of the female's current position that she'd bothered to answer at all. So I left her hanging for ten solid seconds to consolidate my perceived dominance. Then, one instant before Andrea would have ended our connection, I spoke. "We need to talk."

"We have nothing to talk about." Despite her terse response, though, Andrea didn't bother pretending ignorance. She recognized my voice, had likely expected a call like this for over a decade. How could she not when her family secret made the future appear so dark that she didn't dare peer further ahead than the following day?

It was hard not to feel sorry for a mother placed in such an impossible situation...especially when the future she feared was built upon old-fashioned beliefs as precarious as a house of cards. But Andrea had bought into the bunk and I needed leverage to protect my human sister and niece. So I played dirty. "With Aaron as your son...you really don't think we need to meet face to face?"

For one long moment, it appeared that I'd pressed too hard. Andrea's breathing grew harsh and loud on the other end of the line, and I could almost feel her wolf rising up behind human eyes. Sure enough, when she spoke at last, the words came out garbled around lupine fangs. "When and where?"

"The coffee shop on campus. 10:30," I answered. Then, feeling thoroughly dirty despite my recent shower, I ended the call.

***

I ALMOST LEFT THE ROOM as I was rather than digging out the gift Auntie Fen had given me at the beginning of my journey. After all, what good were physical weapons against a werewolf who could freeze me in place with a single word?

But, if nothing else, the knives would act as a physical connection to my absent family. So I unwrapped the slender blades with care then slipped each into a sheath, the first accessible through a slit in my pants pocket, the second around my ankle, and a third hidden alongside my spine. Assuming a shifter didn't get the jump on me so quickly I was unable to move my hands, I was ready for anything.

Well, I was ready for anything...save the two sets of accusing eyes that met mine when I stepped into the combined kitchen/dining room at last. Only my niece was still a member of the Ember fan club, as evidenced by the refrain of "Kak, kak, kak" she embarked upon while holding out a fistful of chocolate fluff in a sweet yet misguided attempt to share.

"No thanks, Rosie-Dozey," I told the child with forced cheer. But before I could pat my favorite munchkin on the head, her grandmother's cane rose one menacing inch off the floor and my hand snapped back against my side. Uh oh. "I've got to head to work," I explained to the downcast toddler as I changed my trajectory and backed quickly toward the door instead.

Unfortunately, the Garcia matriarch wasn't willing to let me escape so easily. "Tell her," the older woman demanded, the words aimed at her daughter even though her gaze continued to pierce me with arrow-like sharpness. And as a wordless exchange passed between the two adults, I could feel my future solidifying in the air.

An eviction from the premises, a complete inability to protect my family from danger, total divorce from the niece I'd known for only one short day. "Please," I started, not sure what I could possibly say to avert such profound disaster...from a werewolf's point of view at least.

Harmony opened her mouth to obey her mother's wishes. But before I could think of a single way to change my hostess's decision, the younger woman's teeth came together with a snap and she shook her head instead. "Ember and I can talk tonight," Harmony told us both after a moment of loaded silence. "I don't want to make her late for work."

The truth was, I had scads of time before I needed to open up shop, even possessed quite a bit of leeway before my appointment with Andrea Greenbriar. But I seized on the offered out like a drowning swimmer who'd been tossed a life line.

"Yes, right, I'm running late," I babbled, darting through the waiting doorway and into the hall. I didn't breathe easily until the heavy wooden barrier had slammed shut behind my back.

***

AT WHICH POINT I REALIZED that I lacked a key to the apartment I'd just left behind. If the Garcias failed to let me back in this evening, then I'd be stuck in the city without so much as a single change of clothes. Dad wouldn't be impressed by my dental hygiene then, now would he?

In which case I'll just buy new stuff, I decided. After all, panties and toothpaste were easily replaced. In contrast, the slender thread of possibility that I might still make things right with my sister-in-law trumped all else.

So, turning away from the door, I double timed it down the hallway and stairs before Harmony could change her mind and call me back for a much-deserved dressing down. Out in the morning air, I breathed in the dampness of a freshly washed city, overnight rain having swept away the scents of too many people and cars. I could smell grass and pollen and flowers for the first time since the Greenbriar hunt, the mild aromas mixing together to encircle me in a haze of welcome.

The subway was still dirty as ever, though, and my heart rate picked up as I passed through the empty station on the campus end after exiting my northbound train. This was where I'd been attacked yesterday, and the tang of my own terror still hung heavy on the subterranean air.

Rather than rushing out into the light and making the same mistake a second time, though, I slunk along pitted walls, scanning the open space between me and the exit. One hand slipped into my pants pocket, settling around the hilt of Auntie Fen's knife, and in response my breathing gradually eased to normal levels once again.

Only when I felt able to survey my surroundings with the mind of a predator rather than prey did I advance out into the open. My attacker wasn't present, of course. No matter what they say about perpetrators returning to the scene of the crime, only an idiotic werewolf would linger in the spot where he'd nearly raped a pack princess. Especially when his victim possessed guest rights granted by the local alpha himself.

In contrast to the dangerous scene I'd been envisioning, in fact, the campus was bright and cheerful beneath the morning sun. I passed two of the previous day's customers as I skirted the main administrative building, and another waved hello as I used my key to enter the coffee shop. There, I flipped the lock closed behind me and finally relaxed into a round of baking therapy.

First, I pulled together apple turnovers for Andrea--might as well sweeten the female up as reparation for my upcoming blackmail. Then, with a smile, I beat together a batch of the super-fluffy cupcakes that were Dad's favorite. After all, Wolfie deserved a culinary thank-you in exchange for his endless offerings of surprisingly hands-off support.

While the cupcakes cooled, I created a mailing box out of taped-together take-out trays then penned a quick note for my mother and pack. Without bothering to lock the door behind me, I trotted back across campus the way I'd come and turned into the mail room that sat only a few hundred yards away from the subway station. There, a wall of small metal boxes ended in a counter manned by one very bored human clerk.

"What can I get you?" the employee asked, his eyes remaining trained on the magazine in his lap. Then, looking up at last, the clerk's eyes brightened as he recognized me from his visit to my shop the day before. "You're the cupcake girl! Want to open up a PO box? Faculty, students, and staff all get one free of charge."

"That's nice of you," I answered, glancing at the clock above the clerk's head and realizing I was cutting it closer than I'd intended with regard to Andrea's appointment. "But I'm not sure how long I'll be in town. I just need to mail this one thing...."

Luckily, the human required only thirty seconds to calculate postage and accept my payment, then I was trotting back the way I'd come. Past the library, through a little grove of evergreens, then around the bend that hid my shop from view...

...At which point I walked directly into the arms of last night's attacker.

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# Chapter 18

He hesitated before going on the offensive, and that was the only mistake I needed in order to launch my counterattack. Whirling, I yanked a knife out through the slit in my pocket and slashed at the meaty hands reaching for my throat. Red blood arced away from my opponent's flesh, ruby droplets glinting on the steel of my blade before turning dark as they splattered across the perfectly manicured grass.

The other shifter swore but didn't retreat. Instead, he groped around at the small of his own back and drew forth something far more dangerous than my own throwing knives--the cold, hard weight of a gun.

Auntie Fen was right after all, I thought with a shiver. Because my aunt had tried to hand over a highly-illegal pistol rather than the three mostly-legal knives I'd ultimately accepted. She'd told me that toeing the line of human laws might not work out in my favor outside Haven's walls, that guns hadn't been illegal long enough to have dropped off the average criminal's radar.

"But what if a human cop stops me and demands a body search? What then?" I'd asked her.

"So don't do something stupid enough to get on their radar," Auntie Fen had countered.

Now I regretted brushing off advice from someone older and wiser than myself. I'd been leery of carrying a handgun when possession alone was sufficient to send non-military personnel straight to jail. But getting shot by a shifter suddenly seemed like a much worse alternative...and significantly more likely too.

The shock of staring down the barrel of a pistol, in fact, sent words tumbling out of my mouth before I could weigh them against the requirements of good sense. "What do you think you're doing?" I demanded. "Are you trying to get the human police involved?"

Unsurprisingly, my opponent didn't answer. Instead, he widened his stance, bringing his second arm around to steady the first as he sighted along the top of the gun. The easy familiarity with which he held the pose suggested that this wasn't any stolen weapon. Instead, my opponent had likely practiced with and experimented upon this pistol until he wielded it like an extension of his own skin. Bad news.

"Drop the knife and go inside," my opponent told me after one long moment, backing up his command with a jerky gesture of his shallow chin. But he didn't speed me along my way with an alpha compulsion like the one he'd slapped onto me the night before. Was the oversight merely due to confidence that I'd already been beaten, I wondered, or was there another reason behind eschewing his own werewolf strength this morning?

Either way, I wasn't about to walk into what was bound to be an ambush. So, taking care to slump my shoulders and keep my eyes averted in a show of submission, I nonetheless refused to budge. "I can't drop a blood-stained knife on the grass on a human campus. Think for a minute about where we are and who's around. Chief Greenbriar will gut us both if we're responsible for cluing in one-bodies to our presence."

Rather than reasoning with me, my opponent growled and took a single step closer, prompting hairs to rise along the back of my neck. My mind raced as I assessed options, finding each one less palatable than the last. Because every potential solution I dreamed up ended in the exact same way--with shifter blood analyzed in a human hospital where doctors were bound to notice the oddities of werewolf metabolism and DNA. The potential for discovery was more daunting than the current risk to my own skin.

"Don't..." I started. Then a cool, feminine hand landed on my left shoulder blade and cut into my desperate plea.

"Enough," Andrea Greenbriar intoned, her word encompassing us both and pushing all air out of my lungs in the process. Rather than looking in my direction, though, she chided the male werewolf for his overstep. "I merely asked you to ensure Ember wasn't armed," she said, her words quiet but their intensity nonetheless prompting her underling to look away submissively while tucking the gun back underneath his clothes.

Then the female's piercing gaze turned on me, cold air spiraling around my face as her displeasure made itself known. "And you," Andrea murmured, "you should know better than to come to a meeting with knife in hand."

It was patently unfair to accuse me of being armed when her own bodyguard boasted the more dangerous weapon and had been the first to attack. Still, I kept my mouth shut and instead tried to figure out how much of today's kerfuffle was coincidental...and how much pointed at another, deeper game.

Had Andrea's bodyguard really acted against her wishes, both today and last night? Was there a reason the male had been able to use an alpha compulsion on me then but not now?

Puzzles pieces clicked together in my mind, but gaping holes continued to mar my understanding of the situation. However, since the female before me was obviously powerful enough to force me to jump off the top of a building if she so desired, I figured there was only one truly important issue to deal with at the present moment.

My companion needed that apple turnover sooner rather than later.

So, flipping my knife around until I gripped the bloody blade instead of the handle, I extended the hilt in her general direction. "My apologies, alpha. I only came to talk."

Andrea had been willing to tear out the throat of an elk with her own lupine fangs two nights earlier, but her lip curled in disdain now as she took in the red smears and greasy sweat that streaked the recently handled hilt. "Keep it," she told me. Then, speaking to her underling as if to a dog, she intoned an unnecessary compulsion: "Stay." Finally, turning on her heel, Andrea Greenbriar strode back into my shop, allowing the glass door to settle closed behind her with a whoosh of displaced air.

For a moment, the bodyguard and I eyed each other with stark distrust coloring both of our faces. Then, with a shrug, I wiped the sullied blade on the inside of my shirt where the stain wouldn't show before slipping the weapon back into its holster.

It took an effort of will to turn my back on an armed werewolf who had attempted to maul me only eighteen hours earlier and had considered shooting me today. But I clenched my jaw and raised my chin. Then, ignoring my own trepidation, I followed the alpha's mate into my own chocolate-scented shop.

***

"I'LL TAKE A LARGE COFFEE, cream and no sugar," Andrea informed me the moment I entered the space. She was seated at a corner booth where she could watch all activity both outside and inside while being largely hidden in shadows herself. Despite the less-than-adequate lighting, though, my lupine eyes could pick my opponent out quite admirably.

And as I filled the female's order, my surreptitious glances proved that she wasn't nearly as poised as she wanted to appear. Instead, one shoe tapped repeatedly against the floor tiles even as her fingernails drummed against the table top three feet above. Meanwhile, Andrea's gaze slid in my direction far too frequently to maintain her pretense of aloof boredom.

No, the conclusion was obvious--despite her heavy-handed tactics, my current companion was a devoted mama worried about her adult pup. I couldn't let her off the hook entirely, but I still slid a pastry onto a plate and carried it over along with the requested coffee. "I hope you like apple turnovers," I murmured as I took my own seat on the other side of the scuffed tabletop.

For a split second, my companion's face softened as the scent of cinnamon rose between us. But rather than digging in, Andrea ignored the treat and got right down to business.

"If you threaten my son, you threaten me," she intoned, eyes boring into mine so dangerously they sent my inner wolf whimpering for cover. And between the lines, I read the rest of the threat as easily as if it had been voiced aloud. Being mugged in a public setting isn't the worst that can happen, Andrea's eyes informed me. Last night and this morning were warnings. Don't force my hand.

Growling very faintly under my breath, I accepted her words for the admission of guilt they were. And I was very tempted to reply in kind, maybe offering up a verbal slap that reminded Andrea of my own pack's power.

But that would have been counterproductive...especially since I was currently acting under my own volition and without any nearby relatives to back me up. So I merely shrugged and pointed at her turnover. "If you don't want that, I can get you something else."

Closing her eyes in momentary frustration, human politeness eventually won out over Andrea's lupine urge to dominate. The alpha werewolf raised the pastry to her lips with the daintiness of a debutante...and, ever so gradually, the power of spicy apples began relaxing her tensed muscles.

Here's the thing about apple turnovers. They don't look like much compared to a triple-chocolate-chunk cupcake with a drizzle of syrup across the top. And yet, the treat's melding of apple, sugar, and cinnamon proves that a chef doesn't need dozens of complicated ingredients to create something truly divine.

At her core, Andrea was similarly simple. She was a hunter, a mother, and a mate. And while I'd brought the female here as a mother, it was the hunter I wanted to tap into now.

So I waited until the sugared fruit had sweetened my companion's temperament, then I let her parental instincts off the hook. "I'm not going to say anything about Aaron," I informed her. "That's his own personal business...although, if I was sticking my nose in, I think he and Roger make a pretty good match."

For a moment, Andrea's eyes flashed with anger. I'd brought the city's second most powerful werewolf here under false pretenses and we both knew it. Still, it was hard for a mother to fight against open-armed acceptance of her pup, so after a moment her inner wolf stood down.

"Then what do you want?" Andrea asked carefully, sipping at her coffee and forgetting to scan for danger this time as she nibbled another bite out of her rapidly disappearing turnover. Not that there was likely to be anything worth guarding against on this college campus...well, except for the barely leashed bodyguard she herself had brought along.

"I want protection for a family of humans," I answered once Andrea's eyes returned to my face, only to be interrupted before I could get another word out.

"The Garcias?" my companion asked, eyebrows rising. "Arnold told me you were concerned about them. He'll send a few men to look over the situation this afternoon. But I have to say, it's already under control." And not worth blackmailing me about, my companion's accusing eyes added.

"Well, here's the thing," I answered. "I don't want him to send out any men. As you well know, the males in this city are having trouble keeping their paws to themselves."

Because I didn't entirely buy Andrea's implication that her bodyguard had attacked me the previous evening under her own overt orders. Sure, the female had learned about her underling's lapse and had used that knowledge to intimidate me today...but I suspected she'd neither commanded nor approved of his actions at the time.

I'd yet to figure out exactly why the bodyguard attacked me yesterday, and I had similar questions about Roger's actions the night before. But I was close to tracking down answers. And in the meantime, I couldn't afford any loose cannons sniffing around Harmony's apartment, nor did I want Chief Greenbriar sussing out Rosie's connection to my missing sibling if the toddler happened to step outside and into the jaws of a supposedly protective wolf.

So I ignored Andrea's glare and barreled right into the solution I'd come up with the night before. "I won't tell anyone about Aaron and I'll continue pretending like he's mate material. But you have a problem within your own clan. After setting a female guard on my landlady, I recommend you track down the source of your pack's rotten core."

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# Chapter 19

Despite the drama of the morning, the rest of my work day proved surprisingly uneventful. The brownie-eating professor brought in his wife...who was plump and cheerful and didn't complain one bit about her husband's dietary preferences. Meanwhile, yesterday's female students returned with three friends in tow, and the shop gradually began to feel more like a cheerful meeting place and less like the cold, silent corner of campus it had initially appeared.

Feeding the masses warmed the cockles of my heart...but I still grew increasingly jittery as the day progressed. It was hard to remain in one place while my mind ran in several different directions at once, none of which involved pastries and all of which reeked of potential danger. So, at 3 pm, I dialed the same number I'd called far too often throughout the day, hoping for yet another status report on my absent sister.

"Still no trouble," Lissa answered, not bothering to wait for my question this time around. The female shifter and her partner had been stationed outside Harmony's apartment building within fifteen minutes of Andrea leaving my own premises, and their calm assurance should have dismissed all worries about my sister-in-law's safety. And yet...I still harbored a sinking suspicion that something was going wrong out in the city while I whipped up frosting and poured cream into coffee cups within my insulated bubble here on campus.

"Are you positive?" I asked for the sixth time that day. Then racking my brain in an effort to guess what the stationed guards might have missed, I added: "What about the side entrance?"

"Marcia is standing right in front of it. And before you ask, neither of us has seen or smelled a hint of fur since we got here. This isn't the shifter side of town. You can relax."

Lissa's frustration was evident in her clipped sentences, and I couldn't really blame her. Staking out a human apartment building was a pretty low-level chore, and it wasn't fair of me to suggest the shifters in question weren't up to the job. Still....

"What about the roof? Would you be able to see if anyone took an aerial approach?"

"Have you even been here?" Lissa snapped back, her politeness finally wearing thin. "There's no way to access the roof short of a helicopter. And I can promise you, I would hear a chopper if hypothetical miscreants tried to fly in and nab a human out from under my nose."

"Okay," I answered, dropping my head into one hand and letting the issue drop. The other shifter was right--I was being overprotective and a total pain in the butt.

So, after a much-needed apology, I forced myself to hang up the phone. I didn't call to check in for the next two hours. And when quitting time rolled around, I didn't take advantage of my spare hour between work and mandatory Greenbriar dinner to rush home and check on Harmony's defenses as I'd initially intended.

Instead, I accepted the fact that the Garcia family was being guarded by pack. Since I'd also run out of avenues to explore with regard to Derek's disappearance, I chose not to spin my wheels and instead headed in the one direction bound to soothe my tattered temperament.

I'd take Sebastien up on his invitation and drop by his office. The decision had nothing to do with the molten chocolate coloration of the human's eyes, nor with his absence from the shop today. Instead, I told myself I was merely looking forward to talking about something other than werewolves for a change.

***

LIKE THE REST OF CAMPUS, the college's psychology building was nearly empty at quitting time on a summer evening. So I wandered down dimly lit corridors for several minutes, searching for the room number from Sebastien's card. And as I skimmed research posters lining the endless hallways, my eye snagged upon the long list of funders who had supported even the simplest of experiments.

Dad would have laughed at all the ten-dollar names, and I couldn't resist perusing them now as I ambled past. I was vaguely familiar with the National Institute of Science and the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (or DARPA for short), but even the private scholarship funds seemed to require listings up to a dozen words long.

"Dorothy E. and Kenneth C. Upton Foundation," I read aloud, trying to decide whether the couple had been clowning around by creating an acronym that turned into an invective when read backwards...or whether they'd just missed out on the joke. Humor aside, Derek--with his lone wolf's obsession for making ends meet--might have been attracted to the seemingly endless funds made available by well-heeled college alums. Was my brother's obsession with the campus merely an attempt to support his lavish lifestyle without having to sign on with an established pack?

The idea made intuitive sense...yet it still didn't quite ring true. Maybe I just didn't want to turn my brother into either a desperate loner or a money-grubbing scam artist, but my gut told me there was more to Derek's interest in the college than the mere need for easy financing.

The answer, I suspected, lay with the key tucked away in my pocket. Fingering the cool metal, I considered trying it in every knob I passed. Surely the answer to Derek's disappearance lay here on the campus he'd talked so much about.

And yet...how many doors existed in this building alone? And how many other parts of the city had Derek mentioned in passing during our dozens of chats? No, I needed to come up with a more structured approach to the current investigation or I'd continue getting nowhere fast.

Meanwhile, I turned a corner and discovered that the room numbers lining the hallway were finally heading in the proper direction. The clack of fingers on a keyboard drew me yet deeper into the complex, then I forgot all about my brother as I peeked through an open doorway and caught sight of the back of Sebastien's enticing head.

I knew the professor could never be anything more to me than an intriguing acquaintance, but my breath still caught as I took in the sunlight glinting through my companion's short yet tangled locks. My muscles relaxed for the first time all day as his scent wafted into my nostrils. And for an instant, my lupine half closed its eyes and sighed in contentment, as if we'd returned from a lone hunt to snuggle into the heart of our chosen pack.

Focus, Ember, I reminded myself. I wasn't here to be sucked in by masculine beauty and I definitely wasn't here to find a mate. I was hunting for my brother, and to that end I forced myself to tear my eyes away from Sebastien's muscular form and peruse his workspace instead.

Unfortunately, what I saw made the human more intriguing rather than less so. Because the room was awash with plants. A well-trained ficus arched around the side of one large window while spider plants spawned babies in hanging baskets above his head. Along the opposite wall, a fish tank burbled with life, colorful swimmers darting out from amid the fronds of pond plants while colorful snails slimed their way up the insides of the glass surfaces.

"It looks like you'd rather be outside," I said aloud, forgetting for a moment that my companion wasn't a shifter and thus wouldn't have heard me approach. Sure enough, Sebastien's entire body jolted at the sound of my voice, his head swiveling toward me like that of a startled deer assessing its surroundings. But then a broad smile lit the professor's face as he caught sight of me hovering in the entranceway.

"Ember," he greeted me. "Come on in."

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# Chapter 20

I'd meant to use the seconds before being noticed to build some sort of internal wall against Sebastien's overwhelming charm. But, instead, the warmth in my companion's voice was as effective as any alpha compulsion. Muscles moved without conscious volition, and before I knew it I'd skittered through the doorway and right up into his personal space.

Only then did my companion realize that I had no place to sit. Which meant I missed out on the handshake I'd been looking forward to all day, although I was graced with an excellent view of Sebastien's well-formed backside as he turned to scoop a stack of well-thumbed periodicals out of the visitor's chair.

"I'm afraid I've spread my research out over every available surface," the professor mumbled as he worked. "I don't get many drop-bys in the summertime..."

Then his voice trailed off as his cheeks turned ever so faintly red. In response, I nearly laughed aloud, realizing the human I'd thought unflappable was embarrassed to be caught with his office in disarray.

"Please don't clean on my account," I told him. Reaching out without thinking, I placed two fingertips on Sebastien's wrist in a werewolf gesture of consolation....then lost track of what I'd meant to say as the momentary contact pushed all further conversation out of my mind.

Because Sebastien's blood pulsed beneath the pads of my fingers, his heart beating just a little faster than it ought to have done. His skin was warm, his scent mild compared to that of a werewolf but strangely enticing nonetheless. And when I gazed into the professor's eyes, I noticed his pupils were dilating...just like my own despite the more-than-adequate light.

By the time my hand slipped away from my companion's skin, I was barely verbal. So I dropped down into the newly emptied chair rather than opening my mouth. No need to let potentially embarrassing words spew forth while my equilibrium was so thoroughly compromised.

"Did you come for the..." Sebastien began, then cleared his throat before continuing. "...for the candy bar?"

"I...yes, of course."

I hadn't, actually. I'd forgotten all about my companion's request that I take part in his study, hadn't given so much as a passing thought to the promised sugar rush and cash prize in exchange for relinquishing half an hour of my time. Instead, I'd been drawn to this plant-filled study by an instinct too powerful to resist...and definitely far too complicated to explain to a human I'd barely met.

Still, I'd cling to any excuse that allowed me to spend extra time in Sebastien's presence. So I didn't argue when my companion launched into what sounded like a well-rehearsed spiel, and I nodded sagely when he told me the study had to be carried out in pairs.

"Just give me a sec to text the participant at the top of the waiting list," the professor said absently, matching actions to words. Then, piercing me yet again with those un-look-away-able eyes, he stilled my lungs with another breathtaking smile. "We're in luck. Gracie says she can be here in just a few minutes."

After that, the professor leaned back in his chair while I perched awkwardly on the edge of my own seat. A mere four feet of empty space separated us, but the distance felt more like a yawning abyss rather than the width of a rather book-and-plant-crowded study.

For thirty excruciatingly long seconds, in fact, we each made an earnest effort to be polite and not to stare. Then we both opened our mouths to speak at once.

"Did you ever...?" he asked just as I started with "Why did you...?"

We both paused, mouths snapping shut in tandem. Then Sebastien's warm brown eyes crinkled with mirth as he placed a finger over his own lips, dropped his chin into his chest, and waited for me to finish my thought.

"Why did you choose to go into psychology?" I said into the resulting silence. Then I immediately wanted to kick myself as I realized the question was far too nosy for two humans who had only recently met.

But rather than taking offense, my companion merely shrugged. "For the same reason you bake, I imagine," he answered. And I found myself scooting backwards in my seat, surprised to have been so thoroughly seen by a human who hadn't visited my shop more than a single time.

Because Sebastien was right. I baked to understand. I baked to assist. I baked to be needed.

I opened my mouth to question a human who sounded more like a werewolf than many shifters I knew. But a tap on the door burst the bubble of privacy that surrounded us, and I looked up to find one of my own customers leaning into the doorway from the otherwise empty hall.

***

"GRACIE, THANKS FOR joining us," Sebastien greeted her, rising so quickly that I was left wondering whether our moment of shared understanding had existed entirely within my own head. The professor was all business as he ushered us back out into the hall, but his physical and emotional distance didn't prevent the student from thrusting out her chest and simpering prettily as she followed his lead.

She's a pup and he's an alpha, I reminded myself, trying to tamp down the wave of lupine jealousy that threatened to overwhelm my human body. I couldn't blame the girl for trying to attract our companion's attention, never mind that both age and profession placed Sebastien firmly out of her league. Still, I found myself sidling around so that I, rather than Gracie, was standing at Sebastien's elbow when he stopped at last inside the sparsely furnished lab.

And who's the lovesick pup now?

Luckily, the professor appeared as oblivious to our competitive maneuvering as he had been to the wares Gracie put so flagrantly on display. Instead of remarking on either, he launched into a long-winded explanation of the apparatus before us, which had apparently been designed with dozens of safeguards in mind.

"As I told Gracie when she first signed up," the professor concluded, strapping electrodes onto various portions of the girl's anatomy as he spoke, "our lab is studying pain tolerances this summer. The participant who sits in this chair--that would be Gracie--will be subjected to increasing voltages of electrical shock...."

And, abruptly, the fizz of attraction winked out as I realized what sort of study this really was. Sebastien's breezy manner when introducing the chair had suggested we were in for something simple and harmless, maybe virtual-reality puzzles or a team-building exercise. Instead, my brain went entirely blank as I tried to come up with a different explanation for what I'd recently heard.

Was this man--who I'd pegged as gentle and kind--really planning to harm a pup barely old enough to leave her parents? To send electrical currents pulsing through Gracie's veins...for what purpose? To end up with a readout that would assist in the creation of yet more boring articles that only a few other scientists might ever read?

"I'm not sure..." I interjected, backing toward the door. But I was sure. I was sure I'd made a tremendous mistake, both in offering to take part in this study and in thinking the attraction I felt for Sebastien was worth the risk to both of our necks.

"Please don't go," the human countered, stepping so deeply into my personal space that his body heat brushed against my bare skin. And despite the horror that churned my stomach and tensed my muscles...I still found myself leaning closer to the professor rather than away.

"It's entirely safe," Sebastien continued. "I promise. And Gracie will be well compensated. She receives more than a candy bar for being the subject in the chair. You want to take part, don't you, Gracie?"

The professor's dark eyes bored into mine even as the student chirruped from behind his back. "Absolutely, professor. It's the highlight of my day."

She really did seem to mean it too, so I exhaled a long breath and turned away from Sebastien with an effort. "You want to do this?" I asked the younger female, brow wrinkling as I tried to understand the nonsensical undercurrents filling the lab. There was more going on here than a puppy-dog crush, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what I was missing.

"Absolutely," the teenager answered. "'Cause you're here to make sure it's all safe and kosher. Tell her that part, professor."

And Sebastien immediately launched into the second half of his prepared explanation. I was the spotter, he explained, present to ensure Gracie's pain threshold was never exceeded. Before every pulse of electricity, the professor would ask his subject if she wanted to continue, but I was the one ultimately responsible for determining whether the electrifying button got pushed.

"So if I say no, you pull the plug?" I asked, making sure I understood. Part of me wanted to track down a member of the administration right away, to argue my case until this inhumane experiment was shut down both immediately and permanently. But Gracie peered up at me with such pleading in her youthful eyes, and Sebastien's further clarification suggested the study was no worse than my cousins' customary test of bravery--prodding at electrified fence wires back home until the current nipped at their skin. Surely this scientifically formulated shock wouldn't hurt more than the time I'd been conned into licking that fence with my unprotected tongue....

"It would be a big favor to me if you'd help out," Gracie interjected, looking even more childlike as she pouted plump lips and stared at me with widened eyes.

And, at last, I caved. Utilizing my werewolf senses, I'd be able to assess the girl's pain threshold far more effectively than a one-body could have done. Perhaps taking part in this experiment wasn't the same as assisting in torture.

Perhaps.

The experiment moved quickly after that. Sebastien stood in front of Gracie, his finger hovering atop a big red button, while I was placed in a chair off to one side. And the girl really didn't seem to mind the initial shocks--which Sebastien explained were less painful than even a pinprick, intended to calibrate the sensors and ensure everything was advancing according to plan.

But then the professor turned up the dial on his control panel and Gracie began biting her lip in anticipation. I winced, expecting fear pheromones to fill the air. To my surprise, though, Gracie was braver than I'd given her credit for. The girl jumped when Sebastien pressed the big red button the first time, but the air between us remained scentless and clear.

"Turn it up, professor," the girl said while I was busy flaring nostrils and sucking in scents. "I really need that scholarship."

And, in a blaze of tearing regret, I realized what motivated the child. Gracie possessed no pack mates ready and willing to fund her higher education, boasted no relatives who would fall all over themselves to ensure her every need was met. Instead, the poor human was strapped down in an electric chair, paying her way through college by dint of her own physical pain.

Abruptly, I'd had enough. There were other options, I just knew it. If nothing else, I'd ask Wolfie to create a scholarship just for this girl--the joy of cobbling together his own amusing acronym would more than make up for the loss of cash from our community coffers. Regardless of the eventual methodology, I was confident my pack leader would ensure this pup wasn't forced to shock herself through college ever again.

Placing a supportive hand on Gracie's wrist, I glared at the professor. "That's enough."

"But Gracie said to turn it up," Sebastien answered, fingers twisting the dial higher even as his mouth voiced the words. And for a moment, I froze, hardly believing that even one-body society would be so cruel as to think this was acceptable behavior.

While I hesitated, the professor's finger reached toward the red button for the sixth time that day. And I should have lunged forward to stop him. Should have responded like any ordinary human being and used my physical body to halt the madness.

But the shocks, in the past, had been instantaneous and I wasn't sure I'd be able to come between Sebastien's finger and the instigating button before current began to flow. So rather than considering the fact that most humans weren't even sensitive enough to notice a werewolf's command, I allowed an alpha compulsion to roll off my lips.

"Stop," I ordered. Then I watched as unexpected delight filled Sebastien's mahogany eyes.

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# Chapter 21

At the same moment, Gracie began to laugh. The student's merriment was so honest and joyful that it would have been contagious...if my wolf hadn't currently been attempting to crawl out of my skin and rip out Sebastien's throat, that is. As it was, though, I needed several seconds to even make sense of my companion's subsequent words.

"You're such a lightweight," the girl told me, pulling electrodes off her skin as she hopped off the chair. "Most people make it up to ten 'shocks' before they give in." Air quotes completed, Gracie turned to drag a box of candy off the shelf behind her back, then rummaged inside to come up with four options. "Here. Which one do you want?"

I gazed at the girl in befuddlement. I was a lightweight...and now it was time for candy?

"It's just pretend," the pup explained, shaking the crinkly-coated chocolate bars to catch my attention. "No electricity, no pain. I'm the professor's lab assistant this summer. Hard job, but somebody's got to do it."

Silently, I turned to cock my head at Sebastien, struggling to reassess the conversation that had gone before. A moment ago, I'd thought Gracie was a poor waif down on her luck and the professor was a monster using the girl's desperation for the sake of his own experiments. And now...now I wasn't even sure what to think.

I expected glib explanations to roll forth from the professor's lips, but Sebastien appeared nearly as tongue-tied as I was. The human eyed me speculatively, one index finger pressed against his mouth as if he wanted to speak and was struggling to keep unintended words inside. And as I took in his posture, a shiver ran up my spine.

I had a feeling I'd just made a terrible mistake.

Luckily, Gracie was talkative enough for all three of us. "You've probably never taken a psychology course, have you?" she asked. And when I shook my head mutely, the girl launched into a long-winded explanation that my harried brain finally managed to condense into a mostly understandable core.

The experiment--and it was an experiment, that much was now clear--had nothing to do with pain tolerances. Instead, Sebastien was gauging my reaction to the situation, determining how far I was willing to go when both other participants were supposedly on board with creating supposed agony in the pup.

"This project is funded by DARPA, isn't it?" I said at last, drawing conclusions that were perhaps too far-reaching and perhaps a little paranoid...but that felt entirely right at the time.

Because, despite the pretty words Gracie had used to class up her explanation, this didn't seem like the sort of experimentation a civilian organization would care to have their name attached to. And, of the funding organizations listed on various posters running down the hall, DARPA was the clear choice for creation of such an inhumane scheme.

"Yes," Sebastien admitted, speaking carefully as if afraid to set me off...as well he might be since my teeth were bared and I was barely holding back a menacing growl. "It's true that DARPA provided some of the baseline funding. But they support thousands of projects around the globe, and this experiment was and is entirely under my control. Look, I'm sorry we lied to you, but what you took part in today is just a slight twist on the classic analysis of reactions to authority figures. The Milgram experiment...."

Werewolf-like, the male reached out to place one soothing palm atop my forearm as he spoke, and I immediately lost track of all words. Because contact with Sebastien felt like heaven. Like being wrapped up in my family's protective embrace...while diving out of an airplane with only one small parachute strapped to my back. I could almost sense wind whipping against my cheeks, could nearly hear the whisper of a pack mate begging me to pull the ripcord and slow my plummeting descent.

But my usually mild-mannered wolf fought against any attempt to step away from the human's side, instead keeping us stuck in heart-pounding free fall. Mine, the beast growled silently, freezing our joint muscles into place.

She and I were usually so closely attuned that I didn't differentiate between our wishes. Sometimes we were wolf and sometimes we were human, but the distinction had more to do with which set of muscles would best achieve our goals rather than it did with any battle of ego or will.

Now, though, we each struggled to take control, fighting for command of a body we usually shared equally. I clenched my teeth and strained against her efforts...and I might just have lost had the ringing of my phone not provided a wolf-friendly excuse for us both to step aside.

Pack is calling, I reminded her. Pack, the one thing that every wolf understood deep within her bones. And, reluctantly, my own inner beast accepted my retreat from Sebastien's touch, allowing me to dig into my pocket for the chiming telephone before turning away to break all contact with the confusing college professor standing by our side.

Then I forgot Sebastien's magnetic attraction as nearly incoherent apologizes filled my ear. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

And just like that, I dropped back down to the hard pavement of reality with a nearly audible thud.

***

AT FIRST, THE VOICE on the other end of the line was so garbled and confused that I couldn't even figure out who it was. Only after I pulled the device away from my ear and glanced at the screen did I realize this was Lissa, one of the shifters left in charge of guarding my sister's house.

Immediately, my stomach made a beeline for the hard tile floor, but this time for a far less palatable reason than enjoying an enticing human's touch. Because I was sorely afraid that anything Lissa might be so vehemently sorry about wasn't something I wanted to hear.

But I needed to hear what was going on...and soon if Harmony's life lay in the balance as I currently suspected. "Stop groveling and start explaining," I commanded, not bothering to take the time to soothe the other female's fears in the human way. Instead, ignoring the other inhabitants of the lab, I unleashed my inner wolf and allowed the beast to carry our human body toward the building's exit, first at a walk then at a trot.

On the other end of the line, Lissa gulped then obeyed. "We watched the apartment all day just like Andrea told us to," the guard started, her voice still quavering but her words significantly more understandable as my compulsion did its work. "No one of Ms. Garcia's description left and no werewolves entered on our watch. But you sounded extremely concerned when you called, so Marcia went to check out the human's hallway. And an old lady came to the door...."

My lips tried to turn upwards into a smile as Lissa painted a picture of the eldest Garcia attempting to chase two Greenbriar werewolves out of her hallway with that ever-present cane. But I could guess where this story was going...and there would be no happy ending to smile about. So I cut into the stream of chatter yet again.

"Tell me," I ordered, forcing Lissa to cut to the chase.

For a moment, even an alpha compulsion wasn't enough to break through the pained silence lying cold and hard between us. Then, at last, Lissa spoke, her words nearly too quiet to hear. "They were gone," she whispered, the pain of a wolf who'd failed her alpha strong even if her voice remained muted and weak. "The human and her pup left before we even got there. They went to the zoo early this morning...and they never came back."

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# Chapter 22

I was halfway down the block, analyzing the density of nearby shrubbery and trying to decide where I could safely shift, when a sleek black sports car pulled up by my side. "Hop in," Sebastien greeted me, reaching across the passenger seat to push open the gleaming front door.

And even though I needed a ride, I hesitated. The professor's vehicle was the perfect way to get across town as quickly and efficiently as possible...but I couldn't afford to tip my hand further to someone who'd proven himself far more perspicacious than the average one-body. Shifter politics aside, I didn't dare drag this human into the altercation that was soon to come either.

The car looked fast, though. And the human, I had to assume, would be ditchable before any werewolves came into view.

"We don't have anything to talk about," I told the professor...but I nonetheless slipped inside the waiting vehicle. And even though my own unaccustomed rudeness grated on my ears, I found myself unable to mitigate the words with further small talk. Not when my wolf barely allowed me to snap the seat belt into place before forcing our spine to take a hard left turn toward the enticing human in the driver's seat.

Ours, the wolf whispered, filling my mind with a far-too-vivid image of myself wriggling into the space between Sebastien and the steering wheel, letting my shirt ruck up so his chest rubbed against my bare skin. In the wolf's animalistic understanding, it was entirely irrelevant that giving the professor an unrequested lap dance was likely to cause the vehicle we sat inside to wreck. Trying to argue the complete and utter inappropriateness of the gesture was also a recipe for failure, so I didn't attempt to make either point.

Instead, I merely shushed my inner animal while plugging an address into the vehicle's GPS. Not the zoo's coordinates, of course--I couldn't risk Sebastien following me into a showdown that I suspected would turn into a blood bath at my first misstep. But I'd killed time during lulls at the coffee shop researching outings Rosie might enjoy, and the children's museum lay only half a mile away from the zoo's side gate. I could easily hoof it that short distance...and there were plenty of distractions in between to help shake a tenacious human off my tail.

Predictably, my wolf took offense at the idea of running away from a male she would have vastly preferred reaching toward. But when she opened our shared mouth to say something I was sure we'd later regret, Sebastien's aroma coated our tongue and sidetracked the beast from any ill-advised speech.

Our companion's scent was different than it had been just an hour earlier. Equally as enticing, but darker and more bitter, as if the human understood as well as I did that his supposed experiment had harmed the tenuous bond forming between us.

But despite the regret hanging heavy in the air, Sebastien didn't open with an apology when he finally spoke. Instead, keeping his gaze firmly riveted on the road, the male beside me cleared his throat loudly. Then he shattered the ounce of equilibrium I'd managed to rebuild since losing my cool inside the clinical interior of his lab.

"Derek is your brother," the professor said, eyes glinting as they drifted over to catch my reaction. "Isn't he?"

***

THE SHOCK OF HEARING my sibling's name roll off a human tongue forced words out of my mouth that I immediately wished could be taken back. "How did you know?" I demanded.

And while I half expected my wolf to growl protest of my curtness, she instead turned quiescent beneath our shared skin. Because, attraction or no attraction, family came first. And if this male had harmed our brother...well, I just hoped I could make it out of the car before my wolf skinned our driver alive.

Perhaps the professor sensed the shift in mood, or maybe he just regretted dropping his verbal bomb with such a profound lack of subtlety. Either way, skin around his mouth tightened as the car merged onto the freeway. And after waiting for three long seconds, I was forced to prod in search of a reply.

"Professor...?" I prompted, trying to sound polite even as I fingered the mostly clean knife strapped against my bare thigh.

The tiniest hint of a smile came into my companion's face then, and he shook his head slowly from side to side. "I thought you looked familiar when I first met you," he began, answering my question but also apparently thinking through an issue he hadn't previously attempted to put into words. "Derek was just as cagey as you are when I first ran into him at the bus station. And, in the lab.... Well, I've never experienced anything like that, except with Derek...and you."

I wanted to pounce on the "was" he'd placed so close to my brother's name, but instead I forced myself to cover my butt and smooth over the human's final point first. Just my luck that the one time I'd slapped a compulsion onto a human, the one-body in question was both sensitive enough to notice and scientific enough to be intrigued. "In the lab?" I offered in lieu of an explanation. "I'm not sure what you mean...."

"Okay," Sebastien answered, dropping the topic far too readily for my peace of mind. "So the...tingle...or whatever...was all in my imagination. But you do look like him. The hair and the nose and something around your eyes."

You're cuter, though, my companion's scent insinuated, and I had to force myself not to respond to the attraction thrumming back to life between us. Now wasn't the time to be derailed by fickle hormones.

"Where's my brother?" I demanded instead, reminding myself that this human might have been the last person to see Derek before he went missing. Had my sibling fallen into the trap presented by the professor's kindly face and interested manner? Had he revealed too much and ended up as an unwilling test subject in a government laboratory?

As tempting as it was to blame Derek's absence on this human, though, I had a bad feeling that my brother's fate had been his own darn fault. In which case, Derek might not only be a lone wolf but also the worst of werewolf offenders--a traitor I'd be forced to kill on sight.

Shivering, I reached over to turn off the AC.

"I have no clue where Derek is," Sebastien answered, apparently oblivious to my own internal struggle as he broke into my thoughts. But even though he was finally offering information without further prodding, my wolf's ears pricked up as she returned to full alert. Because for the first time since meeting him, we could taste the distinctive odor of an acridly scented lie rolling off Sebastien's formerly enticing skin.

So the professor was part of the problem. Disillusionment bit into my skin like the pang of a torn-off band-aid, and I was too upset to feign subtlety this time around. Instead, I barely managed to keep the alpha compulsion out of my voice as I gritted out a repeat of my initial question. "Where...is...he?"

In response, the car skidded slightly as it bumped up against a curb, and a horn sounded off to our left. The intensity of our preceding conversation had prevented me from noticing that we'd exited the highway and entered the downtown area, but I guessed that we were now no more than a couple of miles from my intended destination.

That obliviousness was something I needed to fix. A warring werewolf didn't last long if she lost track of her surroundings.

My hand hovered over the door latch as rush-hour gridlock slowed the surrounding traffic--and Sebastien's car--to a crawl. I ought to step out now, I thought, and leave this human behind. Harmony's absence turned my spine ramrod stiff while the threat to Rosie's future was a spider-crawl of tension skittering across my skin. Even on two human feet, I could easily reach my sister in a few short minutes if I exited the vehicle now....

And yet...once I left his side, I'd never see Sebastien again. Because the professor was too clever for me to safely cultivate, regardless of our budding connection. He was already on track to figure out that Derek and I weren't your average one-bodies. Meanwhile, his government affiliations made any potential realization far more dangerous than it might otherwise have been.

No, this was my last opportunity to dislodge answers. So, forcing myself to sink back into the car's soft leather seats, I ignored the snail's pace of the traffic around us and instead bored my gaze into the side of Sebastien's head. "Are you really going to leave me dangling, thinking my brother may be dead?" I asked, allowing myself to sound just as young and wounded as that scenario made me feel. I wasn't a defenseless damsel...but I could play one on TV. "Please, just tell me what you know."

For one agonizing moment, I thought Sebastien might not comply. But then he turned the wheel rapidly, pulling the vehicle into the entrance of an underground parking garage. Not bothering to hunt out an empty spot, my companion merely screeched to a halt in the middle of the aisle and swiveled around in his seat so we were facing. Only a few inches of heated air now separated our eyes and skin.

"Ember, I really, honestly don't know where your brother is," Sebastien told me, his voice rich with both contrition and truth. The professor swallowed, then continued. "I can't give you an address or even a city...but I do know it's probably my fault that he ended up there."

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# Chapter 23

Humans love the dark. Being unable to look into a companion's face gives them an entirely unwarranted belief in anonymity...and Sebastien was no exception to that rule. So, like a church-goer shielded from view by the confessional, as soon as the headlights went dim my companion's story came pouring forth.

"Your brother showed up on a Greyhound bus two years ago," Sebastien told me, his voice steady in the darkness. He glanced toward me, providing an opening in which I might explain the familial mode of transportation. But I merely shook my head rather than taking the bait.

Because I couldn't tell my companion that moving vehicles were exempted from the territorial rules governing werewolves. That my brother and I had both felt safe within those metal walls while passing through land owned by other packs. Off the bus, on the other hand...I doubted a lone male shifter would have been welcomed into the heart of the Greenbriar clan with the same open-armed generosity I'd recently been granted as a pack-affiliated female.

"And you picked him up?" I asked instead, nudging Sebastien's story beyond what I suspected would be the first of many disclosures my wolf wanted to share but that my rational human brain forced us to sidestep.

Sebastien nodded in agreement, his eyes searching my face in the near darkness. Then a sigh gusted out as he accepted my evasion for what it was. "I handed your brother a business card just like the one I gave you. Told him about the candy bars and the cash. Unlike most of my subjects, Derek seemed more interested in the latter than the former."

And this I could explain...at least tangentially. "My brother lived pretty close to the poverty line," I murmured, shivering as I realized I'd joined Sebastien in referring to my sibling in the past tense.

"I don't think he's dead," the professor interjected so quickly that it almost felt as if he'd read my mind. One large, male hand stretched toward me, and I itched to accept the consolation physical contact would provide.

But, instead, I tamped down my inner wolf's urges and glanced the other way, effectively cutting my companion's offer of solace off. "Where do you think he is then?" I asked instead. Even to my ears, my voice sounded hard and cold.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then the professor answered my spoken question while ignoring the undercurrents flowing beneath. "It's complicated," Sebastien told me. "During your brother's first experimental session at the college, I felt something strange happening when Derek shut the shocks down."

My nostrils flared as I took in the scent filling the car. Discomfort, curiosity, worry. Not so different from the feelings currently running through my own body in fact.

"I was intrigued by the sensation," Sebastien continued after a moment. "So even though it wasn't really appropriate, I hired your brother under the table and let him stay on my couch for a while. He seemed to need somewhere to sleep, and my house is really too big for one person."

A good home, my wolf interjected. For a moment, I didn't understand what she was referring to. But then, abruptly, I could envision my companion's living room in all its book-lined glory.

Because Derek had called once from a place that looked less like a hostel and more like a home. Shelves and plants competed for pride of place along brightly painted walls, tweaking my inherent curiosity. And before I could think better of the question, I'd found myself asking my brother who he was crashing with.

I realized the error of my ways immediately, of course. Because my brother failed to give a straight answer to my simple question, instead setting off on an extended tangent that told me nothing except that I'd crossed an improper line. For three days after that, Derek hadn't answered my chat requests. But when he'd returned, the lapse was forgotten, my question never spoken of again. He'd even provided a PO address to send a care package to later that month--a compromise from a shifter who was unwilling to let even his sister know where he currently denned.

It had hurt to confirm how little Derek trusted me, and I now sensed that Sebastien had been equally stung by my brother's failure to confide in his pro bono house-mate. But while I could understand Sebastien's regret, there were more important matters at stake. Matters like my brother's safety and continuing existence. So, ignoring the human's bowed shoulders, I continued to nibble around the edges of Derek's unexplained absence.

"You gave my brother room and board so you could study him," I guessed. It wouldn't have been a formal experiment. No, Sebastien was far too clever for that. But if he placed Derek in situations that would tempt the latter to spill alpha compulsions then subtly monitored the results...well, what human scientist wouldn't be thrilled by the opportunity to explore such inexplicable behavior?

"I was too fascinated not to," Sebastien admitted, the scent of old books--the tell of his intellectual curiosity--once again filling the air. "But then I made the ultimate mistake."

Now we were getting to the heart of the matter. I clenched my hands together, hoping the professor would say he'd scared my brother away with a lapse much like my own verbal faux pas. But I knew that wasn't the case. Not when the scent of guilt was now so thick in the atmosphere that I almost choked on my companion's unspoken words.

"You contacted your funders," I suggested, filling the extended silence with words my companion seemed unable to spit out. "You told DARPA about this test subject that made you feel...what...all tingly inside?"

"Something like that." Sebastien laughed, but it was an embarrassed chuckle rather than any indication of true amusement. "I mentioned Derek's name in my usual monthly summary. And, the next day, your brother failed to show up for dinner. I waited a week, then had to admit the truth. My test subject had disappeared without a trace."

***

HE'S GONE.

For a long moment, I sat in stunned silence, trying to wrap my head around complete and utter failure. Because I'd been willing to leave my pack behind and fight the Greenbriar clan for permission to hunt my brother within their territory. I'd kept my options open to travel even further afield, had envisioned sniffing along Derek's trail and rambling from pack to pack if necessary until I finally tracked my little brother down.

But going up against the human government? At some point, even a wolf has to admit she's been beaten.

It's not supposed to end this way. Because Derek was my blood, dammit. I could feel the connection in my soul even if our bond couldn't be explained away using my rational human mind. Losing my only sibling before I'd so much as felt the touch of his bare hand against mine...the concept was so foreign as to be unthinkable.

Two and a half days earlier, I certainly hadn't been thinking about the possibility for failure. Instead, rolling my suitcase up to the waiting bus at dawn had felt like embarking on a brand new adventure while the butterflies in my stomach originated from excitement rather than dread. As a result, I hadn't even looked over my shoulder when dozens of pack mates called fond farewells toward my retreating back.

Now, in contrast, all I wanted was to run home to Haven with my tail between my legs. I'd hole up in my cottage, pulling the covers up over my face and pretending the outside world didn't exist. Or maybe it would feel better to pound my head against the wall until the pain outside matched the agony of losing a brother I'd come so far to meet. I was willing to leave my options open and play the mourning period by ear.

Because, either way, the end would be the same. Once my pack mates decided I'd enjoyed enough solitude to soothe the cavity in my gut, they'd come to call in ones, twos, and half dozens. I'd fix us all cups of rich hot chocolate and let tears salt the frothy drink. Eventually, my loss would be forgotten amid the scents and sights of home.

Even though I was currently located hundreds of miles outside Haven, I was still tempted to curl up inside those fond memories. To let the present and future fend for themselves while I drifted back into the rose-tinted past.

But my wolf's predatory hunger gnawed at my belly, and the increasingly adamant buzz of my phone jolted me awake. The call, my inner beast urged. Our pack.

Take it then, I countered, not quite willing to relinquish the seductive allure of an imaginary homecoming. The bus ride home would give Wolfie enough time to bake me another masterpiece, and Mom would welcome me with open arms. We'd go running in lupine form as soon as the sun set, would explore our mountainside in search of prey that put this city's measly deer and elk to shame.

This time when my wolf broke into my pity party, she didn't bother with human words. Instead, seizing control of our shared body, she pulled the buzzing phone out of our pocket with a predator's intensity and swiped the screen alight.

And for one long moment, we hung in suspended animation. I tried to tiptoe back toward my self-pitying solitude...while the wolf struggled to read a message that didn't quite make sense to her dyslexic lupine brain.

In the end, curiosity drew me in just as my inner beast had known it would. The amorphous letters my wolf was peering at so intently materialized into words before my very eyes. And the resulting message slapped me in the face with its reminder that Derek wasn't the only innocent whose safety currently hung in the balance.

Top Dog: "Dinner venue has been changed. Dress is informal. Your presence is required immediately."

And beneath the curt invitation came a familiar street number. The zoo. Could it be mere coincidence that Chief Greenbriar was summoning me to the same location in which Harmony and her daughter had recently disappeared? I somehow doubted as much.

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# Chapter 24

Immediately, I lost the final vestige of lassitude as my mind kicked back into gear. Male shifters were attacking women in Chief Greenbriar's own city. At least one of them was doing so using alpha compulsion that the male shouldn't have been strong enough to wield.

Meanwhile, the alpha's mate was well aware of the problem, as evidenced by Andrea's choice to bring my potential rapist along on our morning meet and greet. Surely what Andrea knew, her spouse knew as well...which suggested the latter was implicitly supporting what was not only an ethical lapse but also a potentially earth-shattering breach of shifter security.

I'd gotten sidetracked down a blind alley earlier trying to figure out what could prompt a strong alpha werewolf to allow such shenanigans to go on under his very nose. Chief Greenbriar was no pushover, no pack leader clinging to power by the skin of his teeth. So why look the other way when his underlings' actions threatened the shroud we'd so carefully drawn over our very existence? Why risk his entire pack--and werewolves everywhere--for the sake of a few males who could easily be barked into line?

"He didn't ignore it. He caused it." I only realized I'd spoken aloud...and walked halfway across the parking garage...when a car door slammed behind me and the human professor called after my rapidly retreating form.

"Wait! We can figure this out together. Whatever happened to your brother is my fault, and I'll do anything I have to in order to fix what I broke."

Nice thought. Sweet thought. And, at its heart, such a very human thought.

"It's too late," I called back, turning my head slightly so the words would carry...but not allowing myself to set eyes on a male who strummed at my heartstrings as if they were stretched across the barrel of a banjo. Instead, I pushed a modicum of alpha compulsion into my final response, hoping the order would stick. "Go home."

Sebastien wasn't a shifter, though, so my command didn't push him backwards with unerring gravity. Instead, footsteps continued in my wake as I tore down the ramp and out into the darkening city. The clatter of shoes on pavement dogged my heels as street lights flickered to life above both of our heads, and the sound impinged on the cheerful chatter marking the post-work rituals that were the closest human beings came to pack life.

Deep within my belly, my wolf whined her confusion. It shouldn't hurt this much to walk away from a human we barely knew. It shouldn't feel like we were ripping our heart out of our very chest when we ducked into a blind alley, clambered up onto a brick wall, and flattened ourselves atop a shadowed awning while waiting for our follower to pass unwittingly by.

Unfortunately, Sebastien was a more than adequate hunter despite lacking a lupine skin. So rather than following the false track I'd presented, the professor paused beneath my perch and stared down the empty lane toward the only sign of life--a stray cat jumping up onto the lip of a dumpster in preparation to dine. The professor might be facing in the wrong direction, but he knew when he'd lost a trail.

For a long moment after that, the human merely stood silently, pupils dilating against the deepening gloom. Then he murmured into the empty air. "Ember, please don't disappear like your brother did."

The words would have been inaudible to a human standing further than five feet from his current position. But I was a wolf, and I heard every syllable.

I heard every syllable...and I knew I couldn't respond. So, slithering up onto the nearest rooftop, I rose to my feet and padded away on silent hunters' feet.

Because Harmony and Rosie were in danger two blocks to the west. And while I'd failed my brother, I refused to let down the rest of his small but deeply important pack.

***

AS SOON AS I LEFT SEBASTIEN'S side, a sharp jolt of pain cut through my belly. And the churning grew worse rather than better as I made my way across a series of darkened rooftops, leaving the professor further and further behind.

Only when I'd descended back to street level at the midpoint of my journey did I find something more interesting than cramping to capture my attention. There, stomach troubles were quickly forgotten as rigid hairs on the back of my neck suggested I was being watched.

Spinning in a tight circle, wolf-assisted senses took in the subtle clues hanging in the evening air. The faintest aroma of shifter proved that a member of Chief Greenbriar's pack had passed this way within the last half hour, and the faintest tinge of fear coated my tongue like mud. Still, no one accosted me as I strode onward through streets that appeared completely devoid of life. Even the zoo--which rose out of the darkness as a long line of cast-iron fencing--had descended into nighttime silence.

The side gate, though, wasn't locked tight for the evening as it should have been. Instead, one half of the ten-foot-tall barrier swung in the breeze, the opening inviting me forward like the sight of a gingerbread cottage had drawn Hansel and Gretel out of the woods and into the witch's lair.

Unlike those unwitting children, I knew I was making a mistake by diving in without spending appropriate time on reconnaissance. And yet....the ache in my stomach was making it difficult to think while the faintest gasp of a baby in the distance sped my feet rather than slowing them down. If I hesitated too long and allowed harm to come to Rosie in the interim...was that really worth the safety of my own skin?

I was through the gate before I'd even made a conscious decision to continue forward. And as soon as I stepped through the gap, words came whispering in around me, encircling my skin like a confounding fog.

"Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

I shook my head to dislodge the noise, glancing up at the speakers that dotted the top of the monkey habitat off to the left. Had Chief Greenbriar tapped into the zoo's PA system? Because that was the alpha's voice layering additional tension onto the roiling of my gut.

"Find a mate," the refrain began again, growing neither softer nor louder as I padded deeper into the quiet zoo. I stalked past the reptile habitat--locked up tight--then wandered alongside sleeping giraffes and elephants.

There was still no sign of two-legged life, though. So when the pathway split, I made an educated guess and followed the most likely direction. After all, what shifter wouldn't naturally gravitate toward real live wolves?

"Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

Despite my best attempts to keep my wits about me, the compulsion to breed built as I traveled deeper into the animal habitats. First, it was just an easily ignorable hunger that reminded me of the craving for chocolate. But then I found myself salivating over an educational poster on the side of the penguin enclosure, eying a two-dimensional woman's cloth-covered curves as if she represented the most delectable croissant from a Paris cafe despite my formerly relentless heterosexuality.

I could handle the siren call of a poster--barely. But then the scent of an ovulating human slipped inside my flaring nostrils. The female had sat on this exact same bench only an hour earlier, had risen and walked out into the city alone. Perhaps if I turned west and picked up my pace, I could find the breeder before someone else took her to mate....?

Okay, this is bullshit. Sticking fingers into my ears did nothing to break the compulsion's hold, but closing my eyes and holding my nose helped a little. The obsession eased yet further when my wolf rose up to join me in guiding our shared body down the path, her simple mind keeping more complex human emotions at bay.

The compulsion is coming via the Greenbriar pack bond, I realized at last, my wolf's assistance lending me sufficient breathing room to analyze the effect rationally. Which meant Chief Greenbriar was more powerful than I'd originally imagined, his ability to compel behavior from pack mates at a distance something I'd never run into before.

Perhaps that explained the apparently civilized males driven to rape females along this city's tree-lined streets? If so, then one of those potential rapists might have been given leave to wield his alpha's power in the process, the pack leader's compulsion being sufficient to freeze my feet in place when the male in question shouldn't have been powerful enough to even stare me down.

I shivered, wondering what would lie at the epicenter of these insidious commands. Because if a female like me with no interest in members of the same sex was being so easily manipulated by the alpha's compulsion, then what chance did male members of his own clan have against the endlessly repeated refrain?

"Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

Once again, my skin itched with the urge to obey. My hands dropped back to my sides in an attempt to speed my walking...and then, above the deep rumble of Chief Greenbriar's voice, came the thready wail of a fussy child.

My niece.

Forgetting both caution and compulsion, I changed trajectory so Rosie's voice guided me forward. Then I let the wolf have her head as our human feet broke into a run.

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# Chapter 25

"There she is, the guest of the hour."

Chief Greenbriar was dressed every bit as formally as he had been the evening before, and the tux he wore should have looked out of place along the dusty paths of the overpopulated wolf habitat. But, instead, I almost imagined the animals had invited him over for dinner and were even now whipping up a feast within their shadowed cavern...rather than cowering in the far corner hoping to escape from a predator twice as dangerous as themselves.

"Alpha," I acknowledged, advancing slowly so I had time to scan the surroundings in search of the child who had initially drawn me in. At first, I couldn't find her. But then Harmony's arm twitched and I caught sight of mother and daughter huddled together beneath a spreading maple tree at the edge of the enclosure.

I heaved a sigh of relief...then sucked the same recently exhaled breath right back in. Because what I'd taken for a tussock of browned grasses at the humans' feet now turned its head toward me, eyes glowing forth above a slender snout. Harmony and Rosie hadn't chosen the tree as a safe harbor in a dangerous storm. Instead, they were being herded and guarded by a territorial wolf.

Or rather, a territorial werewolf. Because the unmistakable aroma of shifter emanated not just from Chief Greenbriar, but from his lackey as well.

And while the realization that this beast was governed by human emotions might otherwise have calmed my nerves, the alpha's compulsion was still reverberating within my own skull. Sure enough, the wolf's teeth were bared and his gaze was intent upon the thin-skinned innocents who huddled so close to his pointed fangs. Whether or not the male's human intellect was awake and active behind those shadowed eyes, the animal could be summed up in a single word--dangerous.

For their parts, Harmony and Rosie were terrified. Human fear spread across the enclosure like a suffocating smog, and it was all I could do to prevent my wolf from carrying me directly to my family members' aid. Instead, I walked up to the fence line separating me from both alpha and hostages and tried to act casual as I leaned against its metal railing.

"You asked me to come and I came. Now I'd appreciate it if you released these humans into my care."

Harmony's already stuttering breathing caught in response to my speech and I winced, realizing what I'd said. Unfortunately, my sister-in-law was no dummy. She'd been herded here by humans, wolves, or some subset of both...and in the process she must have discovered the existence of monsters that sometimes wore humanity's skin. My words had just lumped me in with the monsters instead of the humans. I somehow doubted Harmony would willingly parole herself into my care any time soon.

Not that my sister's release appeared immediately imminent. "You know the law," Chief Greenbriar answered, breaking through my regret like a hot knife through cold butter. "These humans have become privy to information they shouldn't have ever known. As such, their fate is predetermined. But that's not why we're here...."

Once again, the refrain from earlier rose up through my thoughts. "Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

And as I strained against the mental intrusion, I caught the faintest flicker of movement along the path from whence I'd come. Barely managing to keep Harmony and Chief Greenbriar in view at the same time, I swiveled to look behind me...and caught sight of two shifters stumbling out of the shadows that lined the concrete path.

Aaron came first, back ramrod-stiff as he fought his father's compulsion and nearly stumbled over his own feet in the process. I apparently wasn't the only one whose head was filled with sexual orders, either. Because as soon as the male took in my existence, his eyes lit up and his mouth dropped open while drool began sliding down the side of his slackening face.

Charming.

Meanwhile, Roger slunk out of the darkness with more attentiveness to his current surroundings. This second male's jaw was clenched, and he reached one hand toward his significant other before shaking his head and allowing the arm in question to fall back against his side.

And as Roger advanced yet further into the light, I realized the reason for his hesitation. Because one eye was ringed with purple bruising while a cut leaked blood at the corner of his brow. The two had struggled already, I gathered, probably initially against Chief Greenbriar's orders then later--once Aaron fell under his father's sway--amongst themselves.

In the end, though, alpha compulsion had won out over the restraint of a lover. So Roger had found no solution save trailing along in his partner's wake. He, like I, had been drawn here in an effort to save someone he held dear, and he, like I, now waited impotently to see what the pack leader had in mind.

"Son, welcome," Chief Greenbriar greeted Aaron, either ignoring or failing to notice the other recently arrived werewolf. Now that his offspring was present, in fact, the older male stepped down from the mound he'd used to elevate himself above the fray, striding forward and unlatching the enclosure's gate before extending one arm toward the entrance as if to usher us all inside. "I've selected two fine specimens for you to choose from," he told his son proudly. "Tonight will be a very special night."

Whatever his personal feelings on the matter, Aaron had no choice but to obey. Jerky movements suggested the heir apparent was fighting against his alpha, but legs carried him forward through the open gate anyway.

For his part, Chief Greenbriar led his son back into the wolf habitat without concern for the two other shifters--Roger and myself--who could easily have leapt upon his unprotected back. We all knew who had the upper hand here and who was no more than an audience for the upcoming charade.

"Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

For a split second, Roger and I united in our joint rejection of the stifling command. Our eyes met across the intervening space, and I thought the male might try something profoundly stupid. How easy would it be to end the craziness by spilling Chief Greenbriar's blood across the grass?

But we weren't wolves. We were people. And, after a split second, my companion's lips pursed as he turned to trail along in his lover's wake.

Which left me alone on the other side of the heavy metal gate. Steeling my courage, I followed my companions into the jaws of Chief Greenbriar's waiting trap.

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# Chapter 26

Rosie caught sight of me as soon as I passed beneath the half-strength lamp at the entrance to the enclosure. "Kak, kak, kak," the toddler crowed, hands waving wildly as she abruptly lost interest in the menacing wolf at her mother's feet. Apparently, Auntie Cake was more interesting than a predator who could have swallowed one of the child's limbs in a single gulp.

For her part, Harmony met my gaze steadily despite my recent verbal lapse. Protect my child, she as good as said into the intervening air, dark eyes flashing with the fervor of a desperate mother. And my feet obeyed the silent plea, thrusting me forward across the uneven ground in an ill-fated attempt to protect my blood.

Chief Greenbriar, on the other hand, offered no leeway for me to complete my mission. "Ember, join us," he ordered, the overt command turning me away from my original trajectory until I was being pulled up onto the knoll the alpha and his son had so recently ascended. Now Roger was the only one lagging behind in the enclosure's shadows, and I held out little hope that the male in question would make a move to protect my family when his gaze remained firmly fixed on the younger male by my own side.

Stage set to his satisfaction, Chief Greenbriar dismissed non-relatives as beneath his concern and turned his attention fully upon his only son. "This is the spot where your mother and I pledged our troth," the older male began, gracing Aaron with a toothy grin that struck me as more than a little unhinged.

Then the alpha's tone turned honey sweet as he reminisced about events that had occurred before the rest of us were even born. "Andrea and I mated in the wolf pen," the alpha murmured, "to prove that our wolves would always be at the forefront of our partnership." He paused, stared up at the stars, then closed his eyes dreamily. "And that choice has served our clan well. We've led this pack for thirty long years, and never once has an enemy breeched our borders."

Chief Greenbriar is living in a dream world, I realized, tensing as I imagined using the alpha's distraction to assist in my escape. But before I could begin prying my feet out of the compulsion that held them stickily in place, the older male's eyes cleared and he leaned toward his son once more.

"Soon," Chief Greenbriar continued, the snarl of a wolf returning to his tone, "it will be your turn to make the sacrifices necessary to guide our people into the future. It's time for you to make the proper choice and decide for the good of our pack."

Then beneath the male's audible words, that familiar refrain rose in volume, circling again through my aching head. "Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

Both words and yearning were the same ones that had pushed against my skin ever since I entered the zoological park. But now they impacted me differently. After all, for the first time since becoming affected by Chief Greenbriar's compulsion, there was a living female present for the urge to latch onto. And I found myself craving Harmony's touch with every fiber of my being.

The intensity of the pressure, in fact, twisted my body around to face my sister even as feet that had been ordered to stay put brought me up short. A grunt from Aaron suggested the alpha's son had slammed up against a similar obstacle. Unfortunately, no such impediment stood between Roger and his goal.

I tried and failed to yell a warning. But Harmony had no eyes for the male who had attacked her two nights earlier and who now lunged forward with lupine grace but on flat human feet. Instead, her face paled as her own guard broke with shifter law and sentenced my sister to death by surging upward into the form of a man.

"An appropriate female mate," the guard growled, his words seeming to emanate from the body of the wolf he'd recently left behind. Then, batting Rosie's questing hands aside, hard fingers closed around Harmony's quivering arm.

"Mine," the male intoned, his final word dripping with lust.

***

I WATCHED IN HORROR, my muscles unwilling to even strain now and my lungs forgetting to breathe. There was nothing I could do to stop the depredations about to occur. Nothing except watch in horror as the wave that had carried us all toward Harmony broke over each of our heads.

Overwhelming pressure stifled our collective breathing for one split second. I was not only unable to move, I could almost feel my bones melting inside my skin as my vision hazed out. Only my wolf's steadfast presence held me erect....

Then the pressure was retreating back into the distance from which it had come. The tension in my muscles eased. Harmony's guard remembered his humanity and turned aside to block his prisoner's scent from flaring nostrils. And as quickly as it had come, the danger dissipated into thin air.

Unfortunately, the alpha's secondary compulsion took advantage of my momentary relaxation to slap me back into line. Legs and torso twisted unbidden until only eyes maintained contact with Harmony. Then even that connection faded until my sister and niece were once more invisible behind my rigid back.

And now, at last, my attention returned to the closer tableau that resembled nothing so much as a human wedding ceremony. Chief Greenbriar was the officiant, elevated atop a rock that generations of wolf feet had worn smooth. On his left side, Aaron--rumpled clothing, angry eyes, and all--was obviously the groom.

And despite my own sugar-streaked attire, there was only one conclusion I could make about my part in the upcoming farce. I wasn't the wedding-cake baker or the caterer--my preferred roles at such an event. Instead, my stance mirrored Aaron's, my location making my own part disappointingly obvious.

I was the bride.

Chief Greenbriar had even wrangled a sufficient audience to make our mating official from a human point of view. Roger and the unnamed shifter stood close enough to see but too far away to take part--witnesses. And behind their backs, I caught the first glimpse of moonlit eyes as wild wolves crept out of their cavern to form a ring around us, providing the additional spectators that Chief Greenbriar clearly craved.

The beasts hovering in the shadows lacked humanity and boasted long teeth and nails. But they weren't the reason my heart pounded and my breath drew short. Instead, I found myself running through every possible escape route in an effort to avoid the upcoming ceremony...and coming up short.

There was no way out. A few short words were all that would be required to bind me to a mate and a pack I had no intention of calling my own. Words that Chief Greenbriar could easily coerce into existence. Words that then couldn't be truly broken until my own death.

"Find a mate," the silent voice whispered beneath my increasingly scattered thoughts. "Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

Then--mood set--Chief Greenbriar pierced me with a pack leader's relentless gaze before returning his attention to his only son. "The moon is full," the alpha said ceremoniously into the air between us, "and the night is young. Soon we'll run. But first, the mating ritual must be complete."

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# Chapter 27

To my surprise, Aaron was the one who jumped into this opening with his first real offensive move to date. "Dad, you don't want to do this...." the younger male began, hands clenching into fists as he fought the compulsion that held us all in place.

Down in the long grasses below, Roger's eyes locked with those of his lover. And for a moment, I thought Aaron might be able to utilize his partner's strength to break free of his father's commands. After all, there was fortitude in blueberries, Roger's chosen dessert. Maybe that same tenacity would be enough to wiggle Aaron out from under the alpha's thumb....

But even that thread of possibility snapped as Chief Greenbriar's intention alone silenced his errant son's complaints. "You're wrong," Chief Greenbriar countered. "This is exactly what I want to do."

Then the older male's heavy hands whipped out, pressing me and Aaron together until our shoulders touched. "I've waited long enough for my son to do his duty," the older man intoned. "This clan craves a crown princess and a new heir on the way. It's time and past time for you to put childish yearnings aside and to choose your mate for the sake of the pack."

Meanwhile, the alpha's unspoken words continued to whirl through the air between us. "Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

This time, though, the words slunk beneath the thin armor presented by my Haven mantle and sunk their teeth into my unprotected skin. I realized a moment too late that my white-knuckled grip on familial protection had slipped. And now Chief Greenbriar's compulsion took advantage of that lapse to seep into my veins and run through my body like blood.

A mate, I thought, head cocked. I need a mate.

Meanwhile, Aaron's gaze latched onto mine as he also gave up the struggle. The heir apparent had tried to force his father to see reason, had tried to use Roger's bond to fight against the older male's instructions. But, in the end, neither defense turned out to be enough. Aaron had surrendered to the inevitable...and so, at last, had I.

"Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

My intended reached out across the small space that divided us, taking my unresisting hand into his own. He was virile, I noticed now. Strong and handsome. Our blood would merge well together, creating offspring capable of leading the Greenbriar pack into a brighter future. Widening my mouth, I smiled at the vision of family soon to come.

But my mate didn't speak. Instead, he cocked his head and waited for me to make my move. "Tradition," Aaron whispered after a long pause, reminding me that the female werewolf was the one to initiate the mating pledge.

And Chief Greenbriar--despite having used compulsions to enforce our arrival--observed the proprieties as well. The alpha waited silently for the better part of a minute, night turning darker around us as I opened my mouth in preparation for the requisite words to emerge.

Only my tongue refused to twist into sound. My vocal cords remained resolutely silent. I no longer remembered why I was resisting. Couldn't recall any reason not to bond myself permanently to this prime specimen of manhood who stood with head cocked waiting for me to make the first move.

Still, something told me to wait. Something told me I needed to touch base with my family before I made this unalterable choice. So I strained with every fiber of my being to find the tether connecting me to my home pack. I could do this, I knew...even though the Haven thread was currently so deeply hidden that it might as well have snapped and dissipated into thin air.

Nonetheless, I trusted that my pack's joint strength was somewhere out there waiting to be tapped, waiting to remind me why I wasn't yet ready to embrace my Greenbriar future. And for a second, I thought I'd found the safety net my family represented. I smelled Wolfie's distinctive aroma of pine needles and leaf mold, and I reached out with incorporeal fingers to snag the connection...

...only to have the tether slip through my fingers as Chief Greenbriar's patience abruptly ran thin. "Ember, choose your mate," the older male commanded me, his compulsion so strong it nearly sent me tumbling to my knees.

My ears began to ring as I lost track of what I was trying to do. Didn't I want a mate? Wasn't there an appropriate male ready and willing and only eighteen inches away from my nose?

Like Aaron, I was now past the point of no return. Past the point of railing at the fates or scheming for a way around my apparent future.

Instead, I opened my mouth. And I chose the partner who would determine my clan, my future, and my happiness for the rest of my natural-born life.

***

"MY MATE..." I GULPED then licked my lips as further words failed to materialize. Two feet away, Aaron's blueberry eyes bored into my own and the thready growl of a werewolf's complaint rose from the heir apparent's partner as Roger padded two steps closer to our elevated mound.

Meanwhile, the wild wolves moved in tighter as well. There were at least a dozen animals present, and their scents suggested each one was half crazed from domesticity. But despite the imminent danger, a single huff of breath from the Greenbriar alpha returned shifter and animal attention alike to the task at hand.

"Ember," Chief Greenbriar prompted, not bothering to raise his voice or fully reiterate his command this time. After all, he didn't need to. The previous words hung heavy in the air between us, my skin attempting to peel away from the underlying bones as I used every tactic I could think of to delay...and failed.

"My mate," I began again, closing my eyes to block out the sight of the darkened zoo. And, to my surprise, the evasive maneuver worked. Because the darkness beneath my lids wasn't entirely black this time around. Instead, thin threads of light popped into existence, most so tenuous as to be nearly invisible but two brightening by the moment as Haven pack mates managed to bridge the gap that stood between us.

The bond was too weak to protect me from Chief Greenbriar's overt compulsion, but the connection was just enough to kick my faltering brain back into gear. In response, I grabbed the literal breathing room with both hands and sucked in the reluctant scent of my intended, the anger of his true partner, Rosie's chubby toddler sweetness, and the faintest hint of Harmony's floral shampoo.

I can't mate with Aaron. Reality washed over me like a cup of scalding coffee, and with it came the understanding that I needed to act fast. Because at any minute, the Greenbriar pack leader would break with tradition and force his son to make the first move...in which case I'd be even more stuck than I already was.

After all, if the stories I'd heard were true, then the only thing worse than a mate bond built like a bridge between two disinterested parties was half of a mate bond. The tether would slap in every breeze, dragging us to and fro against our will. I'd turn my head...and accidentally force Aaron to walk into traffic. He'd scratch his nose...and my own finger would poke me in the eye.

The reality of my current situation felt like a car-sized cast-iron skillet balanced atop my head. I needed to make a decision immediately. Either accept the inevitable and mate with this male or somehow close off that possibility before Aaron could begin to speak.

Which means, I realized even as my mouth gaped open against my will, that I need to choose a different mate.

The flash of brilliance blinded me...then revealed, in its afterglow, an avalanche of fatal flaws. If anyone in my home pack had possessed even an iota of possibility as mate material, I would have dragged the unfortunate werewolf to the altar long since. There simply wasn't any mate beyond Aaron on the metaphorical table.

Wrong, my wolf whispered. Easy, she told me. Just look.

But look where? I'd searched for mates for the better part of the last decade. I'd hunted high and low and found nothing...within the bounds of Haven, at least.

Because my cousins, despite our lack of shared blood, were far too family-like to become mates. Instead, I'd dated a few drifters. But it had been easy to let those go once they wandered beyond Haven's borders. None was worth a second glance.

Beneath my skin, my wolf growled out wordless lupine exasperation. Until now, she'd been hanging back, attempting to understand the muddle of human maneuvering that had washed around us. But mate she understood. Mate was a concept she could sink her teeth into.

Allow me, the beast said with the lupine equivalent of steely politeness as she pushed me gently yet forcibly out of the way. Then, moving my tongue without permission, my animal half spoke words I somehow knew in my heart to be true.

"My mate," she said--we said-- "now and forever...my mate is Sebastien Carter, human professor and holder of my heart."

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# Chapter 28

The nagging pain that had followed me ever since leaving the professor's side disappeared in an instant...and in its place a tearing agony of loss forced a cry from my lips. The sensation was akin to losing a leg to a shark or ripping out my own entrails with jagged fingernails...except, I'd have to say my current agony was far, far worse.

In response, I glanced down, half expecting to find blood squirting out of my femoral artery as the ground rose up to meet my face. But I was still standing erect and the night-darkened grasses appeared just as dry and unsullied as ever beneath my feet. No, this desperate ache hadn't resulted from a physical injury that I'd been so oblivious as to miss.

On the other hand, the summer air had turned so cold against my skin that I could barely prevent chattering teeth from taking off my tongue. My head swam as the moon abruptly transitioned into two moons within the evening sky. And I breathed too quickly, oxygen supersaturating my blood as my wolf clued me in to what had been lost.

The Haven bond. Our pack. They're gone.

My inner animal's reminder was silent...and even so, the words slurred as if she could barely force her thoughts to coalesce into linear form. Not wanting to believe, I squeezed my eyes further shut and reached into the darkness of my mind with ephemeral fingers. The pack tethers had always been there, just out of sight. I couldn't believe the seemingly ironclad bonds could ever disappear entirely.

First and foremost, my link to Wolfie--father, alpha, and cupcake-decorator extraordinaire--should have been so thick and strong it wrapped itself around my wrist like a friendly boa constrictor. And beyond that familiar foundation, there would be other connections present as well, dozens of life forces interwoven into a rope so strong it never let me drop to the cold, hard ground.

But my grasping hands found nothing. Just emptiness, darkness, and a cold that seemed to permeate my very soul.

Which begged the question--without those invisible threads, without my family...did I even truly exist?

I tried to rein in my terror, to remind myself that I'd known this would happen from the get-go. Rationally, I'd understood that whoever I mated with would determine which pack I eventually called my own.

If I mated with Aaron, I'd become a Greenbriar. The obvious corollary, though, was far less palatable now that it had become a reality. If mating with a pack wolf would draw me into his clan, then mating with packless Sebastien left me attached to...well...nothing, I guessed.

I shivered, trying to find another answer beyond the one that currently stared me in the face. No matter what I'd thought would happen, I hadn't expected the transition to be so quick. So sharp. So final.

Squaring my jaw, I tried to force my scattered thoughts back onto the task at hand. The connection couldn't have disappeared completely, I decided. So, with wolf-like attention to detail, I hunted for any bond at all. The Greenbriar mantle--borrowed and soon to be cast off--would be sufficient to buoy me up until I worked this minor problem out. I'd draw against that alpha's power and soothe my shattered soul...then I'd find a way to rebuild what had been so recently left behind.

Because I couldn't afford to lose my family. I refused to break ties with mother and father and cousins and uncles and aunts who meant more to me than life itself.

There was no way I could extricate myself when I knew each family member's favorite flavors and colors, their foibles and strengths. My calendar included every birth date along with which nights each pack mate might need a friendly shoulder to lean on. And, in return, my closest companions knew the exact same facts about me.

I just have to search a little harder. A one-way mating bond probably acts like the borrowed Greenbriar mantle--hiding what's still there underneath. Mating to Sebastien won't have cut off the connection entirely. It will have just driven my basic connections deeper so they're harder to find.

But I knew even as I formed the words inside my mind that they were, each and every one, desperate lies. Because there was nothing inside me to be found. No borrowed weight like the one that had sat lightly upon my shoulders for the last two days, no iron-clad connection attaching me to the Haven pack within which I'd grown from pup to adult. Instead, searching fingertips found only one lax thread leading out from my soul...a thread that gave way beneath my tugging as if the knot on the other end had never been fully tied.

And as I pulled against the slack, I opened my eyes and saw not the zoo but the inside of Sebastien's vehicle. Around me--around him--the fancy sports car was illuminated only by the glow of buttons and dials. Meanwhile, the professor's emotions hung heavy in the air, a fog of exhaustion and disappointment combined with the barest sliver of niggling guilt.

For a moment, I relaxed into my mate's imagined proximity. Then, far too quickly, he sensed me there, hovering behind his eyeballs.

In response, our shared head cocked to one side as Sebastien's voice filled the small space. "Ember?" he asked into the night.

My mate felt me...but he was also entirely human and had no idea how to complete a mating ritual even when the unattached tether was slapping him in the face. Plus, who said the professor would bond with me even if he was able? We'd barely spent two hours in each others' company during a similar number of days and had never heard of the other before that. It would have been crazy to consider forming a partnership on such short acquaintance when a true mating bond lingered for the rest of a being's life.

It would have been crazy...unless the decision was the last gasp of a desperate werewolf who didn't want to harm anyone except herself.

Then our shared eyes blinked and my connection to Sebastien was broken. In my belly, my wolf circled uncomfortably, whining at the absence of our mate. Meanwhile, down by my hip, the adamant chime of a cell phone demanded my immediate attention.

***

RELUCTANTLY, I OPENED my eyes and reached for the phone. Because even though I could no longer feel the current caller attached to my very soul, I could guess who this would be--Dad. The shattered pack bond would have forced my father to jump to an entirely warranted--if thankfully incorrect--conclusion. No way would I punish Wolfie by making him think that his only daughter had left the Haven clan the most likely way...by growing stone, cold dead.

Unfortunately, wrangling the cell phone out of my pocket was easier said than done. My breath came in gasps, I wasn't so sure I could speak, and I was absolutely certain I needed to be somewhere else. My skin prickled with the urge to run toward my absent mate even as my rational brain reminded me that a very angry alpha hovered inches away from my unprotected neck.

Oh yeah--and then there was that unnamed shifter who held similar control over my sister and niece. Plus wild wolves inching closer by the moment. Details, details.

Despite the danger swirling through the air around us, I refused to be responsible for Wolfie's rampage if I failed to accept his call. So I forced fingers to behave long enough to answer, then I pressed the cool plastic against my ear as I attempted to turn pained grunts into actual words.

"I can't talk now, Dad. But I'm alive," I told him quickly. Then, duty done, I ended the call and gazed at last upon the alpha whose growl had formed a counterpoint to the flurry of terrified questions running through my own mind.

"You made the wrong choice," the alpha in question rumbled. But he didn't pounce. Instead, he punished me in a way far worse than ripping the still-beating heart out of my heaving chest. "Bring the backup female closer," he called over one shoulder, not bothering to imbue the words with any alpha power.

Within seconds, Harmony was standing at the foot of the hill peering up at us, she and her daughter both leaning away from the naked shifter who'd threatened them in the recent past. For his part, the male relegated his hands to the non-erogenous zone of Harmony's hunched shoulders although his eyes remained avariciously trained upon my sister's fabric-covered breasts.

Rather than remarking upon the scent of inappropriate lust filling the air, Chief Greenbriar turned once more toward his son. And this time he failed to give Aaron any leeway, instead spitting out a stark alpha command. "Aaron, it's time for you to stop stalling and to choose your mate."

Energy filled the air as the compulsion took hold. But my wolf hummed her approval as she realized what had gone unnoticed by our puppet master--that, this time around, the Greenbriar alpha had seriously missed his mark.

Maybe the pack leader expected his previous compulsion to keep "female" and "appropriate" and "pups" at the forefront of his offspring's mind. Or maybe, somewhere deep down inside his subconscious, the alpha just wanted his son to be happy. Whatever the reason, I saw the moment Aaron noticed the lapse, saw the spark of joy filling the younger male's eyes as he opened his mouth and hurried through a choice that, in a perfect world, shouldn't have been rushed.

"My mate," Aaron said, his words both loud and joyful as they rang through the dark night air, "is Roger Jones."

Then, out of the shadows, another male mimicked his partner's words, nearly stumbling over his consonants in his haste to beat Chief Greenbriar to the punch. "And my mate is Aaron Greenbriar. I claim you now and forever, Aaron, as the only partner of my heart."

Just like that, the air filled with the scent of roses as the duo's mate bond clicked firmly into place. It was done. Aaron and I were both mated...only not to each other.

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# Chapter 29

The aftermath was beautiful. The newly-formed tether materialized so strongly as to be nearly visible, its breathless perfection filling the void in my own gut for one split second...before leaving me even emptier than before.

And in response to that cavern of need, my inner wolf stole my volition and pushed us away from the wedding mound in search of our own mate. Or at least she tried to. But despite strained muscles, our feet remained just as firmly planted as they had been five minutes earlier...

...until, that is, the compulsion freezing us in place shattered so quickly I nearly fell forward onto my face. Meanwhile, a female voice rang out from the still-open gateway at the edge of the enclosure. "You didn't invite me to my own son's wedding?" Andrea demanded, stepping out of the shadows in a sequin-studded evening gown that looked like it had been made to reflect the moonlight.

And maybe the outfit had. Because the region's second-in-command possessed a flare for the dramatic, one she was currently putting to very good use. The sweetness of honeysuckle whirled around me so strongly that I was certain Andrea had supplemented her signature aroma by chemical means, and the click of heels against concrete drew every eye in her direction as she stalked toward us as slowly as any hunter.

Meanwhile, the wolves encircling the mound began to pull back one by one, padding over to sniff at the newcomer's legs and hands. In Andrea's shoes, I would have been daunted by the proximity of wild teeth and claws--after all, most werewolves had no particular ability to communicate with beasts. But Andrea allowed and even encouraged their familiarity, trailing her fingertips along one animal's spine before turning to glare in her mate's direction.

"You harmed our son. You harmed our pack. You are the rot at the Greenbriar core," she intoned coldly.

And as much as I would have liked to stay and watch Chief Greenbriar receive his comeuppance, I had more important matters on my mind. So, backing away from the nearly visible anger that flowed between the mated pair, I slipped down the opposite side of the mound and padded over to my sister.

"This one is mine," I murmured, meeting the guard's eyes with the full force of my inner wolf. And while the male in question would have fought against my forwardness at any other moment, the electricity sparking between the pack's first- and second-in-command froze the other shifter relentlessly in place. Due to his pack connections, he was unable to so much as growl a retort.

I, on the other hand, wasn't currently hindered by the Greenbriar mantle...or any other sort of one. So ignoring the sharp pain shooting through my gut, I took advantage of my own broken pack bonds to drag Harmony away from her befuddled guard.

"Kak, kak, kak!" Rosie chanted, grabbing hold of my hair and pulling painfully as soon as I came within reach. The tears in my eyes, however, were more closely allied to joy than to discomfort. Because merely standing alongside relatives eased the pain in my stomach ever so slightly and reminded me that--pack bond or no pack bond--I wasn't entirely alone.

Andrea and her mate, on the other hand, were becoming more alone by the moment. Shifters couldn't divorce in the human sense. Instead, if they ever chose to sever their mating bond, the resulting discomfort was akin to that catalyzed by an alpha compulsion...only with the effects multiplied by a thousand and lasting for a lifetime.

Despite the agonizing consequences, Andrea had so chosen. Even from my current distance, I could feel the Greenbriar bond ripping apart, the sensation so powerful that secondhand spillover was nearly enough to send me to my knees. Wincing, I struggled to keep my stomach contents inside me where they belonged even as I drew Harmony toward the open gate as quickly as possible.

And I wasn't the only one affected. "Mom, don't!" Aaron began, his voice strangled as if his tongue was fighting against a mouthful of toffee.

For a split second, the sensation of being torn asunder eased ever so slightly, allowing us all to breathe. Then: "Aaron, Roger, Edgar, go," the female intoned, putting enough force behind her words to send the remaining members of her pack scurrying toward the looming gate. Following their lead, I met my sister's questioning gaze with a shrug then picked up my heels to accelerate our own retreat.

Because, behind our backs, the growl and shuffle of angry wolves was growing louder by the second. And the air once again filled with an emotion so intense it made my ears pop.

"You've turned into a wolf, so it's only appropriate that I throw you to the wolves," Andrea murmured to her mate. Or perhaps I should say to her ex-mate. Because the female's most intrinsic bond was gone, and I could only imagine the pain that must be tearing through her body at the loss of her other half.

There was only one way to ease that shooting pain, and Andrea was blood-thirsty enough to take it. I half expected Chief Greenbriar to fight back. But instead, there was only a single pained grunt as the first wild animal struck. Then the scent of blood followed us all the way to the gate.

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# Chapter 30

We'd escaped the worst of the preceding danger virtually unscathed. And yet...the instant Harmony, Rosie, and I burst through the zoo's gates to find my parents' car waiting at the curb, tears started leaking from my stinging eyes.

Terra and Wolfie had come for me. Despite my insistence that I needed no help. Despite the danger involved in invading another alpha's territory. Despite the broken pack bond that meant I was no longer a Haven wolf. All of those reasons aside, my parents had tracked me down and now waited patiently to pick up the pieces.

Well, not so patiently. Mom was the one behind the steering wheel--a seriously good thing for everyone's sake since letting Wolfie drive was tantamount to assisting in vehicular homicide. Which meant Dad was closer to me, his hand pushing the passenger-side door open the instant I emerged from the shadows at the entrance of the zoo.

"No!" I called, eyes drying as I realized we weren't out of danger quite yet. Because whoever won the Greenbriar power struggle tonight, I had a sinking suspicion the new alpha would be sniffing this pavement first thing in the morning, seeking any sign that Wolfie had broken pack law by setting foot outside the neutral territory of his car.

Luckily, Wolfie's feet halted just before they touched down on open pavement....although the male continued to menace all and sundry with a thready growl. For her part, Mom's hand landed on her mate's shoulder in an attempt to placate him, but she clearly wasn't confident of her own abilities to restrain my father's over-protective streak. Instead, Terra jerked her chin and widened her eyes at me from behind her mate's back. "Get over here before your dad blows a blood vessel," she commanded even as her eyes said "Welcome! I love you! Thank goodness my daughter is safe!"

Obeying her request as quickly as possible, I released Harmony's hand and hastened to Wolfie's side. "Dad, calm down," I said placatingly as I sprinted forward.

Even as I spoke, though, I knew my words would do little good. What Wolfie really needed--and what I gave him as soon as I was close enough to touch--was the sensation of my palm sliding across his stubbled cheek, my warm skin proof that I wasn't a ghost. "I'm alive, I'm okay, and I appreciate the help," I murmured into Wolfie's waiting ear.

I was alive, but even as I made a move to open the back door of the car, I doubled over in agony. "Kak?" Rosie called in concern, then Harmony's warm hand slipped around my waist in an effort to pull me back erect.

The human's willingness to come in contact with someone who'd recently admitted to being a werewolf was surprising. But even more surprising was the way my own gut-wrenching agony eased ever so slightly beneath my sister's touch.

Unfortunately, lack of pain allowed my brain to kick back into gear once again. And as it did so, I realized that I wouldn't be able to flee in my father's car. Not without Sebastien, not tonight, and possibly not never.

Because the mate bond I'd offered to an unsuspecting human was still very much in play. From the feel of things, I might be able to stretch our tether far enough to hit the other side of downtown, but that was about it. Despite the fact that the professor considered me no more than an interesting test subject, I was apparently stuck traveling no further than a few short miles from my life partner's home base for the foreseeable future.

And as my eyes rose to meet my father's, I could tell that Wolfie already understood that I wouldn't be able to rejoin the family in Haven today. He understood...and the pain of our separation was the reason Wolfie had descended into his instinctive animal brain even as he remained solidly situated within his human skin.

"Can you take Harmony and her family back to Haven to keep them safe?" I whispered through a swollen throat that threatened my ability to speak. Across the pavement, my gaze met that of my sister, and this time Harmony bowed to a necessity she'd rejected just the day before.

"Just let me text my mother," the other female said quietly in response to a question I hadn't even voiced aloud.

And, for a moment, I couldn't help but smile. The Garcia matriarch wouldn't be happy about being asked to den with werewolves. I could almost see the old woman stomping around the family's small apartment, packing bare necessities and preparing to meet her daughter and granddaughter in time to make their grand escape.

A grand escape that required the support of my parents, of course. Parents I'd left seriously out of the loop. So perhaps my sister wasn't out of the woods quite yet....

***

TURNING BACK AROUND to face Terra and Wolfie, I realized that these bedrock foundations of my existence didn't even know who Harmony was, didn't have a clue that my brother had fathered a pup whose mother was unaware of shifters' existence until earlier this evening. The details of that particular soap opera would take hours to properly tease out. But as I opened my mouth to provide the cliff-notes version, my father's humanity glowed back to life behind glittering eyes.

"Your pack is our pack," Wolfie promised, reaching behind him to push open the back door and make a place for guests within the cluttered back seats.

"We'll stop for a car seat along the way," Terra added, stretching out to take my sister's hand in both of her own. Female eyes met, questioned, matched. And, just like that, my sister and niece were folded into the Haven clan.

I, on the other hand, found my feet growing colder by the second as my former buffers against packlessness--Harmony and Rosie--were encircled by my parents' love. I swallowed with some difficulty, then forced myself to meet Dad's eyes at last. "I'm not sure when I'll be able to come home..." I started.

But Wolfie didn't allow me to say words that would only break both of our hearts. Instead, he rifled around in the debris at his feet, then came up with a cardboard box that he handed over as proudly as if he was offering a crown to a new monarch. The courtliness was strange given words on the exterior proving that the container had begun life enclosing a takeout burger. Still, a sniff test promised sweeter contents inside.

I cracked the lid then tears began leaking from my eyes yet again as I realized Dad had made me another cupcake. Somehow, in the midst of driving hundreds of miles north, waiting for phone calls that never came, and hacking into a cell phone's GPS data to determine my current location, Wolfie had carved out sufficient time and space to bake fatherly love into a treat to be delivered by his endlessly affectionate hands.

"You two are such softies," Mom said from the other side of the center console. She reached across, wiping away my tears with the pad of one thumb, then smiled fondly as she elaborated. "You should have seen your father in that hotel-room kitchen. Every time the bond went wonky, your dad threw flour at the ceiling or clawed up the counter. We had to pay extra for damages when we checked out."

And, just as Terra had intended, the image of my half-wild werewolf-baker father was enough to dry my eyes and bring me back down to planet earth. Meanwhile, Dad had gathered his own composure more closely about him before pressing his larger palms around mine--one atop the box and the other beneath my extended hand.

"Bond or no bond, you're welcome at home whenever you choose to come," Wolfie told me as the heat from his touch refilled a tiny portion of the gaping hole that had dug itself into my belly earlier in the evening. "In the meantime, eat this cupcake when you need a boost. And let me know when you land somewhere safe and sound."

"I will," I promised, agreeing to everything even though I had no idea where I would spend the night or even whether I would ever be safe again.

Then Harmony's cell phone rang and the sound of irate Spanish filled the evening air. Rosie exploded into another round of "Kak, kak, kak!" And Harmony attempted to soothe both the older and the younger generations while gazing upon my parents with hooded eyes. Despite her earlier agreement, I could tell my sister wasn't quite convinced that her best way forward was to enter a car full of strangers with her daughter on her hip.

"Later, Mama," my sister said at last, clicking off the phone and standing uncertainly beside the still-open car door. The human's muscles tensed, and for a moment I thought Harmony might grab her daughter and run...right into Andrea's unfriendly arms.

"I know everything you've seen tonight is crazy...." I started. I wasn't sure how to fix what had been broken between us sufficiently to get my sister into the car, but I did know I couldn't let her run off into certain danger.

To my surprise, Harmony didn't need further convincing. Instead, she pulled me in for a tight embrace that felt like the first sip of hot chocolate after walking miles through February snow. "Find your brother," my companion whispered into my waiting ear. "And I'll be alright."

Then Rosie was wailing at being ignored and my sister drew back to soothe her. Jiggling the child into good humor, the pair slid together into the back seat.

My parents' farewells were similarly fond but brief. Then car doors slammed, the engine roared to life, and brake lights glowed red as the final remnants of my pack faded away into the night.

For my part, I was left standing there in silence, chewing upon Harmony's final words. Because I'd thought there were no stones left unturned surrounding Derek's disappearance...but my sister's faith in his continued existence suggested that perhaps I'd given up too soon.

"What am I missing?" I murmured, fingering the key that sat cold and hard in my pocket. And as I racked my brain, my memory finally turned up the missing piece.

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# Chapter 31

"Donuts," I'd suggested twelve months earlier, not bothering to gaze into my cell-phone screen as I lounged on the sofa and ribbed my little brother about his favorite dessert--a mystery he'd yet to elucidate a year into our long-distance relationship.

"Because I look so sweet and fluffy, right?" Derek countered, a growl in his voice. Still, I knew my only sibling well enough by this point to be certain he was amused. So I refused to relent.

Grabbing the phone in one hand, I carried our connection into the adjoining kitchen and started pulling ingredients off the shelves with the other. "Oatmeal cookies? Vanilla pudding? Ooh, I know," I teased. "Pecan pie...."

"...because deep down inside I'm really a nut," Derek finished for me. His laughter was real this time around, a rarity from a male who always maintained a tough exterior even around his doting older sister.

In response, I gazed into the screen, enjoying this rare moment of solidarity. Behind Derek's lanky form, plants draped around a sun-lit window, and the worry that always gnawed at my gut when I thought about my brother's secretive nature eased. He was safe, he was happy. And, finally, he was in my life...virtually at least.

"I just want to feed you," I said, only realizing I'd spoken aloud when emotions too numerous to count flitted across my brother's usually closed-down face. Biting my lip, I prepared to backpedal. Better that than give Derek yet another chance to retreat the way he'd done every other time I'd tried to draw him closer to my home pack.

Only, this time around, my timing must have been spot-on. Derek smiled back, eyes appearing older than my own despite the fact that I had a few years on him, but his stance otherwise remaining uncharacteristically relaxed. "How about a PO box?" my sibling suggested after a few seconds. "I'm not staying here long so the address is only temporary. But if you really, really have to mail me a...."

Derek paused, even then unwilling to relinquish such an important secret as his favorite flavor. "A moonpie?" I suggested, batting my eyelashes as I named the very last dessert Derek might possibly enjoy. My brother was definitely not a lovey-dovey marshmallow sort of guy.

"Not a moonpie," Derek growled. "I'll text you the address even though you're a pest. But it's temporary. Tem-por-ary. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" I answered, saluting smartly. And, behind my back, I'd crossed my fingers, hoping this was the first step toward meeting face to face. I wanted nothing more than to give Derek a hug...and a safe place to call his own.

Still, a momentary sugar rush would have to suffice for now. To that end, I'd put together an assortment of varied desserts, hoping to hit the nail on the head with one of them at least.

But the care package hadn't done the trick. Derek had evaded my questions about which, if any, of the pastries he'd enjoyed. And when I asked whether I could use the same address the next week, Derek told me he'd moved, that his old PO box had been canceled.

That I'd have to eat the subsequent mountain of moonpies by myself.

Now, sliding my brother's key out of my pocket, I realized that Derek had changed PO boxes as promised. Because the number etched onto this small metal surface didn't match the one embedded in my memory from twelve months prior. The post office in question had likely changed as well.

Still, I'd bet my last dollar that this was a mail-box key. And I had a feeling I knew which location Derek had chosen for his new stash as well.

My brother's recent mentions of campus, his affiliation with Sebastien...every arrow pointed toward the row of metal boxes I'd walked right past the day before without realizing my brother's secrets might be hidden therein.

Go. Now, my wolf demanded. And I obeyed. Retracing my footsteps into the darkened zoo, I shed clothes and knives, cupcake and phone before rolling my possessions up as carefully as I could into the stained and ripped blouse that had seen better days. Then, using my bra to bind the ungainly bundle around my chest tightly enough that it would stay put even in lupine form, I relaxed into my wolf.

It had been too long since we'd run four-legged, and the night was terribly empty of other pack mates. So I couldn't resist lifting my head and belting out a mournful howl bound to make human neighbors roll over in their soft, snug beds.

Then, putting my nose to the pavement and using my wolf's direction sense to guide us, we took to our heels and we ran.

***

THE COLLEGE ADMINISTRATION building was locked up tight, but someone had forgotten to close a window on the eastern end. Leaping through the small aperture was easy in lupine form, after which I shifted in order to access the hall.

And even though I was anxious to discover whether the newest clue would bring me any closer to my missing brother, I toed the line anyway and wasted thirty seconds donning human clothes. Or, rather, donning most of them. Because it appeared that somewhere between the zoo and the college, my clever bra luggage carrier had slipped, with the result that I'd lost something quite important--my only pair of pants.

Biting my lips, I eyed the video cameras stationed at intervals along the junction between wall and ceiling. A red dot glowed at the base of each lens, suggesting that the surveillance equipment was fully operational...meaning that anyone noticing my lawless behavior would also get a good long look at my bare bum. To counteract that eventuality, I slid down the length of the hallway with my back to the wall. But then the bay of mailboxes came into view, and I forgot human dignity as I broke into a run.

Which box? Well, that question, at least, was easily answered. The key in my hand had a number etched along one side--404. And, as I turned the key in the lock, I realized that this notation had been another far-too-easily-overlooked clue.

Because Derek gave my father a run for his money in the geekiness department. Even I knew that a 404 error meant an internet address couldn't be found...so why hadn't I made the connection when picking the key out of the dirt during the Greenbriar hunt? I'd assumed my brother was being his usual cagey self and making me flail about for orneriness' sake. Instead, he'd used the number as a hint that he expected to fall off the radar through no fault of his own...and I'd totally missed the reference.

"What's done is done," I murmured, allowing my own failings to flee into the night. Instead, I held my breath as the tiny door in my hands swung open and disclosed my brother's rented space. And there it was--the faintest odor of moss and sawmill lumber promising that Derek had frequented this PO box in the not-too-distant past. Success.

The mail room on the other side of the box was dark, but lupine eyes easily picked out the curved shape of a sheet of paper within the intervening space. Removing the box's sole offering, I carried the paper over to a window and read the words printed thereon.

"Box full--please come to the desk during regular office hours to collect your mail."

Seriously? I'd traveled all this way, had finally figured out Derek's elusive clue...and now I'd be required to return and talk to the mail clerk tomorrow because my brother's box had overflowed?

"No, that doesn't make any sense." Retracing my footsteps, I peered inside the small rectangular receptacle once again. It was just large enough for my arm to fit through, not that reaching inside would do me any good. After all, whatever packages or junk mail had originally clogged the small space would be unreachable on the other side of the slender divider. Not even humans were so un-security-conscious as that.

And yet...my wolf forced me to stick my arm inside anyway. What can I say? Animal instincts are seldom willing to leave well enough alone.

And just this once, tenacity turned out to be a positive rather than a negative. Because a protrusion along the top of the box scratched a minuscule wound through the skin of my forearm, and fumbling fingers soon pulled out a thumb drive that had been taped there just out of sight.

"Huh," I murmured, turning the small rectangle of plastic and metal over with questioning fingers. Derek had so much to say that he'd left me an electronic storage device to hold all the data? Not a memory card that I could slip into the back of my phone and access immediately, but a thumb drive that would require a computer to get the information out? Didn't Derek realize I'd left any computer this thumb drive would fit into back home with my own clan?

Of course, campus was full of technology centers. There were publicly accessible labs in every library and dormitory, plus one just a few doors down from the coffee shop where I currently worked. None of the spaces were open on a summer evening...but I did know one person who was bound to have a computer close at hand. According to my tangled but very thoroughly present mate bond, the male in question didn't live very far away either.

I could almost feel my wolf howling gleefully beneath my skin. She was finally going to get her way and tighten the tether that ran between us. She was finally going to give Sebastien an opportunity to solidify our bond.

I wasn't so sure about the latter point. Instead, I was purposefully keeping my own expectations low, figuring I'd be happy if Sebastien didn't close the door in my face when I showed up on his doorstep without the benefit of pants.

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# Chapter 32

As the wolf trots, Sebastien lived only five minutes away from the center of campus. Smart, my animal half decided. Easy commute.

Despite the short distance, my inner beast had forced us to shift and run here on four fleet feet. And now the wolf was so confident in her imminent acceptance that she padded up onto the darkened porch before I could even suggest a loop around the perimeter to ensure Sebastien was the only one hidden therein.

Because he was present. The mate tether told me as much, and so did the light streaming out the downstairs windows. Meanwhile, the porch smelled of nothing but mopping and Sebastien, proving that my mate was the only one currently in residence.

I didn't accede to my wolf's demand and ring the doorbell right away, though. Because I was far less sanguine about being granted permission to enter than was my enthusiastic animal half.

After all, wardrobe malfunction and current furry body aside, Sebastien and I hadn't parted on the best of terms earlier in the evening. The human had admitted his responsibility for getting my brother snatched by DARPA, then I'd run off without any explanation. Wouldn't it be smarter to catch some Zs, lick my metaphorical wounds, and beard the professor in his laboratory tomorrow? If we waited until the morning, I could even bake an apology cupcake to sweeten the pot....

But my wolf rebelled. Wresting control of our shared body out of my human hands, she plunked our butt down onto the floorboards and refused to get back up. At least she hadn't rung the bell in lupine form--evidently, I should be grateful for small mercies.

Okay, I get it, I told my animal half, relinquishing the reins long enough for fur to recede and bare human knees to end up kneeling in front of Sebastien's front door. I could feel the professor moving around inside now, awake despite the late hour. The male was ambling aimlessly from room to room, leaving me wondering whether he was as uncomfortable without me present as I was without him.

It was all I could do to prevent my wolf from pushing open the door without concern for clothes then barging inside to join him. Instead, I shook out blouse and underwear that had grown even more repulsive between here and the college, leaves and city grime clinging to every available surface while rips and missing buttons further marred the clothes' structural integrity.

Dad's cupcake was still intact within its protective box, though. And I'd lost neither phone nor knifes. So I guessed it was all good.

Tying the suit jacket around my waist to shield my lack of trousers from view, I ran trembling fingers through hair that saw no more reason to behave than my wolf had done a few moments earlier. Then I laughed at myself for even trying. Sebastien would have to take me as I was, because there was no way I'd be wowing the human with coiffed beauty tonight.

So I was half dressed, filthy, and chuckling at nothing when Sebastien opened the door before I even rang the bell. "Ember?" he asked, blinking owlishly into the darkness.

Maybe human eyes aren't good enough to pick out the minor details, I thought hopefully. Perhaps I could talk to Sebastien here on his doorstep then beat a hasty retreat. Find somewhere safe to clean up before tracking my mate down tomorrow when I looked more human and less like a two-legged wolf.

Except my mate reached behind him to flick a switch, and the abruptly glowing porch light soon illuminated me in all of my scuffed, streaked, and sullied glory.

I expected my mate to recoil. To shut the door in my face, or at least to edge away from a degree of filth that city humans rarely encountered. Instead, he reached out to take my arm.

"What happened to you?" the professor demanded. And as his fingers closed around my bare skin, the contact alone nearly dropped me to my knees.

Instead of succumbing to the seductive allure of our mating bond, though, I merely straightened my shoulders and looked directly into my partner's dark chocolate eyes. "If you invite me in, I'll tell you all about it."

"Then, please," Sebastien answered, "by all means, come in."

***

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED Huntress Born! If so, you can find out how Ember navigates being accidentally bonded to a human who isn't allowed to know werewolves exist in Huntress Bound.

Or maybe you'd rather learn more about Sebastien's past? After extensive arm-twisting, this black horse finally agreed to tell me a little bit about his history. You can read the resulting short story (and download two free werewolf novels) if you sign up for my email list.

Thanks for reading! You are why I write.

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# Beyond The Veil

by Pippa DaCosta

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# Chapter 1

I should have known he'd be trouble as soon as he walked into my workshop, but I couldn't have known he'd be the death of me. He wore a three-quarter-length red leather coat, had platinum blond hair long enough to sweep back out of his eyes, and sported scuffed Timberland boots. But if the goose bumps shivering across my skin were anything to go by, he clearly was not as human as his appearance would have me believe.

At first, I tried to ignore him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate. A quick glance at my dusty clock told me it was late, past midnight, and I'd be damned if I was going to drop everything just because he'd invited himself in. I continued to work on the sword resting on the anvil before me. I hammered out imperfections in the blade's surface with renewed vigor, the metal singing with each blow. Behind me, the coal forge roared. Rolling waves of heat branded my back. I told myself it was sweltering temperatures sprinkling perspiration across my face and back, making my scruffy tank top cling to me, but in truth, it was fear.

Picking up the unfinished sword with gloved hands, I turned and plunged the blade into the glowing coals before facing my uninvited guest. He'd given himself the tour of my cramped workshop, seeming to admire the various swords on display, some unfinished, some as close to art as I was ever going to get them. Shame I couldn't wield them as well as I could craft them.

"Well?" I managed to instill some genuine irritation in my words in the hope it would disguise the anxiety building inside me. I tried to flick my hair out of my face, but a few strands stubbornly clung to my sweaty cheek.

"Impressive." He nodded once and turned his arctic-blue eyes on me before flashing what he probably thought was a knee-weakening smile.

If my guest expected me to gush and swoon, he was in for a shock. "Who are you, and what the hell do you want?" It was late. I was tired. He wasn't human. I figured I was within my rights to be blunt.

His expression tightened. "You're Muse, right?" He tossed a gesture at the stuffy workshop. "I was expecting something...else."

I hadn't heard that nickname in years. Muse was a tag left over from dark days I didn't wish to revisit.

Approaching me, he reached inside his coat. I caught a flicker of light slide over a handgun tucked into his waistband and tensed. An unusual motif, like entwined scorpions, adorned the grip. But he didn't reach for the gun. He withdrew a sword and rested it on my anvil. "I want you to read this."

I tugged off my glove and skipped my fingers over the smooth surface of the blade. The metal burned cold against my insolent touch, as though the sword resented my presence. It was a wonderful piece of workmanship. The ripple--or hamon--below the surface of the carbon-steel blade hinted at Japanese origins, and the tempered edge was sharp enough to slice through flesh with little effort. An intricate hand-forged guard and leather-wrapped hilt betrayed the sword as functional but with a flair for the dramatic, and yet it was clearly a weapon meant for combat, not ceremony.

A thin snap of power danced up my fingers, and with a small hiss, I snatched my hand back. This sword would not easily give up its secrets. "What's in it for me?"

"What do you want?"

Now there was a loaded question. I didn't know what or who he was and had no idea how much he could afford or what the stakes involved. "It depends on what I'm going to find. If we're talking murder, then I want danger money. If it's just a lovers' tiff you're interested in, a few hundred should do it. I'm assuming you want recent information. If you need me to go back more than five years, it'll be another two hundred."

"Or I could walk out of here now and tell the world where you are. I know there are a few unsavory characters from your checkered past who'd be very grateful for the heads-up on your whereabouts." His smooth voice and slight smile belied the threat in his words.

I smiled tightly, my first smile since his arrival. "Now, there, you see? We were having a civilized conversation, and you just had to go and spoil it by threatening me."

"Why don't you just read the blade, and I can leave you to get on with your"--he cast a glance about him--"work?"

And now he'd insulted me. "I'm not telling you anything until you give me more to go on." Who did he think he was talking to? Some back alley half-human woman who would fall over her own feet to do his bidding? He might know my name, but he obviously didn't know me.

He blinked before turning back on the charm, as if I could be bought by a handsome face. "You're right. I'm sorry. A few hundred, was it?" He dug deep into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. Without counting it, he tossed it onto the anvil. "That should cover it."

I tugged my glove back on, pinching the heatproof fabric between each finger. "I think you should leave."

He narrowed his eyes. "Just read the sword, Muse."

I didn't have time to humor assholes, especially those of the demon persuasion. "Get out."

He pulled his distinctive gun on me, finger resting firmly on the trigger, aim rigid. "You will do this for me." It wasn't an order. It was fact--at least as far as he was concerned.

"Go back to hell," I sneered before reaching around and snatching the blade from the forge, flinging both the half-finished sword and some hot coals at him. He recoiled, cursing as the embers bounced off his coat. I dashed for the doors. My hand was on the handle when he slammed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

He thrust the gun under my chin, freezing me rigid. "Why do you have to be so difficult?"

I really didn't want this to escalate. Bad shit happens when she comes out to play. The darkness slumbering at my core began to unfurl, opening like the petals of a flower, but its intent was far from delicate. The trickling touch of power spilled into my muscles. Heat flooded through my body. The warmth of my element embraced me, threading itself through every part of me, the lure of chaos undeniable.

He abruptly released me and took a few steps back, gun up. His narrow glare measured me.

I pressed my back against the workshop door. Power dripped from my fingertips. I couldn't see it--the human part of me was blind to the energy--but he could. His arctic eyes blazed with a promise of conflict.

He appeared to consider his next move and then, quite unexpectedly, laughed and lowered the gun, tucking it back into his waistband. "You're right. This isn't worth it." With his hands up as if in surrender, he turned and retrieved the sword in question before weaving his way back around the workbenches toward me.

"I'll leave you in peace."

"What?" His sudden change in mood completely disarmed me.

"Step aside. I'm leaving."

Surprised by his abrupt surrender, I did as he asked and watched him slide the door open and step out into the night. A sharp winter breeze invaded the heat of my workshop, rousing me from my muddled stupor. Confused and somewhat disappointed, I followed him out into the alley. The raw energy he'd aroused began to fizzle out. Its departure left me with a sickly chill and a bitter sense of loss.

He climbed into the driver's side of an old Dodge Charger with rust-bruised red paint. I had no idea who he was, where he'd come from, how he'd found me, or what lay hidden in that damn sword. And he was leaving. That couldn't be right. Didn't I deserve some sort of explanation?

"Hey!" I ventured farther into the street.

Headlights bathed me in twin beams, forcing me to shield my eyes. He gunned the engine, jammed the box into reverse, and swung the car backward into a J-turn before speeding off, fat tires squealing on wet asphalt.

I stood in the street, hand on hip, head tilted to one side, and breathed in the crisp night air, clearing my lungs of forge dust. Then the shockwave hit me. The explosion lashed across my back. I must have briefly lost consciousness, but the furious pain in my back quickly summoned me from the depths. A whine drilled into my skull. Alarms sounded from the industrial units around me.

I turned my head toward the heat, grit digging into my cheek as I peered into the smoke billowing from the hollow gap between two buildings.

My workshop was gone, and with it, my attempt at a normal life.

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# Chapter 2

I sat in the reception area of Phoenix Developments, biting at the quick of a nail until it bled. The tiny jab of pain paled in comparison to the abrasive grate of the dozens of cuts that riddled my back. Bruised, battered, but alive, I'd spent the night trying to salvage what scraps of work I could find in the remains of my workshop. A fruitless task.

As I sat in the waiting area, the world around me continued as normal. The workday had begun. I felt numb. The chrome-plated arms of the leather chairs glinted under halogen lights. The receptionist occasionally glanced my way over rimless glasses, her lips so thin they were barely there at all.

She didn't trust me. I couldn't blame her. Despite having showered, I could still smell the smoke in my hair. I also wore knee-high boots over my skinny jeans, something that clearly didn't complement the pinstripe suits and slicked-back hair of the "city boys" milling back and forth through the glass doors.

It was nine a.m. Not an hour before, I'd been slumped in the back of an ambulance while the police rattled off their box-ticking questions. Were there any witnesses? Did I have any idea what had caused the explosion? Were there any hazardous materials on site? I told them what they wanted to hear, neglecting to mention my less-than-human visitor. Once you mention demons, the authorities get twitchy. I wanted to blame my uninvited guest, but until I knew what--or who--I was dealing with, I couldn't risk the repercussions.

As things stood, I didn't know what had caused the explosion, but I doubted Mr. Asshole's timing had been a coincidence. It had been years since I'd heard the name Muse--even longer since I'd spoken with someone less than human. He'd shown up, thrown money around, made demands, then left rather sharply. I found myself face down in the road seconds later.

The receptionist's phone buzzed. She snatched at the receiver and listened for a few seconds before thanking her caller. She looked at me. "Charlie Henderson, was it?" Her voice was as tight as her beanpole frame.

I stood, brushed down my top, and approached her glass-topped desk. "Yes."

"I'm sorry, but Mister Vitalis is in a meeting all morning."

I attempted to smile sweetly, but it's not easy when you've just survived an explosion that's ruined five years of hard work. I'd lost more in that blast than I cared to think about. "He'll want to see me."

"He's in a meeting."

"Yes. I know. You just told me that." I tapped my fingernails on the glass desk. "Okay, look. Tell him it's Muse."

She narrowed her pin-sharp glare. "Muse?"

This woman took her job far too seriously. "Yes. It's a personal thing. Just tell him... please."

She gave me one long look. I smiled as best I could, and she finally picked up the phone. It wouldn't have surprised me if she'd jabbed a security button and summoned the heavies to escort me from the premises.

"Yes. I'm sorry about this, Mister Vitalis. Now she says she's called Muse. Yes...yes... Well..." She looked closely at me, the glare of her beady eyes drilling right through me. "Yes, that looks like her. Very well. I'll send her up." She hung up. "Mister Vitalis will see you in his office in ten minutes."

Victory. I beamed. "Thank you." And hurried to the elevator.

* * *

A WALL OF WINDOWS FRAMED a spectacular view of the city. Sunlight glinted off the adjacent high-rises. His office hadn't changed in the several years since my last visit. Polished glass, brushed aluminum, and supple leather all vied for attention, as if each style attempted to outdo the others. At one end of the room, a large desk housed a single Mac computer, and at the other, black leather couches huddled around a glass coffee table. Not a single photograph adorned the walls--no strategically placed potted plant, no personal touches whatsoever. The office was austere, not unlike its owner.

The glass doors hissed open, and Akil Vitalis strode in. My skin prickled, human senses alerting me to danger. How right they were.

His dark eyes briefly checked me before he made sure the door was properly closed behind him. Then he faced me, hands clasped behind his back, face impassive.

My heart hammered a little faster, nerves fluttering in my chest, shortening my breaths. Time seemed to drag, and I began to worry. We hadn't parted on the best of terms, and I hadn't spoken a single word to him in five years.

Akil's smile, when it finally came, allowed me to breathe again.

"You look good, Muse." He crossed to a cabinet. From inside, he collected a crystal decanter and two glasses. Without asking if I wanted a drink, he placed them on the coffee table and poured two fingers of whisky in each.

I swallowed my nerves and approached the back of the nearest couch, digging my fingers into the cushion to hide my trembling hands. "You too." And he did. He wore a gunmetal gray suit, jacket unbuttoned and no tie. A few of his shirt buttons were undone, revealing the natural bronze of his skin. He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties. Nobody would guess an immortal being resided in that suave exterior.

"How's the blacksmithing business going?" His fingers lightly picked up his glass.

"You knew?" I wasn't surprised, not really. Nobody escapes Akil.

He took a generous drink and smiled but didn't reply. He didn't need to. "So tell me, to what do I owe this pleasure?" He shrugged off his jacket.

As he offered me the glass of whisky, I considered where to start. I owed Akil everything. He'd been my teacher, my guardian, but more than that, he'd saved me. Without his intervention, I'd be dead in a ditch somewhere. Another half-blood consigned to an early grave. And yet I couldn't trust him, not completely. He, like most of the full-blooded demons I'd known, had his own motives.

"I had a visitor last night, and I wondered if you might know him."

"Oh?" Akil arched an eyebrow and leaned back against the couch. "I take it your visitor wasn't human?"

"I don't know what he was," I admitted, taking a sip of the whisky. The alcohol rolled across my tongue, smooth, mature, and no doubt as costly as the loan I was still paying off on my workshop. I took another sip, needing the reassuring warmth.

Akil saw my hand shake but was polite enough to pretend he hadn't.

"He--er... he wanted me to read a blade. I would have, had he not been so rude about it. Either he was rusty at playing human, or he's just naturally an arrogant--" I stopped before my anger got the better of me. "Anyway, we had a little tete-a-tete, and then he left. Ten seconds later, my workshop exploded, almost taking me with it." The warmth of the whisky soothed my rattling nerves as the shock of my close call really hit home.

The kindness in Akil's eyes hardened. "What did he look like?"

"Tall. Smug. A thing for red leather. But it was the sword that was interesting." I finished my whisky and let Akil refill my glass. "It was handcrafted." I recalled the tease of power I'd felt from the blade. I rubbed my fingertips together, the ghost of its touch like pins and needles beneath my skin. "Similar to a Japanese katana, but it had an elaborate guard. It's unique."

"Did you read it?" He returned to my side.

"No." I flicked Akil a smile as I took my refreshed drink. "You know, the more I think about it, the more I wonder why he came to me. He asked me what payment I wanted for reading the sword. I told him, but he threatened me instead of just giving me the money. Why would he do that?"

"He wasn't there for the sword."

I was beginning to realize the same. "He was testing me. I thought it was odd at the time. He deliberately pissed me off to get a reaction." I frowned. "Why?"

"It's obvious." Akil's smile was one I recognized well. He was waiting for me to catch up. "It wasn't about the sword. You weren't meant to leave that workshop. He wanted you dead."

But that didn't make sense. "He had plenty of easier chances." A gunshot to the head would have done it.

Akil inhaled, leaning back and rolling his shoulders. "When have you known our kind to do anything the easy way? If he's any kind of demon at all, he's not going to execute you without having his fun. It makes perfect sense to me. He went there to kill you, but he wanted to get his kicks. Maybe he'd heard of you. Did he call you by name?"

"Muse? Yeah."

"Then he knows who you are. Someone hired him."

Akil's words rang true. How else would Mr. A have known my demon name? Only those from my past knew I'd been given the name Muse by my former owner as a cruel joke.

"Shit," I hissed.

"Indeed." Akil licked his lips. "You should stay with me."

Hell, no. I immediately looked away, smiling awkwardly. I felt his gaze on me, roaming where it shouldn't. This was not why I was here. I couldn't do this, not again. I owed Akil everything, but I was just a half-blood demon. His world had nearly killed me before. I couldn't go back to that.

"Muse." He sounded apologetic until I saw his smile.

I pushed away from the couch--away from him. "You know what, don't call me that." I tried to make it sound like an order, but the nervous tremble in my voice undermined my intentions, reducing the words to a request. "I left for a reason, and I'm not coming back."

"You think your assassin won't try again?"

"I'll take my chances."

He winced a little, his smile twisting into something darker. "How long do you think you'll survive out there, Charlie? You've got power, but not nearly enough to stop them all."

"I did it before. Five years, Akil. I had five years without you--without them." It had felt good. The freedom. The life. The normality of it all. I paid bills. I drank coffee. I even had a cat. Life. It was real. A tangible dream, one I'd worked hard to hold on to. He wasn't going to take it from me, and neither was Mr. A. I was sick of running because they deemed me some half-baked mistake, and tired of fighting those who thought me an abomination.

"He's out there, you know," Akil said.

When I looked at Akil, watched him walk slowly toward me, I knew he wasn't talking about the assassin. My heart sank, and my dream of normality slipped away. I lifted the glass to my lips and finished off the potent whisky, wincing as it burned a path down my throat.

Akil stood a little too close. The proximity of him stole my breath away. A trickling current of power stirred within me, my demon half recognizing him as her savior. He tipped my chin up, perhaps sensing my reluctant defeat, and brushed the back of his fingers down my face. "Your brother sent that assassin. You know he did. Stop fooling yourself. It was never going to last. Your workshop is gone. Don't let him take your life as well."

Mention of my brother wasn't going to scare me into staying, although it probably should have. Akil was right, but he was also plucking at my weaknesses, reminding me why I needed him. Not so long ago, I'd have let Akil lure me back in. It seemed like an easy decision to make. He'd protect me, give me everything he thought I needed, but it wasn't as simple as that. For much of my life, I'd been someone's property, pushed from pillar to post, toyed with and exploited. Akil could disguise it behind an offer of kindness, but he was no different.

I turned my head away. "No. I'm sorry." I wasn't. "I'm going home, Akil. Don't try to stop me."

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# Chapter 3

I twisted the key in the lock and shoved the door open, sweeping back the mound of mail that had gathered on the floor behind it. Depositing my keys and mail on the kitchen countertop, I swept a hand back through my hair, holding it there as I scanned my tiny apartment. Everything looked as it should: a few faux suede cushions strategically scattered on the couch, a collection of generic canvas prints on the wall, but it felt different. Or perhaps it was me. I felt different.

I flicked on the LCD TV, letting the comforting murmur of background voices fill my apartment, and largely ignored its chatter until a news reporter caught my eye as she challenged a stiffly poised official. "...how do you explain these freakish events, such as the flooding near Beacon Hill in July? We're hearing reports of demons. Is this true? Are there demons in Boston?" I reached for the remote and turned off the TV. I'd had about all I could stomach of demons for one day.

It was only in the last few years that the word "demon" had become headline news. No longer content to hide in the shadows, they hid in plain sight, walking among us. I'm proof of that. The public were largely misinformed, perhaps deliberately so. For most, demons were a curiosity. A mild annoyance. Unless cornered, they looked human, and talk of their "powers" had been toned down, made to look like bizarre coincidences or blamed on climate change. Snow in summer is a dead giveaway. While their numbers were scarce, the government had a hope of controlling the rumors, but they had no idea that for every demon caught, another ten successfully infiltrated daily life.

Demons were just the beginning. Existence of the veil--the invisible barrier between our world and the demon realm--was not public knowledge. The government was keeping a lid on that particular bag of snakes. Demons were one thing; another world neighboring ours? A netherworld where the sky broils and the air flows with the elements of chaos? People weren't ready for that.

I shrugged off a creeping weariness, rolling my shoulders and dragging my hand down my neck, trying to ease the stiffness in my muscles. I ached in places I didn't know could ache. Shock and physical damage had taken their toll, as had the meeting with Akil. At least he'd let me leave; he had even offered to throw some feelers out to see if my assassin could be identified. Going to Akil had been a risk. I'd turned my back on him, and he wasn't someone who took that sort of denial lightly. I'd pay in some way for asking for his help. He'd make sure of that.

I flicked my gaze to the bunch of flowers in the lounge window. The heads drooped. A few brittle leaves rested on the sill beside the vase, a sure sign I'd spent too much time at the workshop lately. I retrieved the flowers and dumped them in the trash, rinsing out the vase and upending it on the drainer.

I leaned back against the sink. Everything was so quiet. The double-glazed windows stifled the constant drone of the city, but today, I almost felt as though I needed the noise. The city lived. It breathed--the blaring car horns, the rapid shrill of the pedestrian crossings. Walk, don't walk. I didn't want to walk. My apartment, as small and insignificant as it was, felt like a real home. I'd never had that before, and I wasn't about to walk away from it.

I opened the window, breathing in the South Boston air. The sounds of children playing drifted from nearby Buckley Playground. I caught snippets of a conversation from a couple passing beneath my window. A car rumbled by, and I soaked up the familiar sounds of life. The cacophony of human activity grounded me firmly in normality.

The meeting with Akil, although brief, had rekindled an ache I thought I'd long ago cured. He exuded power, wore it like cologne, and the primal creature curled at my core refused to ignore the attraction. My demon, she's all about need, and she'd made it clear she needed Akil. It didn't help that Akil was one of the Seven Princes of Hell--demon catnip to the likes of me.

Flicking on the coffee machine, I grumbled a few choice words. They could all go to hell, or the netherworld, to give it its proper name. I wasn't giving up my life, not for anyone. It might seem quaint to the many varieties of demons who stalked me, but it was mine.

Opening the fridge, I took out the milk and closed the door. A creased photo caught my eye, the corner trapped against the fridge with a cat-shaped magnet. Sam and me. I smiled. He had his arm around me, his broad grin genuine. The picture had been taken a few months ago, in the summer. We'd hiked up a woodland trail and found a small waterfall off the beaten track. Water rushed just out of the shot. Sam's jeans were wet with the spray. His salt-and-pepper hair had a damp and ruffled chaos about it. How I loved to run my fingers through his hair.

The flowers I'd just thrown away had been from him. An apology for something he didn't need to apologize for. I'd lied to him. A lot. Especially about why it was never going to work between us.

While pouring the milk into my coffee, I caught a glimpse of a blinking light from my antiquated answering machine. Six messages, more than I usually get in a month, I thought, taking a sip of coffee. The machine wasn't the most reliable at the best of times and had a tendency to delete or overwrite messages.

I jabbed PLAY on the machine.

"New message received Sunday, eleven fifteen p.m.," an automated female voice said. "Hi, Charlie." Sam's deliciously smooth tones instantly soothed my strung-out nerves. "You really need to get a phone at the workshop or get a cell phone. Everyone has a cell these days. Even my aunt--and she's nearly eighty." He talks too much, always has. "Anyway. Look, I can't make Tuesday. A potential contract has come up...you know how it is. I can't say no. I'm really sorry." He paused, his silence weighted with unspoken words. "I want to see you. Miss you." He hung up.

I groaned. Breakups are never easy, especially when neither party really wants to separate. I shouldn't have agreed to meet him, even though our planned "date" was a friendly one, no strings attached.

Tuesday? Today was Tuesday. I clasped my hands around the hot mug of coffee. My slouch deepened. Now that he'd cancelled, I realized how much I needed to talk to him. Sam made me forget myself, who and what I was. He had such a lighthearted outlook. So quick to smile. He loved his work as an architect, and his enthusiasm for life was infectious. It was one of the reasons I'd let our relationship go on for as long as it had.

"New message received Monday, nine-oh-nine a.m." Silence followed.

Strange.

"New message received Monday, nine-oh-eleven a.m." Silence, then static and a click. "New message received Monday, nine-oh-fifteen a.m." More static.

I frowned into my coffee and glared at the answering machine. Its digital display blinked PLAY back at me. The messages continued to play their static nonsense until I reached the sixth message, received an hour before I arrived home, a message from the police asking me to visit them at the station. Non urgent.

I stopped the machine, my finger hovering over DELETE ALL, when something possessed me to listen again. It was the third message I was interested in. I set my coffee down on the countertop and listened. It wasn't silence. There was something in the background. Muffled noises, static, then a click as the caller hung up.

I hit REPLAY. There was someone there. I could hear scuffles, like the sounds you hear when a caller hasn't hung up properly and he's dumped the phone in his pocket. With a shrug, I picked up my phone and coffee and walked into the bedroom, tapping out Sam's number.

"Hey, this is Sam Harwood, Architect. Leave a message and I'll call you back between the hours of nine and seven." His voicemail beeped and waited for me to speak.

"It's Charlie. I got your message." I sat on the edge of the bed, cradling the phone between my chin and shoulder, and placed the coffee on the bedside table. "Sorry I didn't call sooner..." The seconds ticked by, and the silence urged me to speak. "Something happened at the workshop and... it's all gone." A knot twisted in my throat. A swell of emotion choked me. "I haven't been exactly honest with you. Can you call me?" The phone beeped, cutting me off.

I couldn't tell him everything, but he deserved to know the breakup hadn't been his fault. Humans cannot date demons, even half-demons like me. The history I carried--my family, my past--was too dangerous. If he knew what I was, had any inkling of what lay at my core, it would destroy him. Like most people, he knew about demons. He tolerated their presence, but to be sleeping with one? He'd never look at me the same again. It would ruin what was left of our friendship, and I'd be alone again.

I lay back on the bed, resting the phone beside me on the pillow, and closed my eyes. Sam had been a mistake, one of many I'd racked up over the years, but at least I'd have the memory of our relationship: the dinner dates, the movie nights, the simplicity of it all. That had to be worth something.

I fell asleep with the comforting thoughts of Sam in my head and the warmth of my normal life around me.

* * *

JONESY NUDGED MY CHEEK, purred, then sniffed my lips in that irritating way cats do. I swatted him away, only for him to dive back in and nuzzle my chin. His purrs vibrated through his furry little feline body.

I dragged my eyes open. The gloom around me came as a surprise. My digital clock read 9:20 p.m. I'd slept all afternoon and into the evening. Jonesy continued to pester me as I rose from the bed like the walking dead. He darted around my feet, weaving around my legs and mewing softly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah cat. I get it."

The phone on my pillow rang, its screen glowing green in the dark, and one name flashed on the display.

Akil.

I picked it up. My thumb hovered over the answer button. Just seeing Akil's name sprinkled traitorous shivers through me. It hadn't been a day since I'd left his offices and already my body felt the effects of demon-withdrawal. The damn darkness inside wouldn't let me deny what I'd experienced from seeing him again. They do that to you, demons. They know your intentions, your needs, your desires, and they play them like musicians play their instruments. The demon inside me--she knew I wanted Akil on a level I didn't dare admit. But thankfully, I wasn't all demon; I still had a measure of self-control.

I answered the call.

"Muse." His voice teased through my sleep-addled mind, rekindling sparks of desire. "Are you all right?"

Was that something like concern in his voice? Surely the all-powerful demon property developer wasn't worried about little ol' me.

"Yes, I'm fine," I croaked, the remnants of a deep sleep clawing at my voice. "Why? Shouldn't I be?"

Jonesy weaved about my feet as I headed for the bedroom door. Some part of him arcing back to his big-cat origins, he tried to playfully lunge at my boots.

"Your assassin ... did he carry a gun with a scorpion motif on the grip?"

"Yes." My heart thudded a little faster.

"Where are you?"

"At home."

"I'll tell you in person. Will you invite me in?" The way he asked, slipping it so easily into the conversation, you'd have thought it was a flippant request. It wasn't. Akil was full demon. A Prince of Hell, no less. Without an invite, he couldn't physically enter my apartment, but only idiots and mad men invited demons into their homes, and I was neither.

I couldn't invite him in and was about to say as much, when I stood on Jonesy's tail. He yowled and shot through my bedroom door in a blur of black fur. I stumbled after him, falling against the doorframe, and froze.

"Muse?" I heard Akil's voice from the phone at my side, but dared not lift it to my ear.

Sprawled on my couch, an arm draped along the back, boots propped up on my coffee table, sat Mr. A. The pale glow pooling through the window bathed him in a cool, crisp light, casting shadows across his face that darkened his arctic-blue eyes. That same light played across his hair like water shivering over ice.

"Muse?" Akil growled. His distant voice at the end of the phone snapped me out of my reverie.

I lifted the phone to my ear, my unblinking stare never leaving my uninvited guest. "Yes," I hissed.

"What's going on?" Akil demanded.

"Nothing. I'm fine," I replied, each word hollow.

Akil fell quiet. "Goodnight, Muse."

"Goodnight." The forced nature of our farewell was a clear indication that not all was well.

I hung up the call. It wouldn't take Akil long to arrive. I just needed to buy time.

Mr. A hadn't moved. No human could sit as still as that. He might as well have been carved from stone. But there was definite amusement glinting in his otherwise frosty glare. His lips ticked into a crooked smile.

Jonesy, my traitorous cat, leaped onto the couch beside him and then proceeded to nudge Mr. A's hand, purring like a V8.

"Your cat has taste." The velvet tone of his voice crept through my defenses, stirring my reservoir of energy. He had power in his voice, but the sense of power didn't stop there. Like an iceberg, the man I saw was just a fraction of his true self. I felt his restrained energy prickling my skin, but what the hell was he?

"It's widely known that cats are half-demon. So what are you?" I asked, pleasantly surprised by my casual tone. The fact that he was in my apartment, sitting very comfortably on my couch, meant he wasn't full-demon. No invite--no entry. He was something else or a half-blood, like me.

I snaked my arms across my chest and leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe as though I hadn't practically fallen over my own feet a few moments before.

Mr. A. dropped his hand and gave Jonesy an obliging tickle behind the ear. My cat fell over himself, soaking up the attention, utterly oblivious to the rising tension in the room. Mr. A fought a smile before he planted his boots on the floor and leaned forward. "Can I trust you, Muse?"

I almost laughed. "Trust me?" I shoved away from the door, feeling his eyes lingering on me with every step. "No. You can't trust me."

His confident smile faltered as though my answer might actually matter. He broke our mutual stare and stood. Numerous buckles rattled against the supple leather of his coat. I caught a glimmer of light as it slid across the gun in its holster, but no sword.

"Where's the sword?" I stood between him and the front door.

"Somewhere safe."

"Why did you destroy my workshop?" My attempt at remaining calm began to fail. My voice quivered. "I don't know you. I've done nothing to you. Why would you do that to me?"

He cast his gaze over my shoulder at the front door behind me then dragged it back to meet my accusations. "I know you. You're the half-sister of the full-blood demon Valenti. The illegitimate child of Asmodeus--one of the Seven Princes of Hell. You were sold at birth as a plaything for lesser demons."

My power began to stir despite my best efforts to keep it from awakening. A tightening heat seeped outward, the touch of it rolling across my skin. I knew what I was, but hearing the disgust behind his words roused deep-seated emotions I'd tried to keep locked away.

"A half-blood abomination," he snarled. "An embarrassment to demons everywhere. By all rights, you should be dead."

The heat broke over my skin. My demon stretched her tendrils outward, entwining herself with my human form. "And you don't know the half of it," I growled. He had come to kill me, but he wasn't going to find it easy.

I welcomed the blaze of power, letting it burst white-hot across my fragile human flesh. Demon and human blurred together as one. My human body was a shimmering apparition, intangible amid the raging heat. Writhing power lanced up my spine, the pain blinding and yet invigorating. It sought release. My physical flesh restrained it, containing it behind reality. Now that I'd revealed my demon, there would be hell to pay.

I summoned the city's elemental heat. Human activity provides an endless supply of energy, an energy I can summon the same way the ocean calls the tides. The streetlights outside flickered before blazing brightly then bursting one by one and wilting on their poles like the long-dead flowers I'd thrown away. Heat swelled inside me, the power brimming over. It wasn't all I had, but it would be enough to make Mr. A think twice.

He had backed up a few steps, shielding his face from the heat with the crook of his arm, but he made no attempt to retaliate. He hadn't even reached for his gun.

Molten power dripped from my body, fizzling to nothing once it separated from the inferno lashing inside me. Half-blood, half-demon, I stood between two worlds, summoning the darkest of energies from the fabric of this reality, but it was restricted, captured, and tethered in my human form. Bound as I was, I could still incinerate him if he made one wrong move.

"I'm not your enemy, Muse." He flinched and staggered back a few steps as the sheer weight of the heat bore down on him, but still he didn't summon the power I knew he must have.

"No? Then prove it." My voice no longer resembled my own. It hissed and spat, lashed and snarled. He wouldn't see me as human, not anymore. What he saw, the thing that occupied my body, was a hellish visage of anger and hate, of the years I'd spent cowering at the feet of others. He saw a beast ablaze in flame, a female silhouette tethered by the blanched-white chains of power.

With each step, my intent grew. The demon inside me reared up, demanding satisfaction. She wanted the chaos that came with summoning the elements. Her elation spurred me on, her lust for destruction tugging my conscious thoughts toward maddening freedom.

Mr. A. pressed his back against the window and lowered his arm. Refusing to look away, his jaw worked, teeth grinding. His fists, clasped rigid at his sides, gave away the effort control took him. He was deliberately holding back, refusing to rise to my threat. His restraint was commendable, but it wouldn't stop me from hurting him.

"Be careful what side you choose, Muse." He turned and ducked out of my window in a flurry of red coat.

In a blink, I was at the window, hands splayed either side as I peered four floors down at the street below, but Mr. A was nowhere in sight. Sirens wailed and a fire truck blasted its horn somewhere close.

With the threat gone, the mass of elemental energy inside me had no outlet. With the promise of retribution stolen and the lure of devastation no longer achievable, it turned every drop of its displeasure on the woman anchoring it to this world: me.

I knew what was coming, but short of leveling a city block, I had no choice but to let it ride over me. I could have released the chaos, could have walked right out of my apartment building and swept a wave of destruction in my wake, but if I did that, I'd be no better than the demons I despised. As my demon turned the weight of pure elemental energy on me, I buckled under its pressure, falling to my knees and burying my head in my hands. Like the devastating force of a hurricane, it tore into me, metaphysical talons slashing through my cowering soul, tearing out any strength I might have had to resist it.

I hugged myself tighter, trying to escape the relentless assault. Lashings of fire snapped over me and through me. I heard my own cries in the maelstrom, but they were distant and detached, belonging to another woman. A pitiful human woman, weak of mind and soul.

"Invite me in, Muse." Akil. His voice broke through the storm of chaos in my head. The slightest touch of him was enough to soothe the madness.

I didn't need to speak the words. All it took was a moment of intention, a brief flicker of defeat, and he was there, beside me, gathering me into his arms and holding me close against him. I fought him at first, trying desperately to hold on to whatever remained of normality, but it was pointless. I had neither the strength nor the inclination to deny him, and he knew it.

Ignoring the pulsating waves of heat spilling from me, he cradled me against him as I sobbed. A wretched trembling racked me. My muscles cramped. With each lash of pain, I bucked, teeth snapping shut. Akil's strong arms held me firmly as he whispered words in a language I didn't understand and didn't care to.

I don't know how long he held me, but eventually, reason and reality returned. I listened to Akil's heavy heartbeat as the sounds of the city drifted through the open window. A cool breeze slid over my flushed skin. No physical indication of what I'd just been through remained. My demon rarely wounds me physically; she knows better than to damage her human counterpart.

"He was here," I said.

He shushed me, making words redundant.

"He was here. He got in. He's not a full-demon. He's something else..." Barely coherent words tumbled from my lips.

"I know."

I closed my eyes, resting my cheek against the warmth of his chest. It felt good to be held by him, to know that nobody could touch me. I was safe in his arms, and I wondered why on earth I'd ever wanted to be free of him. Who was I fooling? I couldn't live like a normal woman. I had a force of nature inside me, a demon consumed by need, with a deliberate lust for chaos. She was me. I couldn't hide from her and didn't want to. I wanted her. I wanted to awaken her, to embrace her. My attempt at normality had been the madness, but now I was home, in Akil's arms once more.

"You did well." His fingers stroked lazy circles on my shoulder.

"I shouldn't be here." I could have easily unleashed that explosive force of power. All it would have taken was my surrender, and innocent people would have died. With that much energy, my demon would have raged against anyone and anything in her way.

"I know."

"Take me home," I whispered.

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# Chapter 4

When I first turned my back on the netherworld, nightmares had plagued me. Once I had a taste of what it meant to be human, the full horror of what I'd been forced to endure overflowed inside me and my subconscious succumbed to the memories. The terrors became so bad that I began to fight sleep, to force myself to stay awake and avoid reliving the things I'd spent a lifetime running from. I tried to drink myself into hiding, but that only made it worse. I dabbled in drugs. Anything and everything to run from the demons, both metaphysical and tangible, that hunted me. Eventually, the nightmares tired of me, then stopped altogether. The demons never found me. I was safe in hiding. I'd found a way out. I would survive.

But when I let Akil back into my life, the nightmares returned.

* * *

I WOKE TANGLED IN PURE white sheets. My heart fluttered and my breaths came in short gasps. I couldn't fill my lungs. Panic stole my ability to think. Sunlight flooded in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Virgin-white drapes rippled in the breeze. But as serene as it all appeared, I saw demons in my peripheral vision. They leered at me, talons reaching outward, obsidian claws digging into my flesh.

I scrambled from the bed, the dream still very real in my mind, and stumbled over the sheets, dragging them with me. I fell and landed firmly on all fours. It was only then, hunched over and trembling, that I realized I was safe. There was nothing in the bedroom, and there never had been. They were in my head. Memories.

I saw the room for what it was: just an innocuous room. Clean. Modern. Nothing to indicate a malevolent presence. Clutching the sheets to me, I managed to stand on unsteady legs and stagger to the window. Boston harbor sparkled in the early morning sunlight. Luxury yachts bobbed in the marina, fifteen or so stories below. I recognized the opulent high-rise buildings as Atlantic Wharf, Boston's financial district and home to The Atlantic Hotel, Akil's hotel.

I stepped away from the glass, and the fluttering in my chest intensified. He'd brought me home, right back into the very heart of his world. Of course he had. I'd asked him to.

A bubble of laughter escaped me. Panic laced my veins with adrenaline. I spied clean clothes folded on the end of the bed and quickly dressed. The navy blue dress would have been modest had it not been for its short, figure-hugging cut. I didn't care what it looked like. I could change when I got home--my home.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to work out some of the knots, then plucked my boots from beside the door and stepped barefoot out into a marble-tiled hallway. Moving lightly on my feet, I breezed down the hall, slowing as it opened into a vast lounge. The lounge area was easily four times the size of my entire apartment. A sunken area housed a scattering of cream leather couches. Art adorned the walls, splashes of color among an otherwise stark interior.

I listened, but besides the soft hum of the air conditioning, the apartment was quiet. I was alone. I jogged across the lounge, feeling as exposed as a criminal outside the prison gates, then entered the entrance foyer.

With a sigh of relief, I tugged open the door leading to the elevators and met the bright smile of a woman clutching a file to her chest.

"Hi. Good. You're awake." She breezed by me, her rushed words chasing one another from her lips. "Akil sent this over for you. He wanted me to drop by, make sure you're okay."

My hand lingered on the door handle. Freedom was so close.

"I'm Nica, Akil's assistant."

I glanced back, finding her bubbly enthusiasm distracting. She held out her hand. She was human. At least I didn't get any indication of power coming from her, but I doubted Akil would employ a human assistant.

"It's okay." She tucked her short honey-blond hair behind her ear before offering me her hand once more. "I won't bite." She certainly looked friendly enough, her enthusiasm just about ready to burst, but I'd been fooled before. You don't have to be demon to be lying.

I shook her hand. Her grip was firm. "Where's Akil?"

"Working. He asked that you have a look at this file. I'll answer any questions you might have."

Nica appeared to be one of those people who could brighten any situation with her presence alone. The file, her friendly approach, and the fact she was a human personal assistant to a Prince of Hell had me intrigued enough to abandon my escape attempt.

I dropped my boots by the door and followed Nica back into the apartment. She wore cream trousers with sandals, as though it were the height of summer and not the tail end of October. Her white blouse billowed loosely around her slim physique.

She stepped down into the sunken seating area and waited for me to join her before handing me the file. "His name is Stefan."

I flicked open the file and immediately came face to face with my would-be assassin. The black-and-white picture showed him walking away from the camera, his face in profile. If his distinctive leather coat didn't give him away, then the car he had been captured approaching certainly did; it was the same battered, old Charger he'd parked outside my workshop.

"Stefan..." I whispered, perching myself on the edge of a couch and splaying the various photographs, documents, and notes across the coffee table in front of me. Half a dozen images caught him in motion, but few were close enough to allow me to examine the details of his face. Either he was apt at avoiding having his photo taken, or the photographer didn't want to get too close.

A black-and-white image of a familiar motif caught my eye: entwined scorpions, the same emblem as on Stefan's gun. "What is this mark?"

"His identifier." Nica lowered herself on the couch beside me and brushed the creases from her trousers. "His brand," she said, gathering from my confused expression that I had no clue what she was referring to. "Given to him at birth."

I frowned at her curious choice of words. A brand implied ownership. "What do you mean?"

"He's a hybrid, like you. From what we can gather, he was given that mark when he was handed over to his guardian, probably shortly after birth." Half-bloods were routinely killed at birth. Those who weren't were sold among the demons as curiosities. Few survived. I'd never met another.

"I don't have any marks like that," I said.

Nica smiled sympathetically. "He was taken in, Muse. Trained. Tutored and reared for one purpose. Somebody cared enough to brand him."

"Why?" Half-bloods were thought of as worthless monstrosities. Why would someone bother with him?

"He's a tool, a mercenary. If you look through the file, you'll see we can place him as a suspect in countless high-profile demon attacks and one successful assassination. It appears he was trained well."

I picked up the black-and-white photo that had first confirmed Stefan as my Mr. A. Even frozen mid-stride, he carried a confidence that no half-blood had the right to. I'd seen evidence of that smug attitude at both my workshop and my apartment, where he'd made himself at home while I'd slept, blissfully unaware of his presence.

"If he was hired to kill me..." I paused, uncertainty stalling me. "Why didn't he kill me at the workshop or at my apartment?"

Nica shrugged. "Perhaps he's playing with you."

Akil had said the same, but I wasn't so sure. If Stefan was a mercenary, then surely he would only receive payment on my death? So what was he waiting for? Sure, at my apartment, I'd given him a taste of what I was capable of, but prior to that, I'd been asleep. Considering how relaxed he'd been, sprawled on my couch, he could have been there for minutes, hours even. He'd had plenty of opportunity to kill me and collect on the contract, but he hadn't. He'd waited.

No, he hadn't been sent to kill me. I was sure of it. He wanted something, and the sword was the key to finding out what.

"So he's half-demon." I nodded firmly. It felt right. I'd known he had power, had felt it the moment he'd walked into my workshop, but his half-human nature had confused me. "What demon sired him?"

Nica scratched at her cheek, briefly dropping her gaze to the scattered images. "His father was human. His mother is Yukki-Onna, also known as the Snow Spirit."

"Snow? As in an ice element?" No wonder he and I didn't get along. While I was born of fire, my power fuelled by flame, his stemmed from the exact opposite. He and I were poles apart, elementally destined to repel each other.

"From the feelers Akil put out," Nica said, "she continues to have a relationship with her son. It's all rumor, of course. Officially, she denies he even exists."

I had to smile. If my father, Asmodeus, acknowledged my existence, I'd soon be wiped from the face of the earth like a bug from a windshield. But then my father was one of the Seven Princes of Hell, so he had a certain reputation to adhere to. Lucky for me, he chose to deny my existence, and nobody dared question him. It was a shame my brother couldn't follow in our father's footsteps and ignore me.

"Akil believes my brother sent Stefan to kill me..." I hadn't seen my brother for a long time, but the specter of his intent to kill me followed me everywhere. A full-blood demon born of a pure bloodline, he considered my existence an abhorrent freak of nature. My life offended him.

"In all honesty, it could be any number of demons. No offense, Muse, but you're not exactly popular among your kind." She offered me a half smile.

Because I dared to be different; the obtuse little half-blood who had somehow managed to slaughter her owner. Yeah, that was me, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Nica was right. My brother, Val, could have sent Stefan after me, but so could any number of pissed off demons who had taken offense at my ingratitude at being owned. How dare I snub them? Had I just insulted them, things might not have been so bad, but to kill my previous owner? Yeah... there was no coming back from that one. I had a target on my back, and there was no escaping it.

It did make me wonder why Akil had protected me and continued to do so.

"You'll be safe here," Nica offered, reading my pensive expression as one of concern.

"Yeah, about that... I can't stay here. I can't just leave everything I have." I tossed Stefan's picture back onto the pile of documents. "I have a boyfriend. Well, did have. We sort of...we broke up. Anyway, I can't just leave."

She stood with a sigh. "That's between you and Akil."

"And a cat, Jonesy. I have to make arrangements for him. Bills need paying. The police want to talk to me about the workshop. I can't just walk out one night and never go back."

Nica looked down at me, and I swear I saw pity on her face. "All I know is once you're in, there is no out." Her bright smile was back, and the pity I thought I'd seen might as well have been imagined. "It was nice to meet you. I was expecting a bitter and twisted woman on the verge of insanity. You seem pleasantly coherent to me."

I laughed, not entirely sure whether she was joking or not. "Thanks, I think."

"Take care, and if you have any more questions, just give me a call. My number's on the front of the file."

"I have a question."

"Oh?"

"What are you? You're not demon. You referred to demons as my kind, so what are you? I'm just curious, is all."

She chuckled. "Well, I'm just a personal assistant." By the way she spoke, with the slight tip of her head and a glint of mischief in her eyes, she made it perfectly clear she was not just a personal assistant.

After she'd left, I browsed through the file on Stefan, absorbing and digesting every piece of information I could find. At least when we next met, and I was under no illusion--there would be a next time--I'd know who I was dealing with.

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# Chapter 5

Jonesy's throaty purr resonated around my small kitchen. I envied my cat's simple existence as I tickled him behind his ears. He chomped merrily through his bowl of kibble, oblivious to my turmoil. I'd made arrangements for my landlord to temporarily take him on, but I really didn't want to leave him. I'd taken on the responsibility of having a pet, and it felt like failure handing him over to someone else--a little like how I'd been shoved from one owner to another. It didn't sit well with me. While discussing the temporary ownership of my cat, I let my landlord know the electrics in my apartment appeared to be on the blink (not mentioning it might have something to do with the energy spike from a half-blood demon) and paid him two months' rent in advance while giving him notice of my intention to vacate.

I lied and told him I'd secured a metalworking contract halfway across the country. He said he was sorry to see me go, and I believed him. In the three years I'd been there, I hadn't once been late with the rent. I didn't hold rowdy late-night parties and barely had any visitors at all. The model tenant.

That would all change if I stayed.

The few items I considered important fit into a shoebox. Photographs, mostly, and a note from Sam that he'd left at the workshop one evening, asking if I took commissions. He'd been recommended by a friend and had seen my work online. I didn't sell swords from a website, I was pretty sure that would raise some eyebrows, but I did craft metal pieces for private clients. Gates, candlesticks, art. It paid the bills, and I was damn good at it.

I'd realized I could read metal during my time as another demon's plaything. A curious skill, to say the least. I couldn't explain it, not really. Some might call it psychic, but how can metal retain a memory? It can't, but that doesn't stop me from seeing the people who might have briefly come into contact with a metal item. Perhaps the metal creates a bridge between the past and present, and being an elemental demon, I can cross that bridge. Whatever it was, the demons who controlled my chains very quickly learned about my skill. At first, I'd thought it might afford me some respect, but all it did was give them another means by which to hurt me.

Reading metal requires a sacrifice of blood, specifically, my blood. To get any kind of image at all, I must bleed, and it just so happens that all demons ever want to read are weapons. Swords, daggers, axes. Demons aren't known for their subtly. Make me bleed, make me read. It had been Damien's mantra. Come see the curious half-blood who can read your past; bring your own sword.

I shivered just thinking about him, preferring instead to file those memories away in the "Do Not Enter" part of my mind. Damien, my ex-owner, was dead, my past and the woman I had been, long dead with him. If it hadn't been for Akil, I might have still been there, sobbing at the end of those chains, my demon soul spent and my body abused.

"You shouldn't be here."

I yelped in surprise at Akil's voice. He stood in my apartment doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He had never looked as wickedly divine as he did in that moment. He wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo, jacket unbuttoned over a fluid white shirt. His crooked smile topped off the sophisticated demeanor, so he simply exuded confidence. He held a bottle of red wine in one hand. A cocktail dress still inside its clear wrapping was draped over his other arm.

He sauntered over to me and deliberately stood a little too close, leaning past me to place the bottle of wine on the countertop. As he straightened, he made no attempt to move out of my personal space.

He smelled like cinnamon and cloves, like a fireplace on a cold winter's day, and it was all I could do to gape up at him. His hazel eyes appeared almost black as he looked down into my wide-eyed stare. As he breathed, I felt the energy radiating from him and had to fight not to reach out and place my hands on his chest. I could soak up that power, draw it into me, but once I did that, I wouldn't be able to escape the lure of his control.

I took a few light steps backward, extricating myself from his clear intent to distract me. "I er--I can't stay with you, Akil. I just can't." Along that path, bad things slumbered. If I gave in to him, let him control everything again, it would be like walking toward a black hole, knowing it would swallow me whole but unable to break free. I couldn't give up my control. It was everything to me.

"You can't stay here."

"I know that." I gestured at the shoebox as though that explained everything. I sounded irritated, but I was in fact more annoyed at my traitorous body and the stirring of desire that did odd things to me. For a start, I couldn't breathe properly.

I marched across the room and flung open the same window Stefan had escaped from the day before. Outside, the sun had dipped behind the high-rises, the warmth of the day seeping from the air as the dark of night loomed.

Akil stood beside me, leaning against the wall by the window and snaking his arms crossed. "Your little show of power melted the streetlights." He was enjoying this, could probably read right through my stubborn attempt at denying I felt anything. "It made the news. A power surge. I've never seen a power surge melt the post. Have you?"

I shifted awkwardly. I could see one of the streetlights in question outside the window, just off to my right, its damaged head drooping low. No, that wasn't normal. The elements of chaos are slippery, difficult to rein in, always demanding freedom.

"Every demon worth his name knows something happened here, Muse, and you're right in the middle of it." He closed the distance between us with a single stride and swept a fallen lock of hair from across my eye. "You can't come back here. I can't lose you again."

I fell into his eyes again, my body possessed by the hunger he roused in me. A shiver of power danced across my skin, and the fine hairs on my arms stood on end. He might look human, but that was where the similarities ended. The demon inside his male exterior burned with primal needs. It devoured, it stole, it consumed. He was all greed and desire, always hungry, and I knew his real name. Mammon, Prince of Greed.

It was the human in me that resisted him, always had been. Perhaps that's why he'd saved me. To my knowledge, I was the only demon, half or otherwise, brave or stupid enough to walk away from him. Most cowered at his feet.

I found myself moving away again. As if in a slow waltz, we drifted about my apartment, only to be irrevocably drawn back together again.

"You're going out?" I squeaked, clearing my throat and cursing my female urges. Goddamn him. How was I meant to think clearly with this much power in the room? I planted both hands on the cool kitchen countertop, admiring the little red dress folded there, with its short ruffled lace hem. If he thought I was wearing that, he could go straight back to hell. Unless I could wear it with boots, of course.

"I was hoping you'd join me. A little human party I've thrown together."

I turned my head, smiling. "I don't think that's wise. Do you? I've got a killer after me, not to mention all manner of demons who would like to take me down a peg or two, and you want me to party the night away?"

He raised an eyebrow and shrugged a shoulder, before retrieving the bottle of wine and beginning to search my cupboards, I assumed, for wine glasses.

"Nobody would dare threaten you in my presence." He found the glasses and planted them in front of me. He tore the foil off the wine, paused as if briefly considering searching for a corkscrew, then decided not to bother and instead placed the palm of his hand over the cork, summoning it from the bottle with a satisfying pop.

I watched the red wine pool in the glasses as he poured. With a twist of the wrist, he straightened the bottle, and placing it on the side, he slipped the stem of a glass between his fingers and presented the drink to me.

"What do you want from me, Akil?" I smiled my thanks and took the glass. I'd asked him the same question many times over the years and had never received a satisfying answer. In my last few years by his side, I'd stopped asking altogether, but by then I'd stopped thinking for myself too.

"All I want is for you to be safe."

"But why?" I tasted the wine, finding it satisfyingly warm.

He picked up his glass and tapped a finger on the dress. "Will you come?" His smile twitched as he saw me hesitate. "How long has it been since you really enjoyed yourself, Muse?" He leaned forward. "I mean all of you." The delicious purr of his dulcet tones stole my breath.

What harm could it do? A human party, he had said. Nothing to worry about.

Leaving my wine on the countertop, I scooped up the dress, and casting him a playful smirk, I disappeared into my bedroom to change.

A party might do me some good, I thought. A chance to unwind, to forget about my would-be assassin and the abrupt end to my normal life. Perhaps I could treat it like a farewell of sorts. One last hurrah before I stepped back into the world of demons and their devious machinations.

After dressing in the little red number, I checked my reflection and reached behind me in an attempt to zip up the dress. I couldn't do much about my pale complexion or the hounded look in my eyes, but with a little splash of lipstick, I might resemble a woman in control.

Akil's reflection behind mine snatched a gasp from me. Before I could protest, I felt the press of him against my back. The aura of power that he wore wrapped its warmth around me as he trailed his fingers down the curve of my neck. I tilted my head to the side, my gaze locked on his, daring him to proceed.

He slid a hand around my waist. His palm pressed against my hip as he pulled me back against him. My own power unfurled, tentative ethereal tendrils reaching outward, entwining around him, through him.

He growled low in his throat and broke our stare by bowing his head. I couldn't help leaning back against him while his lips trailed painfully delicate kisses down my neck. He slid the dress from my shoulder and nipped at my flushed skin, sending tremors rippling through me. The demon in me purred, slipping into my skin and spilling the heat of otherworldly energy across my flesh.

I heard him suck in air through his teeth, breathing in energy, and felt his body quiver. I watched his reflection as he dragged his stare back up to meet mine. To know that he, a being born of magic and chaos, an ageless and powerful Prince of Hell, wanted me was all the excuse I needed.

He saw my acceptance, or felt it, and turned me suddenly in his arms, pinning me back against the mirror. I laughed or growled or purred again. Either way, I was lost. He clasped my head in his hands. The sudden urgency made it difficult for me to breathe. I expected him to kiss me, for his mouth to hungrily devour mine. I knew where it would roam from there, the trail of wanton destruction it would leave across my body. I groaned for it, but he kissed me so gently, lips so frustratingly soft.

I snarled. His teasing just about drove me insane, and I lunged at him, tasting him, teasing him. Arms around his neck, I pulled him down to me, and this time he didn't hesitate. When he drove me back against the mirror, the glass cracked. Hitching a leg around his thigh, I locked him against me, sinking my hands through his hair as his biting kisses skipped lower.

The phone in the kitchen rang.

He snarled something that didn't sound human before finding my mouth again. My body baked in the heat rippling between us. Power spiraled around us like an entirely new force of nature. I knew what it meant to be lost in Akil, to forget the fragility of my human flesh and succumb to the overwhelming power he commanded.

The phone continued to ring, its shrill alarm sounding all the more persistent for being ignored.

Akil planted a hand against the wall beside me and met my stare. His dark eyes simmered with energy. An inferno raged within. He dragged every breath through clenched teeth, as though struggling to contain the energy broiling the air. I have to admit, it felt good to have him like that, knowing I could pull him back in. He might not be human, but the vessel he had chosen was, and I could give him one hell of a ride.

The ringing cut off, and my recorded voice jabbered on about not being home, please leave a message.

I leaned into him and licked at his lips, teasing my tongue ever so gently between them.

"This is a message for Charlotte Henderson. Charlotte, I'm Detective Mark Bergin. We need you to come down to the station. We have a witness who's given us a description of a man we believe to have been at your premises shortly before the explosion and... well... we would prefer it if we spoke to you in person. You need to call me back. This man is potentially very dangerous."

I heard the detective's voice chattering away in the other room as he left his message. I'd have ignored it, but the mention of a man I could only assume was Stefan instantly doused my desire. Akil must have sensed my distraction. With a resigned sigh, he leaned against me, his cheek resting against mine. The power we had summoned between us began to fizzle away, crackling and spitting its displeasure as it retreated. I felt its departure keenly and ached to have it back, but the moment was gone.

When he pulled back, the swirl of power I'd seen in his eyes had vanished, and his smile was a little despondent.

"Tonight," he promised. "After the party. We're going to finish this."

He said it like a threat, and my insides fluttered, a sliver of desire peeling the last little groan from me before Akil released me.

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# Chapter 6

Streetlights flickered on as Akil's limo inched forward through the rush-hour traffic. The car was so well insulated that, while I could see the city bustling by us outside, I couldn't hear a thing. Throngs of people flowed back and forth over the sidewalks in their rush to get home. They had no idea one of the most powerful demons ever to have existed sat a few yards from them, behind the limo's black privacy glass.

Akil relaxed in the seat opposite me, leaning an arm on the wrap-around shelf. His gaze slid across the anonymous people outside. Lost in thought, we had barely spoken a word since leaving my apartment. I felt the tug of desire every time I let my gaze linger just a little too long. Occasionally, he'd flick his dark eyes to me, and I'd see that hunger slumbering there. He didn't need to speak to make me squirm in the leather seats. It took every ounce of my human stubbornness to stop myself from pouncing on him. My imagination worked overtime to supply me with the sort of images that brought a rush of color to my cheeks.

"Would you like me to accompany you?" He leaned forward to reach for the door.

The unimaginative blocky structure housing the police department loomed outside as the driver pulled the car to a halt against the curb. I peered through the soundproof glass at the entrance, reaching for the door handle. My fingers brushed his. A spark of energy bolted between us, providing enough of a shock for me to snatch my hand back.

He held my gaze. Words were superfluous against the wolfish grin on his lips. He opened the door, stepped out, and held it open for me.

It felt good to step from the car back into the bustle of city life. I breathed deeply, tasting the metallic residue of the city air on my lips. The clamor from the traffic grounded me firmly back in reality.

Akil looked at me as though waiting for an answer. It took me a while to remember what he'd asked.

I glanced up the steps at the police department doors. "No, I'll be fine. Will you wait?"

"Of course." He closed the car door and shrugged off his coat before sliding the expensive garment around my shoulders. He hesitated, bunching the jacket together below my chin and looking down at me. His smile faltered, and the briefest glimmer of concern tightened his expression before he retreated to lean against the car. Despite the chill in the air, he wore only a shirt. The cold wouldn't bother him. Such human afflictions rarely did, and yet something clearly concerned him.

I climbed the steps and entered the building, feeling somewhat overdressed in my red cocktail dress and knee-high boots. In the cramped waiting area, plastic chairs lined one wall. A water cooler butted up against the reception desk. I registered my arrival with the uniformed officer at the desk and asked for Detective Bergin.

I didn't have long to wait. Detective Bergin introduced himself with a handshake firm enough to bruise. A big man at six foot plus, he towered over me. A barrel chest and booming voice declared him alpha, whether he knew it or not. He was the kind of guy people instinctively moved out of the way for.

"Have a seat." In an interview room, he gestured at the metal chairs before pulling one out from beneath the table and lowering his muscular bulk into it. The chair creaked.

The room was little more than a concrete box. A fluorescent light spilled a sickly glow on its four mauve walls. I couldn't be sure whether it was the room or the man, but a slither of unease had worked its way beneath my skin.

"Thank you for coming." His voice boomed far too loud for the small space we shared. He gestured again for me to sit, thrusting out a large calloused hand as though it was not a request but an order.

I planted a hand on my hip and stayed on my feet. "That's okay. You said someone saw something at my workshop?" I didn't want to stay any longer than necessary. I had a hot date, literally, and my distaste for the detective was growing by the second. His very presence left an odd taste in my mouth, like the gritty aftertaste of spoiled fruit.

"Yes." He snatched at a thin file from the table and flicked open the cover. "Do you know this man?" He pinched an eight-by-ten color photo between his thick fingers and held it up for me.

It was Stefan. "No."

The same distinctive red coat, but the image had been enlarged. The quality suffered because of it. In the photo, Stefan held something at his side, a sword perhaps, a very different one from the katana he'd brought to my workshop. With no identifying date or time stamp and a blurry background, I couldn't be sure when or where the image had been taken.

"We have a witness placing this man outside your workshop minutes before the explosion. Apparently, he got into a red car. Do you know anything about that?"

"No."

Bergin's cracked lips peeled back over coffee-stained teeth in a mockery of a smile. "You don't remember watching him leave prior to your workshop going up in smoke?"

I glanced at the door and back at Bergin. "Are you asking or telling me?"

He blinked slowly, leaning back in his chair and chomping his lips together as he deliberately raked a filthy gaze over me. "This man, he's wanted for murder, numerous assaults, willful destruction of public property, and more parking offenses than you can shake a stick at, and yet he continues to elude us--not to mention he destroyed your place of work. So I was wondering if you might remember seeing him and whether you'd be kind enough to tell us where we can find him."

"I don't know that man. I've never seen him before in my life." Why was he so insistent? Wasn't I meant to be the victim here? I certainly did not like how he looked at me or how he implied I was lying. Despite the fact that he was right.

Bergin refused to look away as I deliberately pinned my stare on his. He might think he could bully me. In fact, from the sordid gaze, I could tell he wasn't thinking much beyond what lay beneath my dress. He had no idea what he was dealing with.

"Are you done?" My fingers twitched at my sides. I could spill a little power into my touch if I needed to. He'd wake up with one hell of a headache.

He snorted a laugh. "You half-bloods are all the same."

I looked away, plastering a grin on my lips. Apparently, there was more going on here than a simple Q and A. Now that he'd revealed he knew me, we could cut to the chase.

He stood, the chair legs scraping across the floor, and steepled his fingers on the table before him. He bowed his head but kept his eyes on me, like a wolf hunched, ready to attack. "You think Akil can protect you?"

I summoned a little heat, pooling it in the palms of my hands. If he noticed any change in me, he didn't show it.

"He's not here now." Bergin's voice began to slur and grind his words, no doubt something to do with the elongated teeth cluttering his mouth.

Demon. I had no idea what sort, but I knew I was about to find out.

The exit door stood at about the same distance away from me as Bergin. If I made a dash for it, the table between us would slow him down.

He straightened, muscles cracking as he shook off his human guise. The bulk of him shimmered indistinctly. My limited human eyesight blurred the full depth of his transformation, but I saw his form expand as though he'd gained a few more pounds in a few seconds. His flesh peppered with scales. His mouth and nose stretched outward, elongating into a snout. His curved fangs drooled saliva. A forked tongue flicked.

He hunched over, arms pinned to his sides as his body stretched. Scales latticed the length of him until nothing of the detective remained. The huge serpent reared up, mounting the table in one fluid ripple of its smooth body.

"I shall be rewarded..." Its hideous voice clawed through my thoughts.

I thrust a bolt of energy down my right arm and cast my hand out, lashing a whip-like tendril of heat across its scaled form, then sprinted for the door. I managed perhaps two strides before it slithered in front of me, blocking my path. Serpentine eyes blazed green. A black tongue flicked, tasting the air, forcing me back.

"You should be dead," it quite literally hissed, spittle streaming from its fangs, but I heard the words clearly inside my mind. "Your throat cut the day you were born. That is our way. You are a monstrosity!"

"Look who's talking," I snarled.

I dipped my chin, looking up at the demon through hooded eyes. Thrusting both arms down at my sides, I summoned power, drawing it into me while the darkest part of me spilled into my fragile flesh.

The serpent-demon rose higher, jaws opening into a glistening grin. It lunged forward as I threw everything I had at it. A furious blast of energy funneled through me, slamming into the beast with enough force for it to ripple backward, shaking its whiskered head with a wrenching scream. I backed up again, the power planting itself inside my limbs, pooling in my muscles, and bolstering my fragile flesh.. It rushed through me, a burning elixir spilling through my veins, bringing me to life. And this time it had a target.

I lashed out, casting a lance of power toward the layered scales of the thing's chest. The white heat passed through it, tearing a hole. The demon lifted its head and let out a keening cry that drilled into my skull.

I staggered. Its cry shattered my momentary enjoyment like shards of glass thrust into my skull. I had no choice but to cover my ears. It was no use. The cry resounded within me.

Hunched low, I willed it to stop. My power rattled about me, seeking a target but finding only chaos. I couldn't focus, couldn't hear, could barely breathe, and then it was gone. Like the snap of a light switch chasing away the plummeting darkness, it was over, and when I opened my eyes, I saw why.

Akil, or rather his true form, Mammon, stood before the serpent-demon. He had thrust an ethereal broadsword made entirely of an undulating electric blue light through the serpent-demon's scaled body. The bloodied, intangible tip of the sword protruded from its skull. I stumbled, falling to my knees, finding Akil's true nature difficult for my human eyes to focus on as always. The suffocating weight of his considerable power filled the room. The overwhelming pressure of it crushed the air from my lungs. I forced myself to look at him, refusing to let weakness steal my consciousness.

Akil's broad, multi-jointed wings of tanned leather bowed against the ceiling, a dusting of embers raining from their arched edges. As those wings flexed, the muscles in his broad back rippled. Every ounce of flesh looked as though it had been sculpted from obsidian, every muscle lean and powerful.

"Vos inhonesto mihi." Akil's growl thundered around my aching skull. You dishonor me.

I watched his right shoulder bunch, one wing jerking a little as he altered his grip on the sword and twisted the blade deep in its snug-fitting wound. The serpent demon grunted, skewered as it was. It was only when Akil tore the sword free, ripping open the chest of the beast, that it collapsed forward, tail twitching. A dark pool of blood bloomed around its hideous body. Its green eyes hung open, unseeing. Dead.

Akil turned, and I caught a glimpse of his true face before I bowed my head. Cut from the very fabric of the elements, his face barely resembled the man I'd left beside the car. He appeared more beast than man with spiraled horns twisting from his forehead and his wide, gaping mouth brimming with jagged teeth. Dark wrappings of power thrashed around him, seeking their next victim. An aura of energy simmered against his flesh. The thin veil of reality fizzled into dust at his feet.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I cowered on my hands and knees before him. The other part of me had slunk away into the farthest corners of my mind, curling herself into a tiny, insignificant flutter in my chest, hardly there at all.

He crouched before me, thick muscular arms resting on stocky knees slick with a sheen of energy. When he held out a hand, elongated fingers tipped with curved claws, I had no choice but to take it. My delicate fingers curled in his, my human flesh so pink and fragile. His writhing tendrils of power curled themselves up my forearm, snaking around my elbow before leaping to my shoulder. I had enough time to realize the darkness had entwined itself around my legs like creeping vines before the weight of it dragged me down. I fell, and the darkness rushed up to greet me.

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# Chapter 7

The party had spilled out into the hotel foyer. The inebriated guests wore masquerade masks ranging from vampires to ghosts and demons. Akil's idea of irony, I guess. It would have been hilarious, had I not just seen one of the originals of those so-called myths slice a serpent demon in half.

Akil sat in the center of the head table like a scene from a modern-day Last Supper, leaning crookedly in his chair as he laughed at something the woman beside him said. They all wore masks, so only mouths and eyes could be seen. The more subtle expressions remained hidden. He had given up trying to catch my eye and now appeared to revel in the role of charming host. His mask sported a pair of devil horns. Those around him had no idea that the beast sat among them. He played the part of a human a little too perfectly, but nobody would suspect him. He was too charming, too successful, too influential to be anything other than the city's most successful developer.

I poured myself some more wine and slumped in my chair. It wasn't as if I didn't know what he was. I felt the power in him every time I shared the same airspace as him, but it's one thing to know and another to see. I'd deliberately forgotten who and what he was for the sake of my sanity. My half-human mind couldn't keep up with what I'd seen, despite the fact that much of the same elemental energy ran through my veins. The human brain struggles to comprehend the truth about demons. The netherworld exists beyond our spectrum of understanding. Our senses are struck dumb by its extremes. Thankfully, the netherworld is locked beyond the veil, out of human reach, but while humans can't survive there for long, demons can and do live among us here. Higher demons can cross the veil at will, but most prefer their homeland to ours. Aren't we lucky?

Akil had walked me out of that police department without another soul seeing us. The people had parted in front of us, veering around us without realizing anything was amiss. He had simply peeled the visible reality around us so that we emerged outside the building without so much as catching a sideways glance from the dozens of people on the sidewalk.

Hands planted against the roof of his car as though to steady himself, Akil had stripped the demon from his visible form, shedding layers like a snake sheds its skin, revealing the male vessel inside. Watching him emerge like that--his human form reborn like a moth from its chrysalis--turned my stomach. By the time he'd sat me in the back of the car, I'd felt numb. When we reached his hotel, I'd still been trembling like a leaf clinging to an otherwise naked branch. Without so much as a word of explanation, an apology, or an "are you okay," he'd handed me a cat mask and escorted me inside.

That had been over two hours ago.

If he knew of the turmoil spinning in my head, he hadn't once mentioned it. For him, it was as though nothing untoward had taken place. Another day at the office.

Nica slipped into a chair beside me, sporting a very fine leopard-print ankle-length dress and a witch's mask, complete with a cute crooked hat. "Hey there." She beamed. "Akil said you were coming." Perhaps my smile came off more as a grimace than I'd meant it to, because she flinched, her bubbly mood evaporating. "Did you read all the information in the file?"

It took me a moment to even remember what file she was referring to. I hadn't thought of Stefan since Bergin had mentioned him prior to turning into a snake-demon and trying to kill me. Now I wondered what the police would be asking. They wouldn't find a body--of that I was pretty sure--but Bergin wasn't coming back from a sword through the gullet, and I was technically the last person to see him. How would Akil cover it up? Would he even bother?

"You look a little pale. Are you okay?" Nica asked.

The concern in her voice roused me from my recall of events. "Yes, I'm okay. Just tired." I mustered a warmer smile and downed my drink.

She shrugged and refilled my glass. "Something has happened between you and Akil. Am I right?"

I swallowed, reaching for the wine. "What makes you say that?"

She looked past me and down the table to where Akil and a small crowd were gathered. "He looks content, but you see how his fingers are tapping on the base of his glass?" She nodded encouragement, so I had to look.

"He hasn't touched his drink. That's the same glass of wine he's been nursing all evening. And that crowd--some of them are the most influential people in this city, and yet he hasn't once engaged in business talk. He's avoiding it, skirting around the topic, which is not like him at all. We both know how greedy he is, but tonight, there's nothing here for him."

I looked at Nica with newfound respect. "You know him well."

"I have to." She lowered her voice and reached out a hand to clasp mine. "If we play with fire, sooner or later, we all get burned." She slipped off her mask, revealing a wrought expression. Lines of worry etched into her fine features. "Nobody plays with Akil unless they're prepared." She lifted her glass, inviting me to do the same.

"To the survivors," she suggested. We clinked our glasses together.

"You're right." I finally admitted. I sensed the warmth of Akil's gaze on me but refused to rise to the bait. "Something happened."

"Well, don't let him fool you. Whatever it was, it bothered him." Nica grinned and dipped her head low. "Whatever you did, good on you. It can't hurt to remind them who holds the true power, right?"

"Who?" I laughed.

"You, us, women. He loves you, Muse, and that's more powerful than anything else in this mockery of reality."

That was absurd. Akil didn't--couldn't love me. Demons were capable of many things, but love wasn't one of them. "How much wine have you had?"

She arched an eyebrow and admired the swirl of red wine in her glass. "Not nearly enough. Finish off this bottle with me, will you?"

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# Chapter 8

As the night wore on, a live band began to play. The crowd got merrier by the minute. Much of the exuberance had rubbed off on me, or perhaps it was the wine. I'd begun to relax a little and mingle with the guests. Most were human, but some were not. I caught a few leers from behind the anonymous masks and silently cursed Akil. He'd made a point of telling me that no demons were on the list, and yet I'd counted at least five blending in with Boston's elite. They, of course, looked just like anyone else, but there were clues. Demons move with a fluid grace, as though every step, every gesture, is measured. Nothing is wasted. When still, they might as well be smartly dressed mannequins, and they're equally as disconcerting because of their inhuman stillness. Humans are constantly in motion. Demons are not. They stalk. It's part of what makes them so efficient.

I gave the demons I'd spotted a wide berth. Akil seemed confident nobody would dare hurt me in his presence, but that wouldn't prevent one of them from driving a dagger into my back before he could stop them. I admired the generous buffet food, wondering if I should eat something from the perfect plates of sandwiches arranged in geometric shapes. Some had yet to be touched, and I had to fight the urge to upset the precise design just for fun.

A hand slipped around my waist from behind, and immediately a sliver of fear trickled down my spine. Akil must have felt me tremble, because he bowed his head, whispering against my cheek, "Do I frighten you?"

I didn't dignify his query with an answer and turned to face him, driving back the fear with sheer determination. He still wore the ridiculous devil mask. I flicked it off to reveal his playful expression beneath, then tossed the mask away with a mischievous grin.

"Dance with me." It wasn't a request. His fingers had laced with mine, and he pulled me toward the dance floor before I could concoct an excuse. Thankfully, the music was slow. I had no idea how to dance. They didn't teach party etiquette where I was raised.

He pulled me against him, hand slipping down to the small of my back to hold me close. I giggled. Alcohol had gone a long way toward soothing my fears. Stumbling a little, I looked at my feet, wondering what on earth I was supposed to do with them. Akil tipped my chin up.

"Just lean into me and relax."

I obeyed, preferring to let him guide me than risk complete embarrassment. I found the slow beat of the music calming. Or was it standing so close to him that banished my worries? Either way, I let him hold me close as we swayed gently.

"Are you all right?" His deep voice rumbled through me as the music played around us. There were others dancing, but I barely noticed them. I listened to his heartbeat, losing myself in its rhythm.

"I'm okay," I whispered, and I really was. Akil had that effect on me. "I had that serpent demon where I wanted him, y'know. I was just about to finish him off when you showed up."

I felt Akil chuckle. The delicious ripple of laughter ignited desire at the very heart of me. "I very much doubt that," he said. "The detective was a Dahaka servant." The exotic pronunciation rolled off Akil's tongue, revealing an ancient accent he usually kept hidden. "A particularly aggressive example. He would have relished devouring you, likely feet first."

I stopped swaying in time with Akil and looked up. He smiled, but I got the impression he wasn't joking. With a trembling sigh, I rested my head against his shoulder. "I wanted to leave all of this behind."

His fingers gently stroked my back. "You can't."

"I know, but I could have pretended."

"Your five-year folly almost got you killed." His arm snaked around me.

I closed my eyes, my grip on him tightening. I'd wanted to be free so badly that I might have gladly died for it. The demons and their ways weren't for me. I belonged in the nine-to-five workday with the Starbucks coffees and kicking back on the couch, Doritos in one hand, TV remote in the other. I enjoyed the mundane. At least that's what I told myself. It wasn't exactly true. I could never run from the half of me that danced in the dark.

"Let's go." He looked into my tired eyes. "Wait here. I'll make my excuses, and we'll go back to my apartment."

With a nod of agreement, I reluctantly let go of him and cast him a little curl of a smile before he turned and let the crowd swallow him up. He'd promised a night to remember, and the thought of being alone with him with no interruptions--exploring, tasting, teasing--warmed me in the most intimate of places.

A shoulder nudged mine, forcing me to stumble back, just as an arm hooked around me, reeling me into a crushing embrace. I opened my mouth, about to launch a verbal assault on my unwanted dance partner, when I felt the brutal nudge of a gun poke up under my ribs.

"Scream and I'll pull the trigger." Stefan drilled his gaze into mine.

We were moving, swaying to the music like those around us, his grip so tight against me that I had no choice but to step with him. "You won't leave here alive," I hissed.

"No?" His azure eyes scanned the crowd around us. "I don't think you know me very well."

I squirmed in his grip. The pressure of the gun began to bruise me. "I thought you'd have had enough of your games by now."

He met my gaze as though something I'd said surprised him. "You're in danger."

"No shit."

"You have to come with me. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere with you." I squirmed again. His grip tightened further, wrenching a gasp from my lips.

He suddenly bowed his head, his hair tickling my cheek, and whispered, "You must have realized by now that I don't want to hurt you."

Anger flash-burned through me. "Then you're failing miserably because you have hurt me. You took away the only thing I ever really owned. You stole my life." As he faced me, I saw his eyes narrow as though I'd hurt him with my words, but for the life of me, I couldn't imagine why. "Who are you?"

"Please, come with me now. There are others here. You aren't safe."

I followed his gaze among the sea of party guests and saw the demons approaching, parting the dancing couples like lions stalking through long grass. Stefan jerked an eyebrow and then the pressure of the gun was gone. His cool grip tightened around my wrist, and before I could protest, I was jogging after him. He led me through a fire door. The music from the party thumped the air and echoed down the stairwell. Fluorescent lights hummed above us.

"Wait." I snatched my wrist free, forcing him to turn. His long leather coat rippled around him. "Just tell me what's happening." I rubbed my aching wrist.

"They're coming."

The fire door burst open behind me. I had a moment to recognize one of my suspected demons from the party before he launched himself at me. He sprang off his legs in such a way that he literally pounced, hands and feet slamming into me, throwing me back against the wall. My head smacked against the block work, dizzying me and stalling my reaction. He threw his head back and yawned, revealing a mouthful of razor-sharp, needle-thin teeth. Repugnant ocher venom dripped from their points, dribbling over the distorted flesh of his chin.

I flooded my body with power, but it wouldn't come quickly enough.

A gun blast cracked the air, and the side of the demon's skull exploded in a burst of blood and bone. I blinked, ears ringing, and struggled to comprehend what was happening as the body collapsed in a lifeless mound at my feet.

Stefan stood a few steps down, gun poised in one hand. He snatched at my hand and tugged me stumbling down the stairs behind him. We didn't stop until we burst through the doors into the basement parking garage. Orderly rows of cars lined the bays, their glossy paintwork shining beneath the orange strip lights. I saw his battered, old car ahead.

I pulled back, but his grip tightened. "Wait." He didn't stop. "Wait, dammit!" I dug my heels in and snatched him back. "I can look after myself."

He rounded on me, his smile devoid of all humor. "Are you serious?"

"Who the hell are you, and why do you think you can drag me around like this?"

He snorted a derisive laugh. "I just saved your life--again--and you doubt me?" His voice echoed around the parking lot, bouncing off the walls and returning with just as much derision in its tone.

"What do you mean, again?"

He looked as though he might answer, when a blood-curdling howl sounded throughout the parking garage. I turned, sensing the source was somewhere behind me. I knew that sound. The beast it came from was no friendly dog. Fear flushed through my veins, and my adrenaline spiked, racing my heart and ratcheting up my breathing.

Another howl went up, followed quickly by another. The wretched baying echoed.

"Muse! C'mon!"

I searched the shadows among the parked cars but couldn't see anything, but then I wasn't going to. I was too human to see them. Then I heard the panting, the tick of claws on concrete, and the thump of heavy pads.

I swung a glance back at Stefan. "They're for you!" I hoped they were, because Hellhounds cannot be outrun.

He dipped his chin and shook his head once, then lifted the gun and fired over my shoulder. The gunshot cracked the air, the deafening boom followed by a dire whine. I trembled even as I summoned my element, because I knew it wouldn't be enough. I couldn't see the hounds--they were constructs of pure demonic power--but I could hear them. My imagination unhelpfully filled in the blanks.

Stefan grabbed my arm and tugged me backward. I finally found my nerves again and ran beside him, heeled boots skidding on the concrete as I ducked around Stefan's car and tugged open the passenger door. "Can you see them?" I panted, throwing myself into the seat.

"Oh yes." He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Thrusting the stick into reverse, he flung the car from its parking bay and stamped on the brakes.

Twisting in the passenger seat, I peered out through the back window but couldn't see anything. The car suddenly bucked, the roof above caving inward. Four gashes ripped through the roof as though it were paper.

"Hold on!" Stefan planted the accelerator to the floor, lurching the car backward again.

I snatched at my seat, clinging on as the invisible hound on the roof tumbled forward, cracking the windshield and denting the hood on its way down. Stefan locked an arm around the back of my seat. His unwavering glare focused through the rear window, and his other hand twitched the steering wheel. I had a moment to wonder where we were going, when the rear of the car plowed into a sizeable chunk of nothingness. The hound yowled.

"Is it dead?"

"Nope, just pissed." Stefan slammed the car into gear and yanked the steering wheel, accelerating hard toward the exit ramp. The rear end fishtailed, tires squealing, before the car finally found traction and lunged forward. Its raw horsepower threw me back into my seat.

We burst onto the street, narrowly missing passing traffic. Stefan fought with the steering wheel. The car slid sideways, but he didn't ease off the accelerator. Engine revving, the car gobbled up the road. Buildings blurred past us. Weaving between the sparse nighttime traffic, Stefan swapped the car from lane to lane. Horns sounded around us.

"Put your seatbelt on." He stared ahead, his attention divided between the road and mirrors, before changing gears to squeeze yet more acceleration from the engine.

I fumbled with the seatbelt, watching the needle on the speedometer creep higher. Glancing out of the rear window, I couldn't see anything but the angry flash of headlights from other drivers as they resented our disregard for traffic laws.

"I can't see them."

"Take this." He tossed the gun into my lap before dropping a gear. The car roared, and we burst through an intersection, the red lights little more than a blur in my peripheral vision.

I picked up the weighty gun. "But I can't see them."

He stole a brief glance my way. "Call your power. You'll see them."

Stefan jerked the car to the right. I clung on, leaning away from the turn as the car drifted toward oncoming traffic. If the hounds didn't kill us, his driving would. I caught him smiling and frowned at him. He was enjoying this.

Straightening the car out, he said, "You might want to start pointing and shooting about now."

I twisted in my seat, gun heavy in my hand, and peered out of the rear window. Spilling a little of my element into my body, I let it pool outward, dropping a warm veil over my vision. At first, very little changed. As the car twitched and jerked, I struggled to focus. Then I saw the glass windows blow from the ground floor of a nearby building. Ahead of the devastation, a parked car bounced sideways, an entire side caved in. I tried to focus on where I thought the beast to be, using the wake of destruction as a pointer, and saw its hazy outline shimmer into existence.

It was huge, the size of a small car, and hairless except for several razor-edged spikes running down its back. Its hideous bulk bounded toward us, bouncing off the city obstructions like a dog through an agility course. I tried to steady the gun on the seatback, but the constant twisting and lurching made aiming impossible. "I can't get a shot."

"You want me to pull over?"

"No!" I saw a gleam of mischief in his eyes and swore at him. Sarcastic and arrogant, what a charmer.

"It's gaining!" The hound had our scent, its crimson eyes wide with fury as it chased us down.

I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

"Flick the safety off," Stefan helpfully suggested, suppressing a laugh.

I fumbled with the safety, yanked the slide on the barrel back, and fired. The recoil nearly tore my arm off. The bullet punched through the shatterproof rear window, but the shot went high, completely missing the hound. To make matters worse, its pack mate raced up the street, leaping over slow-moving traffic without breaking its stride.

Stefan's car slowed. "Don't slow down," I said, "They're almost on us."

He checked the mirrors and cast a glance ahead at a tourist bus lumbering its way down the street.

I looked back and yelped. The hound's snout was level with the rear of the car, black tongue lolling, saliva foaming around its mouth. It snapped at the rear fender, bumping its head against the metal. The car broke away, threatening to spin. Stefan steered into the slide, regaining control as we drew level with the bus. The hound slammed a muscular shoulder into the rear door, growling through bared teeth. Head level with Stefan's door, it thrust its skull into the window. Glass exploded over Stefan. Great gleaming jaws snapped together, inches from Stefan's shoulder.

"Shoot!" he yelled.

I fired out through the rear passenger window, hitting the hound clean in the rump just as Stefan tugged against the steering wheel and slammed the car into the beast, pinning it against the side of the bus. Shattered glass and screaming metal assaulted my senses, but we swerved free of the coach as it veered off the road, smoke billowing from its brakes.

Behind us, the stunned hound slumped on the road, its hollow whimpers lost among the squeal of brakes and the traffic fast backing up behind us. The second beast didn't hesitate as it galloped past its fallen pack mate.

"Go, go!" I screamed.

Stefan fumbled with the gear shift, and the car shuddered forward. He muttered something, then found the right gear and rammed the accelerator to the floor. The Dodge growled as Stefan demanded every ounce of horsepower from its engine. As we thundered forward, the hound snapped its jaws at my side of the car. It missed then struck again. This time, its teeth crunched into metal, tearing out the entire rear light cluster and tossing it aside.

As our speed increased, the hound fell back. We were pulling away. I watched the beast closely. The street blurred, and the engine roared in my ears. The Hellhound had me in its sights. Its penetrating stare held me transfixed. Stefan was right. It was after me, and if it got me, those vicious teeth would tear strips of flesh from my bones. I shuddered and called more of my element.

"You can't stop it." Stefan must have sensed the change in me. He probably felt the ambient temperature rise.

"I've got to try."

"We--"

A horn blared. We both looked out the driver's side just as the truck t-boned into the side of the Dodge. The massive grille and blinding headlights were the last things I saw before my entire world spun. Metal and glass shrieked, groaned, and shattered. Abrupt needles of pain dashed against me from all sides. I don't recall exactly how Stefan's car ended up on its roof. It's likely I blacked out and only reawakened when Stefan tugged on my seatbelt.

I heard him calling to me, his voice flowing in and out with the ringing in my ears. Peeling my eyes open, I realized I couldn't see, at least not at first. My muddled mind tried to comprehend which way was up. I blinked rapidly, clearing my right eye. The car no longer resembled a car at all, just a twisted hunk of metal entombing me. I pushed down on the roof, scraping my bare arms against serrated metal.

"The belt!" Stefan reached in through the compressed passenger window and tugged on my seatbelt again. "Quickly."

I smelled fuel and heard the tick of the cooling engine. Panic spilled ice water into my veins. "Oh god." I fumbled at the latch, jabbing at the red button to release me, but my own weight pulling down on the belt trapped the buckle in its latch.

A monstrous howl rippled through the night.

Stefan snapped his head up then pulled back out of sight. I whimpered in frustration, tugging on the damn seatbelt. Weren't these things meant to save lives? My breath rasped in short, sharp gasps. My heart galloped behind my ribs. The tingling sensation of my element trickled forth. The source of it at my core broiled in response to my panic. Considering how I was hanging upside down over a pool of gasoline, the last thing I wanted was fire or heat of any kind, but my instincts weren't listening. Goddammit, I wasn't dying there, trapped in a steel coffin. I hadn't survived years of torture and countless assassination attempts to die like that. I was stronger than that, better than that.

Rage chased away the debilitating effects of fear. I screamed at the damn seatbelt, punching the buckle until it finally released me, depositing me unceremoniously upside down amid the mangled wreckage. Twisting around inch by inch, I managed to get myself into a position where I could grab the passenger door and drag myself through the tiny gap that had once been the window. My head barely squeezed through. My cheek grated against the shattered glass. I reached out with a hand, clawing at the pavement to try and find purchase so I could pull myself free.

I saw Stefan.

He kneeled on one knee in the road. Sparkling vines of ice rooted him to the ground. His entire body, clothes and all, glinted sharply with fragments of ice. But it was the wings that held me spellbound. They rose from his back, insubstantial and not quite solid enough to touch, but very real. Each feather appeared to be made of ice. The light from the streetlights fractured through each fine barb, casting multicolored shafts of light on the black asphalt surrounding him.

I watched, awestruck as he hunkered down, wings flexing behind him while he summoned a sword of ice into his right hand. Jagged fragments of crystalline ice layered one on top of the other, creating a long, thin weapon. I'd been mistaken. It wasn't a sword, but a spear.

A snarling growl tore my attention from Stefan. The remaining hound stood within leaping distance of Stefan. Its monstrous head hung low, lips rippling over glistening teeth. Drool pooled on the road just ahead of its substantial paws. The spines along its back rippled, making a hideous hissing as they scraped together. It stood still, leg muscles bunched, ready to spring forward at any moment.

Then it saw me and cocked its head to one side. Its leathery lips formed a grin.

"Hey, not her! Me!" Stefan stood, ice cracking off him. Fragments of it tinkled against the road surface.

I heard sirens nearby, but the authorities were the least of our concerns. Clawing again at the road, I attempted to drag myself free, but every movement drew the hound's attention right back to me.

Stefan growled and flung an ice shard at the beast. It shattered against its thick, hairless flesh, doing little damage. I realized we were probably about to die. You can't kill them, and you can't stop them. What chance did we have?

He flung a second shard of ice. A third. The hound snarled its fury then sprang off its feet, leaping at Stefan. He hunkered low, wrapping his right arm around the spear and thrusting it up, right through the belly of the hound, using its own momentum to fling it over him. The beast yowled and slammed into the road with a heavy thump. Its front leg pawed at the air. Its keening whimpers were hollow and chilling.

Stefan came for me, tossing aside the ice spear as he reached down and clasped a bitterly cold hand around mine. He tugged me free of the wreckage just as the police cars squealed into the street behind us. As his icy visage melted away, wings dissolving into snow and dissipating, he scanned our surroundings. The buildings lining the street were huddled close together.

"There, the alley. Go."

I ran, adrenaline fuelling my fight or flight response, and kept up with Stefan as we ducked into the alley. A chain-link fence blocked our path. He didn't hesitate, but clambered up a dumpster and leaped over the top. I scrambled after him, landing awkwardly on the other side. Then we were off, sprinting across the small open space of a children's playground. A howl resonated around the empty space. I managed to find an extra burst of speed, and bowing my head low, I sprinted with every drop of physical strength I had left.

Reaching the other side of the park, Stefan dropped down a set of steps alongside a building and kicked in the door to someone's basement apartment. Once inside, he slammed the door closed and plucked an aerosol can from his coat pocket. Giving it a token shake, he flicked on the lights and sprayed red paint over the door and wall, creating a large circle with swirling symbols inside. Done with one wall, he proceeded to spray the same mark on the opposite wall.

I heard another howl. The sound sent a shiver crawling across my flesh. "It's close."

He didn't reply, just continued to spray the paint on the wall. Then he shoved the couch into the center of the open-plan lounge/kitchen and stepped onto the cushions, resting one boot on the back of the couch while reaching up to spray paint the ceiling.

I hugged my arms against me and watched the door. If the hound came through, we were dead. I was still panting hard, lungs burning in my chest. A full body ache asserted itself. I hadn't even noticed I was injured. The adrenaline had worked efficiently to keep me moving, but now that I'd stopped, my limbs didn't quite feel like my own and a throbbing pain tried to punch out of my skull.

Stefan was also breathing hard, sucking in air through his teeth. He shook the can and reached up to finish the mark, then hissed and winced, clearly in pain. Blood bloomed across his shirt.

Jumping off the couch, he crossed to the kitchen area and proceeded to spray the kitchen units with the same mark.

"Will these marks stop it?" I brushed my hands up my arms, trying to rub off the goose bumps.

"Yes," he replied gruffly. "This symbol, it restricts elemental magic. More precisely, demon magic. By placing it around us like this, I've created a cocoon, cutting us off from the elements. Once the Hellhounds lose our scents, they'll return to their master."

I nodded. That sounded good enough for me.

"It also means you can't go nuclear on me, so don't bust a blood vessel trying."

So, I was trapped in there, with him, unable to call my power, until the Hellhounds got bored. Great.

Only when Stefan had finished marking all four walls, ceiling, and floor of the small basement apartment did he finally stop. He tossed the spray can on the small kitchen countertop and slumped against the cupboards. "We're safe. For now."

I couldn't help glancing back at the door, expecting the horrid things to come crashing in at any moment, but as the seconds ticked on and nothing happened, I breathed a little easier.

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# Chapter 9

The beige patterns and cream overtones of the small basement apartment were comfortable enough, and thankfully the owner wasn't home. Perhaps it was a weekend bolt-hole. Either way, I was glad I didn't have to explain any of this to people unaccustomed to demons barging into their lives. I roamed the lounge area, admiring the photos of a man with two young girls I assumed were his kids, and felt a pang of guilt for vandalizing his apartment.

Stefan had shaken off his coat and slung it over the couch. The red bloom of blood on his shirt hinted at a wound beneath. "Are you all right?" His expression was almost one of concern.

I didn't reply immediately. I was trying to work out what was happening. My thoughts ran amok. He had saved me, again. There was no doubt in my mind; Stefan hadn't been sent to kill me, but I was a long way from trusting him. "I think so."

He crossed the room and reached out, as though about to touch my face. I flinched away, moving around the couch, shivering in my torn and bloody dress.

"You're hurt... You have a cut over your right eye. I was just... Never mind." He returned to the little kitchen and stood with his back to me. I caught the memory of his wings and averted my eyes. He hadn't looked like any demon I'd ever seen before. He'd looked... glorious.

He shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, letting it slip down his back, then peeled the fabric away from the jagged gash in his side. A fragment of metal protruded from his skin, with blood oozing around its sharp edges. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the shard and yanked it free with a hiss.

"Thank you," I said, trying not to wince in sympathy. "You didn't have to do any of that for me."

He grunted an acknowledgement and tossed the bloodied fragment of metal in the kitchen sink where it rattled. Finding some paper towels, he tore a few sheets free of the roll then dampened them before pressing the wad of paper against the weeping wound.

He turned, leaning back against the countertop. I admired his physique before I could stop myself. I might have glanced away if a tattoo hadn't caught my eye. On the muscular plane of his navel, where his jeans hung low, two entwined scorpions were tattooed into his smooth skin. I couldn't help staring. So many questions went through my mind, but I wasn't sure I had the energy to ask, knowing the answers wouldn't be easy. Exhausted, bruised, and battered, I didn't want any part of this madness. I wanted to go home, but I didn't even have one anymore.

"Will you let me take a look at that cut?" he asked after allowing me a few moments to collect my thoughts.

I shook my head. "Stay away from me."

"Fine." He tore off more paper towels and proceeded to clean himself up while I watched. I wanted to hate him. Ever since he'd entered my workshop, everything had gone wrong. That wasn't a coincidence, and yet I was beginning to believe he didn't want to hurt me. I couldn't have survived what we'd just been through without him.

"You were right." I perched on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together on my thighs, knuckles white. "They were sent for me."

He gave me a cool glance before returning his attention to the wound. "You have many enemies, Muse."

"But you aren't one of them?"

"No."

"Akil said you were."

Stefan snorted. "Akil. Right." He rummaged through some drawers and found a small tube of Loctite. "I could use your help... if you can stand to be within two feet of me."

I stood and approached him. Considering everything he had done, I could hardly say no. "What do you want me to do?"

He handed me the glue. "Would you mind?"

I looked at the small tube then at the two-inch wound in his side. "Really?" His arched eyebrow told me to get on with it. I pinched the lid free and tentatively touched the nozzle to the puckered flesh around the wound.

He immediately hissed in a breath. I winced. "Sorry."

"No, I'm good. Just..." He planted both hands on the edge of the countertop, bowing his head, and smiled. "You're hot."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"I mean--your touch--it's hot, physically." He laughed lightly, a trickling chuckle that summoned a reluctant smile from me. "Never mind."

I pinched the wound together, watching lean muscles ripple with tension. Fighting a smile, I squeezed the glue into the wound and held the skin closed for a few seconds. "Best not glue myself to you, huh? I'm not sure how I'd explain that to Akil."

"Do you love him?"

I frowned. The abrupt question had caught me off guard. "That's personal."

Stefan looked right at me, his smile gone. "I need to know the answer." His cold stare could have pierced stone.

"Why?"

He hesitated, his sharp blue eyes searching my puzzled expression. "Because if you do, then it makes my task all the more difficult, and I need your help."

"What does any of that have to do with whether I love Akil or not?"

He moistened his lips and straightened so that my hand fell away from his side. I looked up into his eyes, sensing the cool energy thrumming inside him. A trickle of power rippled inside me. The warmth embraced my weary limbs, but that was as far as it could get. The marks on the walls surrounding us prevented the power from manifesting outside of me. I felt my demon butt up against my skin, unable to break free.

"Who do you think sent those hounds?" Stefan's voice deepened.

"It could only be my brother, Val. I don't know much about Hellhounds, but they're difficult to summon. Only pure demons can do it. Even then, they're virtually impossible to control. Val has wanted me dead for years. Summoning Hellhounds would just be the last in a long list of things he's done to me."

Stefan briefly touched my forehead with his fingertips, probably an instinctive touch, but the dance of power that ignited between us immediately jerked me back. The spark had been so intense that it tugged a great wave of energy from inside, briefly staggering me. I reached for the countertop, steadying myself as Stefan stood firm, his cool gaze heavy with intent. What that intention was, I couldn't be sure.

"Akil sent those hounds, Muse." Stefan's voice had lost all of its jovial lightness. The arrogance was back, his tone cold.

It was my turn to laugh. "You don't know what you're talking about. Akil and I... it's complicated."

"I don't doubt that." He raised an eyebrow, implying a great deal with that one gesture.

I tossed the glue aside and snaked my arms crossed, attempting to control the flicker of anger flaring inside me. "How dare you judge me? You don't even know me." He shrugged a dismissive shoulder, further infuriating me. "You have no idea what I've been through. You were looked after. Someone cared enough about you to keep you safe, to train you. I had none of that. I was sold, virtually given away to the demons as a plaything. I was raised beyond the veil. Do you even know what that means?"

His hard expression softened a little. He rested a hip against the cupboards, his head bowed a little. "Who told you I was kept safe?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is, I don't know you, but I do know Akil, and he's done nothing but look after me."

"He's a demon, Muse."

"What are we?"

"We're human." He ground his teeth, flicking his hair out of his eyes to glare at me. "And believe or not, we hold more power over them than they've led you to believe. Why do you think he keeps you so close?"

Because he loves me? I didn't speak the words, but they were there, right on the tip of my tongue. Stefan didn't need to hear it. He saw it in my expression, in the hopelessness on my face. He shook his head. "I had hoped you'd be stronger than this."

"Oh, screw you. You're impossible, you know that? Like a goddamn force of nature. You waltz into my workshop and ruin my life, and now you pity me? I'm sick of it. Sick of you." I headed for the door.

"You can't leave. Not yet."

With a sigh, I stopped a few feet from the front door, feeling the chill of his gaze on my back. "If you're not an assassin and you're not here to hurt me, then what are you?"

"Whatever Akil told you is a lie. I'm an Enforcer. This tattoo you so readily admired proves it. I wasn't 'kept safe,' Muse. I was plucked from my home, stolen from everything I ever loved, and forced into this way of life, but you know what? I love it. I hunt demons and thrive off it. I kill the bastards who step out of line, the ones who breach the human world and wreak havoc, and I need your help to kill your brother."

"I don't believe you." I ignored the 'kill your brother' bombshell for now because it was insane to even consider it.

"It doesn't matter what you believe. It's the truth. Akil means to kill you. Your brother isn't behind any of this, and I can prove it."

Stefan watched me closely, waiting for my reaction. I couldn't believe him. Akil wouldn't hurt me. He'd saved me from my owner and given me the tools I needed to slaughter the bastard. Akil had been there ever since, my guardian in a world that despised me. No, Stefan was lying. This was Val's doing. My brother was capable and had a motive. There was no mystery here.

I sat on the couch with a disgruntled humph and dropped my head back, closing my eyes against the physical and mental aches and pains. "Thank you for everything, but when I leave here, I don't want to see you again."

"Muse, if you go back to Akil, he'll kill you."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I squeezed my eyes closed. My headache pulsated. "He's not going to do that." Akil wouldn't hurt me. I'd seen the passion in his eyes, felt the warmth of his arms around me. There was no malice.

"You traded one owner for another, and you're too blinded by Akil to see it."

"Shut up."

"Just because he doesn't beat you, doesn't mean he's not controlling you."

I snapped open my eyes. "Stop it."

Stefan glared back at me. "Why can't you see it?"

"Because..." I winced at my own foolishness.

"Because you love him?"

Maybe I did, but it wasn't as simple as that. Without Akil, I was nothing. I wouldn't survive a night without him. The detective at the police department had proven that. "He keeps me safe."

Stefan smiled bitterly. "You kept yourself safe for five years."

"It didn't last. You turned up and ruined it all."

"I was the reason you were standing on the street when the explosion destroyed your workshop, remember?" His smug grin was back. "Akil set you up. You pissed him off, Muse. You turned your back on him and walked away. Did you think he was going to let you get away with it?"

"Stop it. Just--stop. I don't want to hear any more of your lies."

Finally, Stefan gave up trying to force me to believe his propaganda. He came and sat on the couch next to me. Resting his boots on the coffee table, he propped an elbow on the arm of the couch beside him. He leaned away from me, shuffling down into the cushions, and closed his eyes.

"You're going to sleep?"

"It's that or listen to the Akil fangirl speech."

"Asshole."

He snickered at my insult but kept his eyes closed; the conversation was over.

I watched his chest rise and fall, confident that he couldn't see me doing so. Stefan's lean body was built to kill, and evidently, he had no qualms about doing so. He'd executed the demon in the stairwell without hesitation, and on the run from the Hellhounds, he hadn't once stopped to consider his actions. He took it all in stride, like it was part of his day job. I sat there, in a room where the walls were covered in symbols I'd never even seen before and didn't have a clue what they meant. But they'd worked. He was well trained, that much was obvious. Even the stunt with the superglue, which I was pretty sure he could have done himself, hinted at his no-nonsense, get-the-job-done attitude. So he'd been trained, but I'd never heard of "Enforcers"; shouldn't I have known about them? Were there more of them? Who trained them? It sounded like fantasy to me. Half-bloods didn't have the power to go up against demons. It was impossible.

When he'd called his power, letting it ride over him, I'd seen the demon that resided at his soul and it had been astonishingly beautiful. There wasn't a rule that said demons couldn't be stunning. They came in all shapes and sizes, but I had never seen anything like him. The wings alone; jeez, I could understand where the angel myth had come from. I had wings, well, used to. Now, only one remained, but they had never been as beautiful as his. My owner had sheared my missing wing off with a scimitar. When I go "nuclear," as Stefan called it, when the demon rides me so completely that you can't tell us apart, my remaining wing appears, but it's a sorry specimen, ripped and useless.

Stefan's breathing had slowed. Asleep, with the Hellhounds at the proverbial door. Typical. I twisted side-on to face him and blatantly let my gaze wander across his fine physique. Honed to the pinnacle of physical fitness with an athletic grace, he wasn't all muscle, but might as well have been. I skipped my gaze down to the tattoo and had to stop myself from reaching out to touch it. That mark had to be significant. His branding, tattooed into his skin and on his gun.

I gave in to curiosity and reached out. My fingers hovered over the tattoo as it rose and fell with his breathing. Sliding my gaze higher, I deliberately let it linger on his body. A curious urge to touch was proving frustratingly difficult to ignore. Just a little touch. Would his skin be cold or warm? I'd never met an ice demon.

I rested the tips of my fingers lightly on his chest and found his skin to be warm. Settling my hand over the ripples of his abdominal muscles, I let the warmth of him soak into my touch. His breathing continued to slowly ebb and flow. He wouldn't know how I'd admired him in more ways than one. He was a half-blood, just like me: human but for the demons slumbering at our cores. Ever since I could remember, I'd been deemed unworthy, a lesser being, a mistake, but Stefan oozed confidence. He carried himself as though he didn't give a damn about what he was; almost as though he knew he was better in some way.

He had hinted that he knew about my past, that my owner had beaten me, but he didn't know the half of it. It had been worse than that, night after night. Beaten, raped, cut, abused. I'd only survived because Damien wouldn't allow me to die.

As the unbidden memories flowed, I pulled my hand back from Stefan's alluring body and stood up, moving away to roam the apartment, my thoughts darkening. Finding a single bedroom, I opened the wardrobe door, looking for some clothes to change into, but found only suits and shirts. Come to think of it, the apartment lacked a woman's touch. Perhaps the owner was a single guy, separated, who saw his kids on the weekends. I began to feel inexplicably sad for a man I didn't even know before realizing the sadness I felt wasn't for him; it was for me.

For as long as I could remember, I'd been in chains. Occasionally, Damien would release me, finding it amusing to let me go and then parade me in front of his peers. I spent so long with him that it became all I knew. It was life. It was normal. So I took the abuse, only summoning the demon inside me when Damien wanted it so he could torture her too. She is me and I am her, irrevocably connected and yet different entities occupying the same human body. And oh, how he despised my human body. I bear many scars, only a fraction of which are physical.

I met Akil through Damien. So proud of how he'd beaten his pitiful half-blood into submission and kept her like a pet, Damien presented me to Akil one night, showing off his accomplishments to one of the Seven Princes of Hell. I looked at Akil, at the smartly dressed businessman, and saw only another anonymous face leering at my disgusting existence. But he didn't leer. He didn't do anything at first. Then he asked Damien to "lend me" to him. Damien couldn't refuse one of the Seven Princes, so he handed me over to Akil.

I expected a whole new world of pain to begin, but Akil didn't touch me. All he did was look at me cowering on the floor. He didn't speak, didn't do anything, but he watched. In some ways, that was more terrifying. I didn't know his name, didn't know who he was or what he was capable of, but I felt the elemental power radiating from him. I expected him to kill me with one swift, decisive movement, but he didn't move a muscle.

I began to look forward to my time with Akil. I was terrified of him, of the power coursing through him, but he didn't hurt me, and my time with him separated me from Damien. Eventually, Akil coaxed me into speaking. Damien didn't like to hear me talk, but Akil did. He wanted to know my name.

He calls me Muse. I was Damien's muse, as though I inspired hatred and disgust in him. My existence gave him leave to hurt me in ways I didn't even know he could. I was art to him, a bloody, damaged, and violated piece of fragile art. In some sick and twisted way, he thought he was liberating me, that I should be grateful for the lashings that split my flesh.

The memories turned my stomach. My reflection in the mirror above the sink paled. I clasped my hands on either side of the washbasin and peered at the woman looking back. The gash across my right eye had scabbed over, but the bloody mess down the side of my face was worse than I'd expected. I had glass in my hair and dozens of grazes across my arms. My dress was torn and bloody. Patches of oil or gasoline splattered across the once vibrant red fabric. No wonder Stefan had wanted to clean me up.

I scrubbed my hands with soap and tried to wash the blood off my face. I'd spent a great deal of time washing the filth from my own skin, imagined and real. My hands shook, perhaps from the late onset of shock or from the assault of memories. Either way, I needed to get a grip on myself. This wasn't over. I was safe for now, hidden behind Stefan's clever graffiti, but as soon as I stepped outside that door, I was a target, and it was open season on me. By now, word would have reached the demons. Not only was I still alive, but I wasn't with Akil. They wouldn't care that he'd forbidden them to kill me. Look at the detective at the police department. He hadn't cared. He'd just wanted me dead. They were all the same.

At least Stefan was different. He'd survived. He may or may not have been protected, but he could clearly look after himself. Nobody had bothered teaching me a damn thing. I only had a name because my owner had found it amusing.

"Dammit!" The blood wasn't coming off. I fell against the sink, gripping the white porcelain so hard that my fingers blanched. My stomach churned as my body rebelled against my attempts to remain calm. What Stefan didn't seem to realize was that without Akil, I was dead anyway, so what did it matter? What did any of this matter?

I stumbled from the bathroom and dropped my weary body on the edge of the bed. The apartment was alien, the man who'd brought me here had his own dubious motives, and I had nothing.

"You okay?" Stefan's voice held a softer tone than I'd heard from him.

I didn't turn, couldn't find it in me to look at him. He probably stood in the bedroom doorway and could stay there for all I cared. Head bowed, body trembling, I knew how I looked. He'd think me weak, just as he had earlier. Maybe he was right.

"You're not like me." I flicked my head around to glare at him. "You don't know me. You don't know anything. I'm not helping you kill my brother, an impossible task, by the way, as he's immortal. I don't care what your issue is with him. I don't even care that you think you have proof Val isn't behind this. I don't want to know."

He looked as though he might say something; clearly, he had some sort of witty retort on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back. Without another word, he left the bedroom. I was glad he'd gone. His presence only served to remind me how pathetic I was in comparison.

I growled and flung myself back on the bed, falling into a fitful sleep within minutes.

* * *

THE QUIET WAS COMPLETE beyond the veil, the netherworld air thick, like soup. I had to drag it through clenched teeth to breathe. Ripples of pain rode through my body. My fragile human skin glistened with perspiration beneath the touch of moonlight, but I had come to embrace the agony. It meant I was alive. I could see my owner's silhouette only when I lifted my gaze through my matted hair. He might have appeared human but for the huge bat-like wings that relaxed behind him.

A flash of pain darted down my back. The wounds he'd inflicted gaped like hungry mouths. The chain coiled around my owner's right hand dripped with my blood. I couldn't see his smile. His face was lost in shadow, but I knew it was there. Clouds broiled in the dark sky, briefly smothering the blue moon, snuffing out its waning light. My mortal eyes failed to pierce the complete darkness, but it didn't matter. I knew what was coming.

When the washed-out light from the moon flowed once more into the clearing, he towered over me. I reared up, baring blunt teeth in a snarl. He could beat me all he wanted. I was not giving up without a fight. He pulled the chain tight in front of him, links rattling. I had enough time to fill my lungs with the cloying air before he wrapped the chain around my neck and pulled it tight. My demon clawed within me, thrashing against my restraint in a bid to be free, but I held her back. I would not let him win. Her talons sunk into my resolve even as my chest burned for air. My head throbbed.

He leaned in, tugging me off my knees, clutching me close to his leering face. When he laughed, the sound boomed about the clearing. Nobody--nothing would hear us. Even if something did, it wouldn't care.

"The Prince believes he can claim you." The snarling voice drilled into my skull. "You are mine."

* * *

I WOKE WITH THE MEMORIES still bubbling in my head, threatening to spill over into reality as they had at Akil's hotel. Sitting bolt upright, I reined in my fears and swept them back into their mental box where they belonged. I swept my hands down my face to chase the remaining fragments of the nightmare away.

Thoughts grounded in the now, I realized I was alone. Nothing unusual there, but I knew Stefan had left the apartment. The room was warmer, for a start. Sunlight streamed in through the high basement window, instantly brightening my mood. I had no idea what day it was, or where I was, or what I was going to do, but it was okay because I was alive.

The lounge looked the way I remembered it: trashed. Perhaps I could mail the apartment owner some cash. He was going to need it.

On the countertop, Stefan had left a note scrawled on an unopened letter.

Gone for the evidence. Stay here. Do NOT go back to Akil.

No, Love from Stefan. Ha. If he was gone, that meant the hounds had gone too. I tossed the note aside and strode out into the daylight. No money. No phone. My only choice was a long walk. Dressed as I was, blood splattered and disheveled, I soon caught a few wayward glances. Some people even crossed the street to avoid me.

Retracing my steps from the previous evening, I came across Stefan's wrecked car. Crime scene tape flapped in the breeze, cordoning off the crumpled barrier and dented lamppost. Gouges in the pavement farther up the street and a trail of shattered glass made it clear where the car had rolled. The truck remained, front end caved in, awaiting recovery. I ducked on by with guilt sitting heavily on my shoulders. At least it didn't look as though anyone had been seriously hurt.

After I'd walked for twenty minutes, a black limo pulled up beside me. I stopped, planted a hand on my hip, and admired my bedraggled and distorted reflection in the privacy glass. The door opened, and Nica smiled up at me. "Wow, rough night?"

"I've had worse."

"Get in."

It became clear she had no idea what had happened to me. Akil had asked her to take a car and driver to the street she'd picked me up on. Apparently, he was working. My invite would have given him knowledge of my whereabouts. She fished for answers, but I was in no mood to talk. I feigned tiredness and pretended to sleep the rest of the way.

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# Chapter 10

Left alone until that evening, I was grateful for the time to clean myself up and think. Nica had left some clothes for me, asking if I wanted to have my things brought over from my old apartment. I smiled and didn't answer. "Some clothes" turned out to be a black lace dress. I groaned and rolled my eyes at Akil's choice of clothing. Give me jeans, and I'm happy. Dresses just felt plain wrong, but tonight I had a plan.

I held the dress up against me in front of a full-length mirror. Considering what I had in mind for the evening ahead, it was the perfect combination of intricate lace with conservative coverage. I dressed and left the bedroom, scrunching my damp hair in my hands as the tinkling of piano keys drifted down the hall. Fantasia in D-Minor, Mozart. A peculiar mix of a haunting melody and light upbeats. One of Akil's favorites.

I followed the sound of the music, padding barefoot down the hall, passing the lounge until I reached what appeared to be a study. A speaker dock on a shelf played the music. Equalizer bars jumped on the docked phone. A fire flickered in a modern alcove fireplace, and glass across the front sealed in the dancing flames. Books sat neat and orderly on their shelves, some very old with weathered spines and tanned leather covers.

Then I saw him, suited up and seated leisurely in a high-backed chair, glass of red in one hand, open book in the other. His laden gaze rested firmly on me. I swallowed, vision briefly blurring. The weight of his stare quickened my pulse, stealing away the confidence I'd embraced all day. I bit into my lip, feeling as though I were shrinking in size with every second that ticked by.

The music stopped. The fire crackled behind its glass cage.

Only when he looked away did I breathe again. He closed the book, stood, and placed it neatly on a desk. An eclectic collection of swords displayed on the wall behind the desk drew my attention: six stunning swords from various locations around the world, although one appeared to be missing. Its brackets were bare.

Akil set down his glass of wine, fingertips teasing across the rim, making the crystal sing. He came toward me with clear intent in those dark eyes. Fear threaded through my limbs so that I stumbled back. I may even have yelped a little right before he clasped my face in both hands and kissed me. The urgency of that kiss surprised and excited me. I responded in kind, devouring him as the fear quickly turned to fire in my veins. His element called to mine, sinking heated tendrils through my flesh and drawing the slumbering power out of me. I pulled him tight, needing him close, grinding my hips against him while his hands slid down my back, cupping my behind. He lifted me, and I instantly hooked my legs around him, throwing my head back as his mouth teased kisses down my neck.

He carried me to the desk, sweeping its contents aside before planting me on the edge. His sultry touch rode up my thighs, hitching back my dress. The demon in me purred her glee, curling power around my flesh and reaching out to him. As I let down my guard, my element flared within me, spilling over my human body, revealing the truth about me: a human-demon hybrid. The unfurling of my one insubstantial wing completed the transformation. I flexed my power outward, stretching my ethereal wing higher. It felt like stepping out into a glorious summer day. The weight of control lifted from my shoulders. With Akil, I could be me--all of me. I didn't need to pretend.

Akil growled low in his throat, fingers teasing out the ribbon of my dress. He sunk his other hand in my hair, holding it there as his mouth found mine once more.

"I thought I'd lost you," he breathed. "I searched..." He pulled back enough to peer into my eyes. "Don't ever do that again." His growl teased my desire even higher.

I grinned and nipped at his lip, fingers fumbling with his shirt buttons. I gave up and tore it open, pressing my warm hands against the sculpted contours of his chest. I felt my own magic flexing around me, my one deformed wing trembling as he slipped my dress from my shoulders. Arching back, I let his mouth roam, his occasional nip sending ripples of pleasure through me.

His hand on my leg pressed higher, easing my thighs apart. I wanted him, but it was more than desire. I ached for him. Human and demon, all of me. I was his. His touch smoldered against my skin. His hands awakened wave after wave of power, calling it from every cell in my body. I blazed with energy, and he wanted it. I could see the hunger in his eyes. His power raged an inferno inside him. Blinded by the all-encompassing heat of desire, I couldn't have resisted him if I'd wanted to.

He tore my underwear free, jerking me off the desk against him. The short-lived dress slipped down over my hips and pooled at my feet. He backed up a few steps. His heated gaze devoured me, drinking in my hybrid appearance. Where others had considered me grotesque, he had always enjoyed the intimacy every time I'd laid all of me bare.

I stepped up to him, clutched his torn shirt in both hands, and pulled him into a fevered kiss. His hands found my hips, but I knocked them away. He growled a warning just as I turned him and shoved him back against the desk. He panted through clenched teeth, lips pulled back in a wolfish grin. I stepped up to him, sliding my hand down his chest and dipping it below his waistband. It was his turn to arch back. A humble groan escaped him.

I had power over him. Nica had been right, but it wasn't something I could use lightly.

Withdrawing my hand, I held his stare as he lifted his head, then shoved him down onto the desk. He didn't resist and opened his arms, completely giving in to me. I tugged his trousers lower before climbing over him, trailing moist kisses up his navel, tongue teasing across his rippled chest before swirling around a nipple.

"Muse..." he growled my name, bucking a little.

I reared up, stretching my wing high behind me, and straddled him. He groaned something, the words lost as his original accent slurred them, before locking his molten gaze on me. I began to rock my hips. I had him. All of him. Utterly and completely at my mercy and I liked it. My element spilled from me, rolling in and out like waves on a beach as his reservoir of power flooded over me, into me. I lost myself in it. My memories, my fears, my suspicions--they were all chased away by the insatiable need to have him inside me. The rush of delight rode higher. The lights above flickered. The fire in the hearth roared. I summoned the residual energy into me, calling to the latent element found everywhere and letting it bloom inside me until I couldn't take anymore. The pressure released, snatching a cry from deep within. Akil bucked, fingers digging into my thighs as he threw his head back.

He didn't see me falter, but he heard me whisper, "Would you ever hurt me?"

He cried out, the human part of him spilling his seed into me. But I saw what I needed, the glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes, the briefest flicker of doubt. He'd answered my question before he could stop himself, too lost in desire to lie.

I fell forward and kissed him hard, deliberately nipping at his lip and drawing blood. He pulled me down and turned me onto my back so he had the advantage. As his kisses burned down my breast and his fingers kneaded, I blinked back tears, quickly sweeping them aside before he could see. I feared the truth and what it meant, feared that Stefan had been right.

Akil was lying to me.

I had to find Stefan, but first, there was one last thing I needed to do: talk to my brother.

* * *

MOONLIGHT SPILLED THROUGH the drapes, its milky caress draining all color from the room. The quiet seemed complete, as though the world outside had been smothered while I dosed. Carefully easing the sheet off me, I sat up in bed, slowly turning my head to look down at Akil. Moonlight lay across his face and chest. The sheet bunched around his middle, one arm cast behind his head. He was like temptation personified, which of course was deliberate on his part. Nothing about his male physique was an accident. His vessel hadn't been born in the natural way of things. It had been constructed in the image of this era's notion of perfection. It was an act--a mask--deliberately designed to seduce, and it worked on me. Sure, I knew what he really was, but I certainly wouldn't have jumped his demon-bones if he had revealed his true self. My head was too full of human desires for that.

I ached in all the right places, my lips flirting with a smile. I could so easily have lain back down, eased my arm across that delicious body, and stayed that way until the demands of the real world pulled us apart, but that was the coward's way out, and a coward was one thing I had never been. I gently rose from the bed and tiptoed out of his room before jogging quietly back to the guest room where I quickly dressed in jeans and a sleeveless top. I had a jacket somewhere and would need it. It was approaching 3:00 a.m. and would be near-freezing temperatures outside. I found my suede jacket and tugged it on, peeling my hair from inside the collar. A figure in the doorway blocked my exit.

"It's late," Akil said. "Or early, depending on your perspective." He paused, giving me a moment to fill the silence with an explanation.

In the low light, it was difficult to see his expression, not least because I couldn't ignore the fact he was naked. My wide-eyed gaze roamed all over him. "I er... I was..." My voice quivered, a croak fracturing my attempt at confidence. "My cat." Yes, blame the cat. "I need to feed Jonesy. I haven't been home and he's--"

"Resourceful, I'm sure."

I definitely detected irony dripping from those three words, or was it barely concealed anger? He sauntered toward me, the light from the window silhouetting his body. I didn't move, didn't dare to. That stare of his crawled over me while his expression remained impassive. He moved around me, circling me, easing closer with every step until he stood before me and tilted my chin up.

"Why did you ask me whether I would ever hurt you?"

And there I was, thinking I'd gotten away with that little gem. I couldn't lie to him, not when he was glaring right into my eyes. He'd know a lie immediately. I chose instead to stand firm and glare right back at him. "I don't trust you."

"When have I ever given you reason not to trust me?"

His teeth appeared perfectly white. His eyes were a little brighter than the ambient light could account for. Even his expression had lost its human fluidity. His whole body tensed. He had never given me a reason not to trust him. That was what made all of this so difficult to digest, but he couldn't deny his very nature, could he?

He released my chin and stepped back. "What did he say to you?" I blinked, trying to pluck one of Stefan's pieces of advice from my memory, but I'd already hesitated too long. "Don't lie to me, Muse. I will not tolerate lies."

That was rich, coming from a demon masquerading as a man.

Akil clench his right hand. "You were with Stefan, were you not?"

"Yes," I replied, struggling to retain my stubborn bravado. "He saved me from the Hellhounds."

Akil arched a single eyebrow. "Ingenious, isn't he?" he said dryly.

Ingenious indeed. "Why didn't you help me?"

Akil regarded me, eyes narrowing a little as he considered his reply. "Your brother, Valenti, sent those hounds. You know I cannot interfere with his intentions."

The convenient "gentleman's agreement between demons" excuse. The Princes had agreed never to dabble in each other's lives. Apparently, immortality bred contempt. They lived too long to get along, so instead, they agreed to disagree and moved on, preferring to dabble in the lives of humanity. The same agreement bound the Princes' offspring. Val, being the son of Asmodeus, was obliged to follow the same ground rules. Akil could no more meddle in Val's machinations than Val could in Akil's. Didn't seem to stop Val from trying to kill me, though, a crime for which one detective had recently been skewered.

I dropped my gaze, unable to carry the weight of Akil's stare on me any longer. "Those hounds could have killed me. Stefan was there. He saved me."

"What lies did he tell you?" He seemed more concerned about what Stefan might have said than about the fact that I could have been killed.

"Akil." I smiled thinly. "What is this? Why are you behaving like this?"

"I'm not the one sneaking out the door." Akil moved closer again, taking both my hands in his warm grip and lifting them between us. "He told you I sent those hounds, didn't he?"

A shiver rippled through me. I closed my eyes. Somewhere amid all the uncertainty, the doubts poking holes in my perception of Akil, the seed of mistrust had been planted. Its creeping vines strangled my conviction.

"What else did he tell you?" His voice had softened, but as soon as I opened my eyes, I saw the barely suppressed anger tightening his smile. I needed to tread carefully, like walking on hot coals.

"Let me go." I yanked my hands free and staggered back. "He said you sent the hounds--okay--then told me not to come back here." I threw up my hands. "What do you want from me? It's not like I wanted to be there with him. I had no choice. You're lucky I'm here at all, Akil. Those hounds..." My stomach flipped just thinking about how close they'd been. Stefan had faced one of those creatures head-on. Who did that?

Akil had fallen quiet. I could have left it at that, but I knew of one more chink in his armor, one last little shard of truth that would unnerve him. "Stefan said I swapped one owner for another. To be honest, right now, it's beginning to feel that way."

Anger immediately flared in Akil's eyes. "Do not ever compare me to your previous owner--that despicable excuse for a demon--Muse."

I took a deep breath. "Stefan said you were too demon to love me." I watched Akil flinch back as though I'd hurt him. "That you were just playing with me, a cat with a mouse. He implied that when you got bored of me"--I shrugged a shoulder--"you'd kill me."

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. I watched him closely for any clues as to what might be going through his head, but he'd locked away his emotions. Then he quite unexpectedly laughed.

"He's got balls. I'll give him that."

I frowned. Laughter wasn't the response I'd expected. Fury, I'd expected. Akil's crooked grin confused me. Why wasn't he angry? He stopped before me, bowing his head so that his lips brushed mine. "He is nothing, Muse. How can he possibly understand what we have?" The words whispered against my lips, tugging at the embers of desire settling inside of me.

I chased the tease of a kiss as Akil pulled back a little, leading me into him.

"He cannot know you, Muse. Not as I do. I would not have bothered with you in the beginning if I didn't see something in you I admired. You were a crushed and broken thing, like a butterfly crumpled in the hand of a child, but I saw the beauty in you. I found you, Muse. I created you. Someone like Stefan, he will never understand what we have."

"I didn't believe him," I whispered. Placing both hands flat on his chest, I soaked up his warmth. "I just... I was afraid." It wasn't strictly a lie, but neither was it the truth.

"I know. Don't worry about him. He'll be dead soon."

I let Akil pull me against him, hiding my spike of fear behind the flush of desire. I couldn't ask what he meant, not without rousing suspicion, but I couldn't get away either. I would have to wait until morning before I could make my escape. Until then, the only action I could take was to convince Akil I had no doubts about him. I was a rather convincing liar when the situation demanded it. Lying to Akil with my body was easier than lying with words. A trait beaten into me to aid in my survival. It would serve me well now.

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# Chapter 11

The flame twisted on its wick like a tiny exotic dancer. In the gloom of the humble basement apartment, the candle barely penetrated the shadows loitering beyond the coffee table. Stefan's artwork still adorned the walls, and those marks were the reason I was back. They subdued elemental magic, and that's exactly what I needed if I was going to survive an encounter with my brother.

Stefan wasn't there. I hadn't really expected him to be, and yet my own disappointment surprised me. He could clearly look after himself. While Akil had hinted that Stefan's number was up, I was quietly confident the so-called Enforcer had dealt with such threats before. Besides, there was nothing I could do. I didn't know where Stefan was or what Akil planned. I could only look out for myself.

The flame spluttered. A dribble of wax spilled over the candle lip, dribbling down its side onto the coffee table, where it hardened. I straightened the kitchen knife beside the candle, going over the incantation in my mind. Summoning a demon isn't as difficult as you'd think. In fact, all you need to do is invite them by name, but you have to be careful. They're slippery bastards, and my brother was no exception.

I picked up the knife then put it down again, wiping my clammy palms on my jeans. "I can do this."

Outside the basement apartment, the city noises mingled in a cacophony of passing cars, high heels clicking on the sidewalk, and the occasional blaring horn. I found it all comforting. I always had. Silence made me nervous. I picked up the knife again, wrapping trembling fingers around the handle. My brother would sense my fear. He'd enjoy it. If I was uncomfortable, he was happy. It had always been that way, but he wouldn't be pleased that I'd summoned him. At least the marks would keep him under control--hopefully.

"I must be mad," I muttered. The one demon I knew without doubt wanted me dead, and I was summoning him. What part of that was sane? But Val would have answers.

Kneeling, I leaned forward over the table, my face close to the flame. Knife in my right hand, I clasped my left hand around the blade and tugged. The cut stung, but it was a necessary pain, part of the payment for the summoning. Squeezing my hand into a fist, I lifted it before the candle and watched a few droplets of blood trail down my pale skin.

"Valenti, first born of Asmodeus, Son of the Seven, Guardian of the Dark, Brother by Blood, I, your half-sister, summon you into this time and place. I invite you to share with me your presence." My throat constricted. The sudden grip of fear strangled me. "You will not harm me." My voice trembled. "I bid you heed my words. By this flame, our element, I welcome you."

Nothing happened.

I looked around me, expecting some sort of movement, but besides the little candle flame, nothing moved. There was the chance the marks might have prevented me from summoning him, although a summons itself was not elemental magic. It was just an invitation extended between two layers of reality.

"Sister," he hissed.

I twisted to face the source of his voice and scrambled backward, knocking an elbow against the table and making the candle wobble.

Val stood motionless by the door, head slightly dipped, gazing from under snow-white lashes. His storm-gray eyes were beautiful. I'd always thought so. Hair as white as snow cascaded over one shoulder. A simple leather strip tied it together. The weathered leather coat, which hung from his shoulders to his gray lace-up boots, was more cloak than coat. Supple black leather trousers and a black leather vest completed the ensemble. I could pick out the close-set tubercles in the cuts of animal skin and might have placed the leather as shark, but there are no sharks in the netherworld. There are, however, plenty of vicious, saw-toothed demons. I didn't want to think about what demons might have died to satisfy my brother's leather fetish.

Nerves fluttered in my chest like butterflies in a jar. My element stirred within me, but the marks adorning the walls prevented it from manifesting. In fact, all I felt was cold. The trembling in my body completely betrayed the depth of fear my own brother roused in me.

He had a look of perpetual amusement, as though this world and its people were an infinite source of humor. His lips constantly flirted with a smile, and his eyes were alight with infinite knowledge. He might not be one of the Seven Princes like our father or Akil, but you wouldn't know it from the sheer confidence he exudes. He lifted his head, finally detaching his powerful gaze from me and sweeping it around the room.

I fought not to sigh with relief, trying desperately to keep all of my emotions locked tightly away.

"Curious," he mused, approaching the kitchen to admire Stefan's hastily spray-painted artwork on the cabinets. "These will be the reason I cannot shake off this mortal guise." Every word was a precise study in elocution.

He had wanted to arrive tooled up in his full-demon guise as opposed to the man-suit he wore now. I was glad he hadn't been able to. When he looked human, I could at least pretend I might have a hope of talking with him. I silently thanked Stefan's ingenuous symbols.

As I clumsily got to my feet, Val swung his attention back to me, pinning me to the spot. I froze, giving him the typical deer-in-headlights expression, because it was all I could do not to run through the door out into the street. I hadn't been this close to him in nearly a decade. I'd been a young girl then. He hadn't aged at all.

He very slowly tilted his head to the side. "I had hoped you'd be dead by now."

"Did you send Hellhounds after me?" I blurted. The less talk, the better. Neither of us wanted to be here, in each other's presence, so the sooner I could get the truth from him, the sooner we could go back to our lives.

"Hellhounds are so archaic..." He continued around the small room, admiring the markings. He was certainly more interested in those than he was in my presence.

Hellhounds archaic? No more, or less, than he was.

"Did you paint these symbols?" He flicked his hand.

I didn't reply. He could think that I had. It might make him wonder what else I knew. He smiled at my silence, not in the least bothered whether I answered or not.

"No, I see not. This cage is beyond your rudimentary thought processes."

It wasn't an insult, not in his eyes. It was fact. I clamped my teeth together, refusing to react to his words. They were, after all, just words.

His tour of the lounge complete, he stood opposite me, mere feet between us. I had a fleeting thought that if Akil knew I was doing this, he'd never let me leave his side again. Val reached inside his coat and withdrew a rapier, the type of sword one might use to pierce one's opponent through the heart. The point would be needle sharp, the edges less so.

I smiled, an odd reaction, but I could appreciate a well-crafted weapon, and his rapier was indeed a work of art. The blade appeared to ripple. Light glanced off its mirror-smooth surface. There was no elaborate flare about it, just ruthless efficiency. "Really? Swords? I mean, I'm unarmed, I'm half human, and I'm female. Strapping guy like you, you don't need a sword to kill me."

He lowered the sword until the tip hovered a few inches from the floor. "Looks can be deceiving, especially in your case, Muse. You're wasting my time."

Right, time meant nothing to him. I slowly lifted both hands. "All I need to know is if you sent those hounds after me."

"You think your fleeting existence occupies my thoughts? You insult me, Muse." He didn't look particularly insulted, just amused. I imagined some cats have that expression, right before they bite the heads off their prey.

He hadn't approached me, so perhaps he didn't intend to use the sword. "Is that a no?"

"Tell me who crafted these symbols about the room, and I'll tell you the truth."

I remembered then how Stefan had told me he wanted my help killing Val. They obviously had a history of some sort, and here I was, caught in the middle of it. "His name is Stefan."

Val's level expression ticked. His fingers twitched on his sword. "He helped you?"

"Now answer my question. Did you send the Hellhounds?"

"No." He smiled, enjoying the fleeting emotion he saw skip across my face and my subsequent attempt to hide it.

Akil had sent those hounds. Nobody else was capable of summoning them. Nobody had enough power to control them. Akil had sent them. He meant to kill me. Had he set off the explosion at the workshop? The demons at the party? Even the detective? No, not him. Akil had slain him to save me... No, not to save me, to save his own honor.

Val laughed as he read the panic in my eyes. Irony dripped from that laughter. Its menace unbalanced me, and a peculiar lightness swept over me. I swayed a little, reaching for the couch. Val lunged forward as I knew he would, stealing what he thought was a moment of weakness on my part. I sprang back, snatching the kitchen knife from its snug little hiding spot, and tucked it into my jeans against my lower back.

Val slashed the sword toward me with a snarl. The kitchen knife wasn't the most appropriate weapon against a sword, but it was all I had. He kicked over the coffee table, toppling the candle onto the floor, where it snuffed itself out.

Val immediately pulled back, realizing his mistake. With the tiny flame gone, he had no anchor to hold him there. With the summoning revoked, he could do nothing but let it happen. His human form began to dissolve before my eyes, blurring around the edges first. The white of his hair smudged against the shadows like a chalk drawing in the rain.

He peeled his lips back, those eyes as dark as thunder clouds. I'd escaped him this time, but I'd also reminded him I was still alive. If he hadn't been trying to kill me before, he might just step up his efforts now. I saw him casually slip the sword back into his scabbard before he fixed me once more with a threat-laden stare. He didn't need to say a word for me to know what he was thinking.

Only when every swirling speck of his image had vanished from the room did I breathe again. It took a few minutes of measured breathing to regain anything resembling composure, and it didn't last.

The front door of the stranger's apartment beckoned, but outside, Akil would find me. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. How was I meant to stand next to Akil and not let him see how afraid I was? Just that morning, I'd believed he cared for me. He was right. He had never given me reason to distrust him, and yet here I was, going behind his back and summoning my brother to answer my suspicions. Val hadn't given me a name. He wouldn't have even if I'd asked. He'd rather see me suffer than tell me the whole truth. But he'd given me enough.

Thoughts rushed through my head as I attempted to clean up the apartment, working on autopilot and trying to think of a plan. I left a note for the owner, apologizing for the mess, and left a few hundred dollars. It was all I could afford.

I had to find Stefan. He was the only person who appeared to have an interest in keeping me alive. If Akil realized what I'd done, how I'd summoned Val, I couldn't even imagine how he'd react. He'd been less than jovial when he demanded I tell him everything Stefan had told me. Stefan had proof. Akil knew it. That must be why he'd demanded to know everything Stefan had told me.

I leaned back against the kitchen cupboards, folding my arms crossed and chewing on my bottom lip. The second I stepped out of that door, I'd be fighting for my life. I could run, I might even escape the city, but Akil would find me. I'd invited him in, and when you invite a Prince of Hell in, they don't just get access to your home, but also your life. He would know where I was until the day I died. What an idiot I'd been.

Not all was lost though. There were ways of revoking an invitation. I'd never looked into them because I was never going to be stupid enough to invite a Prince of Hell into my life, but it could be done. Stefan seemed like the type of guy who'd know how. In fact, Stefan's company looked mighty appealing, considering the alternative.

I noticed a phone propped up in its cradle at the end of the countertop, and on the spur of the moment, I picked it up and dialed Sam's number. He was the only person in my life who wasn't out to get me in one form or another. I needed that normality.

"Hi, this is Sam Harwood, Architect. Leave a message and I'll call you back between the hours of nine and seven." Even the sound of his voice on his answering message lifted my mood.

"Hey." I sounded gruff in comparison. Glancing at the door, I wondered if I'd ever see him again. "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. For everything. You're a good man, Sam. The best. You..." My vision blurred, forcing me to lift my head and blink. "We had some great times. I'm sorry if I hurt you. You didn't deserve that. But I'm not who you thought I was. I'm not a good woman, Sam, and the people around me, they're dangerous. I just... I just wanted to hear your voice again before..." The phone beeped, cutting me off.

I wanted to go to him. He was honest, and I meant what I'd said. He was a good man. Too good for me. He would wrap me in his arms and listen as I talked. We'd crack open a few beers, rent a movie, and I'd curl up beside him on the couch, head resting against his shoulder with his arm hooked around my waist.

I could no more go to him than I could go to the police and tell them I was being hunted by my demon boyfriend, not to mention the dozen bit-part demons that thought it was their duty to separate my head from my neck. I placed the phone back in its cradle and cast one last look around the basement apartment. The closed front door loomed in the corner of my eye.

"Here goes nothing." I shoved away from the countertop and left the apartment.

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# Chapter 12

It took all of about thirty minutes for Nica to arrive and sit herself in the comfy armchair across my table in Starbucks. I'd been sipping a grande latte while people-watching as I waited for her to arrive, hoping the safety in numbers theory applied to me. The coffee house buzzed with activity. Professionals tapped away on their laptops. Some teens sat engrossed in a game on an iPad beside a line out the door for coffee. It was exactly what I needed. Should Akil or Val show their faces, they weren't likely to try anything untoward in such a public place. That didn't mean they couldn't though.

"Thanks for coming." I smiled at Nica, hoping it reached my eyes.

"No problem." She crossed her legs, straightening her pencil skirt as she watched me sip my coffee. "I'm due about a dozen lunch breaks, so figured I was owed a little personal time." Her bright smile had already begun to lift my mood.

"You didn't tell Akil?"

She shrugged. "I doubt he'd be interested in the fact we're having coffee together. It's not exactly high on his agenda."

This time, my smile hitched a little higher. I'd called her from a public phone and asked her to meet me. In all likelihood, Akil would have sent her after me as soon as I'd left the safety of the basement apartment, so I figured I might as well preempt his move with one of my own. "You know that file you gave me on Stefan?"

"The assassin?" She tucked her short blond hair behind her ears and leaned an arm on the table.

"Yeah, whatever he is. Did you discover anything about where he lived?"

"No, he covers his tracks really well. But there was something... We had a lead on a guy who deals in guns. He's sold some ammunition to Stefan in the past. The gun Stefan uses, the one with the scorpion brand on it, it's a fifty caliber brushed chrome Desert Eagle. A gun like that gets noticed."

I wondered briefly if Stefan had retrieved the weapon from his car after it rolled. I hadn't seen it on him afterward, and I'd had an eyeful of him post-accident, but something told me he wouldn't leave a gun like that behind.

"Why?" Nica's smile teased across her lips, her eyes brightening with mischief. "What are you planning?"

"Who says I'm planning anything?" I placed my cup down on the table, licking my lips. I couldn't trust her; I barely knew her. She worked for Akil--spent every day with him from what I could gather. Whatever I told her, I could assume it would go straight back to him.

"Okay." She tried to catch my eye. "I can get you the address of the dealer if you want." She plucked her phone from her bag, fingers tapping out the security code to unlock it. "Why do you want to find Stefan?"

I had to tread carefully. "I want to know what he knows."

"Even if he tries to kill you?" Her thumb navigated across the touchscreen of her phone.

"He won't."

Nica lifted her gaze over the phone to question me with her eyes. "What makes you so certain?"

He saved me from the Hellhounds, saved me from the explosion at my workshop, saved me from the demon in the stairwell. Right now, anywhere he occupied was the safest place for me. "I'm not that easy to kill."

Nica grinned and showed me a map on the screen. "If we take my car, we'll be there in less than fifteen minutes."

I nodded. "Won't Akil miss you if you don't return to work?"

Nica flicked her hair back, suddenly becoming animated with excitement. "No. He's out most of the day. I can catch up on the paperwork tonight. I'd much rather be shaking down a back-alley arms dealer than filing tax returns. Wouldn't you?"

I chuckled. "That's not what this is. I'm just going to ask some questions."

"Right, and he's going to tell two uptown girls what we want to know because he's a nice guy?"

"You're uptown. I, most certainly, am downtown. Trust me."

* * *

AT LEAST IT WASN'T night. The dead-end street would have looked much less appealing draped in darkness. In full daylight beneath the winter sun, the dumpsters glistening wet from a recent rain shower, it didn't look quite as foreboding, but it still wasn't going to feature on a tourist map any time soon. Air-conditioning units hummed from the mismatched buildings lining the narrow back street. An abused '70s Corvette sat beached unceremoniously on bricks outside a car workshop, its wheels gone. Either it was in a state of repair or in the process of being picked clean by local thieves.

A group of three young men loitered on the corner of a side street, hoods up, watching Nica and me climb from her silver Mercedes. I had to wonder if her car might resemble the Corvette on our return.

"I have mace," Nica said, not all that quietly, as she walked beside me, clutching her bag a little tighter.

I smiled. "Don't worry. Mace will be the least of their concerns." A tingle of energy trickled through me. My demon half stirred at the promise of violence. I shook the thrill of it from my hands, pushing back the thirst for chaos.

Nica gave me a sideways glance. She saw my smile and loosened her white-knuckled grip on her bag. "I forget what you are sometimes."

"Thanks." I took it as compliment as we approached a solid black back door in a three-story brick building. A scribble of unintelligible graffiti adorned the wall beside the door, but it was the small symbol etched into the painted wood beside the handle that caught my eye. The entwined scorpions stood out because they'd been painted white against the black of the door, but they were small, barely larger than a dime, not meant for the whole street to see. Just visitors. Nica saw it too. We shared a knowing glance before I knocked on the door.

Behind us, the three hoods watched our every move, muttering among themselves. They were unlikely to present a threat, just curious as to why two young women were entering their neck of the woods. Nica and I probably weren't the usual type of client in these parts.

The door opened, revealing a man who looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed with creases everywhere. His jeans and shirt were crumpled like waste paper. Even his face had creases, hiking my age estimate to late thirties. He peered at us through narrow eyes and chewed on a toothpick. In dire need of a shave, his bristly chin and short, ruffled hair completed the "disheveled and don't care" look.

He seemed to like what he saw in us, because he grinned and draped an arm against the doorframe. "Hello, ladies. Yah lost?" He slipped his attention past us to Nica's car. The spotless paintwork gleamed like a beacon of temptation for any would-be thieves.

Plucking the toothpick from between his teeth, he pointed it at me. "He won't be happy you parked that hunk of German metal outside his shop."

"Are you David Ryder?" I asked, not in the least perturbed.

He tucked both thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. The last few buttons of his shirt were open. Evidently, he had problems dressing himself. I wasn't surprised.

"Ryder, sure. Whatever. What d'yah fine ladies want?"

"Can we come in?"

He took another long look at us then glanced over his shoulder into the dark hall. "Well, sure, why not."

Nica and I helped ourselves inside. The oppressive atmosphere of the hallway embraced us as she closed the door. I followed Ryder's quick retreat down the hall, passing several closed doors before we reached what had, at one time, been a kitchen but now resembled a workroom. Cardboard boxes were stacked high in one corner. Beside them, on a small round table, two guns had been stripped and were in the process of being cleaned. Small rectangular ammunition boxes lined the countertops beside half-finished mugs of coffee. Some harbored islands of mold.

"'Scuse the mess. Wasn't expecting guests." He made a halfhearted attempt at cleaning a space on the countertop but quickly gave up.

Nica stood very still beside me, hands clasped in front of her as though afraid to touch anything. "Those marks on the door?" she asked in a rather curt voice. "The scorpions..."

Ryder shrugged. "Previous owner of this place, I reckon. Why? You recognize them?"

"No." She smiled a little too sweetly to be convincing.

"Yes, actually," I intervened. "I want to ask you about a man who has that exact same mark on a gun, a Desert Eagle."

Ryder leaned back against the countertop, folding his arms crossed. His beady eyes assessed me. "Nice gun. Don't get many of those 'round here. Too big, bulky. You can't stash 'em easily, if you know what I mean."

Not really. "The guy who owns that gun, he's a friend of mine. I just need to find him."

Ryder suppressed a smile. "A friend, and you don't know where to find him, huh? Maybe he doesn't want to be your friend."

"He's tall. Blond hair about this long." I touched the corner of my jaw. "Has a thing for red leather. Drives an old Charger--well, used to."

Ryder's smile had begun to fade away, the laughter fleeing from his eyes. He knew Stefan, all right, but I was getting a distinct angry vibe off this guy, so perhaps they didn't get along too well. Not surprising. Stefan appeared to have that effect on people.

"What did you say your name was?" he asked.

"Charlie. And this is my friend, Nica." I held out my hand only for Ryder to look at it as though I'd just offered him a dead rat.

He popped the toothpick between his teeth, chewed on it, then grabbed my hand in his and shook it hard. Only when I tensed to pull away did I realize he wasn't letting me go. I tugged, frowning, about to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, when he yanked me forward.

"I think you lost your way." He leered down at me. "Best you run along now. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you fine ladies, now would we?"

Perhaps he expected me to squeal and flee. His leering face certainly betrayed a confidence in himself. I couldn't blame him. I didn't look like much. Perhaps it was the way I held his stare and smiled a little, or he may even have sensed the temperature change in the room, but he was human, so he couldn't have seen the elemental magic spilling down my arm. It heated my hand. From the widening of his eyes, I knew he felt my grip tighten. The rising heat radiating from my palm must have been uncomfortable.

"You'd better leave," he warned.

I pulled him toward me. "Where is he?"

"I don't know who..." He yanked on my hand, trying to pull himself free, then growled when he realized I wasn't letting go. "What the hell are you?" He twisted, trying to writhe free, but I wasn't budging. The acrid smell of burning flesh permeated the air.

"Okay, okay!"

"Where?"

"I'll take you! He's right across the street."

I released his hand and watched with a little too much glee as he quickly turned toward the kitchen sink and plunged his hand under the cool water.

Nica arched an eyebrow. She had her hand in her bag, ready with her can of mace just in case.

"Holy crap." Ryder stepped around a knee-high tower of magazines and tugged open the rusted refrigerator. With his burnt hand, he reached inside and grabbed a can of beer, clasping it in his hand with an audible sigh of relief. "Remind me never to piss you off."

"That's nothing compared to what I can do, so don't get any ideas."

Ryder didn't look surprised by any of this. No flurry of questions about how I could heat my hand to those temperatures without burning myself. It made me wonder what he knew about demons. Despite appearances, he was not a typical gun dealer.

Nica and I followed Ryder back outside. The hoods had gone, and Nica's car had survived intact. Ryder jogged across the street to the workshop, and snatching the handle at the bottom of a garage door, he lifted it high above our heads to reveal another classic car in the throes of restoration, this one stripped back to bare metal and awaiting its body panels. Mechanic's tools hung on the walls. Every inch was covered with assorted equipment, from wrenches to jumper cables, hub caps to hood ornaments. The pungent odors of oil and metal reminded me of my lost workshop. A pang of sadness stabbed me in the chest, and a brief grimace touched my face.

I heard Stefan's voice coming from the back and nodded at Nica behind me.

"Yo, Stefan," Ryder called out.

I followed Ryder's path past the partially restored car into the back of the workshop and through a doorway.

Stefan sat behind a desk, rocking his chair back, boots up on the desktop, legs crossed at the ankle. He cradled a phone between his chin and shoulder. When he laid eyes on me, his conversation came to an abrupt end. He hung up on his caller and tossed the phone into a pile of papers strewn about the desk. Making no attempt to stand, he flicked his cool gaze across the three of us.

"Hell must have frozen over," he drawled, looking particularly pleased with himself.

"She fried my hand." Ryder lifted the beer as though that explained everything and then cracked it open and took a few gulps for good measure. "She made me bring her."

"S'okay. I've been expecting her." Stefan stared straight at me, waiting for me to speak. I deliberately stayed quiet, drawing out the silence. Nica shuffled behind me, her fingers tapping out a restless little tune on the side of her bag.

Ryder cleared his throat. "Anyway... as I've opened the beers, anyone else like to partake?"

Nica looked at me, saw my encouraging expression, and sighed. "He's an animal."

"You have mace." I grinned.

Ryder scowled at the both of us. "Standing right here."

With a grumble, Nica reluctantly followed Ryder back into the workshop. I heard him attempting to engage her in small talk, but she wisely avoided him. If he tried anything, I'd be out there in a shot, but given Stefan's reaction to Ryder, I was confident he wasn't going to cause any trouble.

Stefan, on the other hand... He hadn't moved, and I wasn't entirely sure how he'd react to my being there. His office--if you could call it that--was surprisingly normal. I wasn't sure what I'd expected. Having seen him in action, perhaps I was hoping for something like my old workshop: weapons on the walls, maybe a demon head or two--not that I had those, but he might have.

"You're a mechanic?" I failed to keep the surprise from my voice.

"When I'm not working."

His half smile wasn't budging, but if he wanted an apology, hell would indeed have to freeze over.

I absorbed the normality of the surroundings. Apart from the mess of papers on his desk, the room was tidy, sparsely furnished, with one metal filing cabinet in the corner with a plant in a plastic pot on top as though that would make all the difference. It was an office in which he didn't spend much time. That was clear.

He planted both boots on the floor and stood, moving out from behind the desk with a fluid stride. His blue jeans were worn threadbare in places, with a few smudges of oil and grease across his thighs. His gray t-shirt sported the occasional oil stain, a trend which continued onto his face, where a smudge of grease had been brushed across his forehead. He looked decidedly normal, and it completely threw me.

"How'd you find me?" He leaned back against the desk.

"Nica has a file on you." I listened, hearing her clipped voice respond to something Ryder had asked. "I don't trust her."

"What does she know?"

"They think you're an assassin, or a bounty hunter, depending on the money at stake, I guess. She'll tell Akil about this place."

He didn't look concerned. In fact, he still had that smug smile on his lips. Placing his hands on the edge of the desk, he dropped his head. "I told you to stay in that apartment."

"Yeah, I know." I snorted a laugh. "I'm not very good at following orders."

"This isn't a game, Muse." The smile had gone. In its place, he'd summoned concern from somewhere as though he actually cared.

"No?" I felt the power turning over inside me, roused by a little shiver of anger. "It feels like it is. Like some elaborate game and I'm the only one who doesn't know the rules."

"You're right. You don't know all the rules. They've been deliberately kept from you by a succession of owners, most recently Akil."

"So why don't you enlighten me?"

He shoved away from the desk and strode toward me. I straightened, refusing to give an inch. He stopped beside me and leaned in close. "I will, but first, there's something you need to see."

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# Chapter 13

Nica was enjoying a beer by the time we left the office. She appeared to be relaxing around Ryder, who had ditched his surly persona for a friendlier version. I was about to advise Nica to slow down on the beers, when Stefan stopped me. He surreptitiously extricated her phone from her bag and removed the battery, placing just the phone back in her bag. He didn't want her making calls, and quite honestly, neither did I.

Turning back toward me, Stefan ran a hand down the bare metal of the car that sat squarely in the middle of the workshop. "She'll eventually replace the Dodge I wrecked the other night."

I couldn't help feeling a little responsible for that, seeing as the hounds had been after me. "Akil sent those hounds," I blurted.

Stefan scratched at the smudge of grease on his forehead and nodded, for once avoiding the smug-son-of-a-bitch expression in favor of a sympathetic frown. "Follow me."

He squeezed by me. The car's bulk left little room to maneuver. A peculiar flutter of excitement flipped in my chest as he brushed against me. The fleeting reaction distracted me completely, briefly emptying my mind of rational thoughts while I watched him walk toward the back of his workshop.

"You coming?" he called, disappearing through a narrow doorway.

"Huh? Yeah."

Nica and Ryder were deep in conversation. Ryder tossed me a wave, apparently enjoying his babysitting task. Who'd have thought Nica would be so easily led astray? Maybe she had a hidden desire for bad boys. She was distracted, and that was all that mattered. I'd worry later about how I was going to prevent her from talking to Akil.

Following Stefan's path through the doorway, I found myself in a narrow hall. Bare bulbs flickered above, poorly illuminating unfinished, plywood walls and a bare concrete floor. A chill swept over me, snagging my thoughts. I glanced back, expecting to find someone watching me, but the doorway stood empty. I could still hear Nica's voice, but it felt oddly distant. A little hesitantly, I emerged through a second doorway into what could only be described as an armory.

Symbols covered every inch of the walls, similar but not identical to those Stefan had used to ward off elemental magic. They were likely the reason for the chills I'd just experienced. My human senses never failed to detect forces that didn't belong on this side of the veil.

Workbenches butted against the walls, stretching from one end of the room to the other. On them, the array of weapons boggled the mind. Knives, daggers, swords, axes, guns. A deadly weapon for every occasion. Need a two-handed axe? A broadsword? A rifle? The room bristled with sharp edges like an underwater cave brimming with spiny urchins.

"That's quite a collection." I absently reached out to touch one sword in particular, a broadsword with substantial pitting on the blade. Before I realized I'd even touched the metal, a flood of images burst through my mind in such a flurry that the onslaught nearly floored me. It was only Stefan's sudden grip clamped around my arm that brought me back. Stumbling against the workbench, I sucked in a few deep breaths. Usually, it required blood to secure a link between my mind and the metal, but not this time. That sword wanted its history told.

"Don't touch anything," he warned, his azure eyes brilliant in the subdued lighting.

The sword beckoned, even now, its secrets demanding to be told. "I saw..." I couldn't be sure what I'd seen. Blood, but that's normal. You don't read the history of a sword and see happy endings. It was almost always horrific and one of the reasons I didn't like to do it. I tried to isolate the images in my mind--horses foaming at the mouth, a woman cowering over her motionless child--but Stefan's voice pulled me back.

"You don't want to know. There's enough history in that sword to knock you out for a week." He touched my face, fingers lightly brushing my cheek. I gasped, not meaning to, but my mind was elsewhere and his touch so unexpected that a brief flicker of heat bloomed defensively inside me, an instinctive reaction to a perceived threat. He must have sensed it, because he turned his back on me, instantly severing the peculiar moment.

The ghost of his touch still brushed my cheek. I lifted my hand to my face, where the cool imprint lingered. It hadn't hurt--quite the opposite. It was as though his ice element had briefly eased through my skin. It was a natural reaction for two demons, like an elemental handshake, but our opposite elements made for an interesting interaction. I found it quite intriguing and deeply confusing.

"This is the sword that's caused all the trouble." He lifted a katana from its cradle and presented it to me in such a formal manner that I didn't want to take it, especially after just having one sword download a gruesome fragment of its history into my head. The elaborate guard, unusual for a katana, confirmed it as the same sword he'd brought to my workshop.

Seeing my hesitation, he set the sword down on the workbench. "You need to read this."

In my workshop, when I first laid eyes on the weapon, I'd instinctively touched it, sensing a connection with it. Now, though, I recognized my hesitation as fear. The undulating ripples along the surface of the blade were the result of the metal being folded over and over during its forging process. Each fold strengthened the blade and made the weapon unique. Like a fingerprint, those marks could never be reproduced. Whatever secrets it contained were there forever.

Stefan stepped back, giving me room, but I didn't move. "It's not going to be easy," he warned.

"Why don't you just tell me?" I shivered and clutched my jacket tighter around me.

He hesitated, as though considering it. "You won't believe me."

I didn't like the sympathy in his eyes or the weight of his words. "This is the proof... about Akil?" I chewed on my lip.

"It's all in there."

"How far back do I have to go?" Old weapons have many memories. If I was going back more than a few years, it would take time and effort.

"Monday morning."

"A few days, not long. Good." I stalled. The recent event should be easy to pin down. All I needed to do was look for Akil. "Will I see you?"

"Possibly." He thought for a few beats. "Probably."

I stepped up against the workbench but kept my hands back, locking them against the edges of the bench. I had my suspicions about Akil. My brother had denied all involvement. In all likelihood, Akil was the one behind the Hellhounds, but I didn't have proof. Proof meant I'd have to believe it, and inside, I didn't want to. Without Akil, I was alone in a world that wanted me dead, and that was not somewhere I wanted to be. Sure, I'd tried to run away, but Akil had always been there, watching over me. If I had proof Akil was trying to kill me, I had no idea what I was supposed to do about it.

"Would you prefer I leave?" Stefan tried to catch my eye, but I couldn't look away from the sword. I flexed my fingers beside me.

"No. When I go under... I'll need you here." A quick glance told me he was watching closely. "I don't know how I'll react."

Stefan nodded. "You won't be able to summon much of your element here. The marks you see on the walls, they'll prevent you from drawing on the energy outside this building, like at the basement apartment. The worst you can do here is blow a few bulbs."

His brief smile held more warmth than I'd seen from him all afternoon. Even those bitterly cold eyes had softened. It occurred to me that he might actually care, until I realized what that must mean. Whatever was hidden in the blade, it wasn't going to have a happy ending.

I deliberately ran my left hand down the katana's edge. The blade was so sharp I hardly felt the cut at all, but the blood flowed freely. A few drops pooled together on the workbench. I wiped my hands together, smothering them in blood. It would seal the link to the past more easily if the blood was fresh. Wrapping my left hand around the cool metal, I immediately felt the weight of knowledge bear down on me.

"We have a problem." Ryder's gravelly voice penetrated my wandering thoughts. I'd have fallen into the past had Stefan not touched my hand. His warm fingers resting over mine tugged me back before I could slip further into the blade. He eased my left hand from the sword, fixing his eyes on mine before turning his attention to Ryder. It took a moment to clear my head. I'd only touched the blade for a few seconds, but the weight of its secrets had quickly tugged me under. Left any longer, I wouldn't have been roused so easily. Ryder showed Stefan the screen on his phone and dragged a hand down his bristly chin.

"Dammit. How did he find us?" Stefan and Ryder looked at me.

"What?"

Stefan presented the phone to me. On the screen, I clearly saw the black limo parked adjacent to Nica's Mercedes, blocking the street outside. I winced. "Yeah, I was going to ask you how to revoke an invitation..."

"You invited him into your life?" Stefan's gaze widened. "Are you insane?"

I clamped my jaw shut, grinding my teeth. "Hey, don't judge me. Okay? It's your fault."

"My fault?" He barked a laugh. "And how exactly did I force you into signing your life over to a Prince of Hell?"

"You wouldn't leave me alone." I clenched my hand around the cut in my palm. The slight sting of pain was oddly welcome. "When you showed up at my apartment, I had to reveal what I was, but after you fled, I couldn't control the energy." I frowned. "With no outlet, it turned on me. Akil was..." Stefan's stare bore into me. I felt the disappointment roll off him in waves. "He was there. Okay? When I needed him, he was there."

Stefan tossed the phone back to Ryder. With his back to me, he ran a hand through his hair and took a few moments to think. "He knows you're here." He faced me once more, his blue eyes crystalline. I felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees. "Go to him. Lie to him. Whatever you have to do. You brought him here, Muse. You get rid of him."

It wasn't that simple. "I can't lie to him. He'll know."

Stefan scowled. The displeasure on his face darkened my mood even more. "There's no other option here," he said. "If you don't lie to him about why you're here, he'll tear you, me, and this place apart."

Ryder gave me a sympathetic glance. At least he seemed to realize exactly what Stefan was asking of me. "He only knows you're here, Muse. He doesn't know why, and he doesn't know Stefan's here. Just tell him the Merc died on you. I'll back you up."

"What about Nica? She'll tell him."

Stefan plucked a short sword from the workbench. "I'll talk to her. Just get out there, Muse, before he comes looking for you."

"Don't hurt her."

Stefan gave me a weary sigh. "I'll find you. Just keep Akil happy. I'll get to you."

Ryder beckoned to me, and I had no choice but to follow, my steps heavy with dread. After a quick stop in a washroom to clean the blood from my hands and stem the blood flow from the cut with a paper towel, we returned to the workshop. The shutters were closed, thankfully, so Akil couldn't see inside. It didn't stop me from sensing him though. My body trembled a little as the sheer weight of his power lingered in the air like the threat of an oncoming storm.

"I can't do this."

Ryder clutched my shoulders, all authoritative. "You get out there. You tell him what he wants to hear. It's not just your life that's at risk here. You've got to do this." He released me and beckoned Nica forward. She'd been watching quietly, aware that something was very wrong. I nodded, indicating she should do as Ryder asked while wondering what Stefan would do to her. I didn't think he'd hurt her, but I couldn't be sure. She was Akil's personal assistant, a spy in our ranks, and liable to reveal all.

As Ryder escorted Nica out the back door to the armory, I stood behind the personnel door in the front of the workshop, hand gripping the handle. Akil's elemental magic wrapped its explorative tendrils around me, calling to me. I was about to lie to a Prince of Hell, Mammon, the Prince of Greed. Had I been full demon like my brother, I might have been able to pull it off, but half human, my emotions were my weakness. I wasn't capable of it.

I shoved open the door, shielding my eyes from the piercing brightness of the winter sun. Crossing in front of Nica's car toward the limo, I tried to plaster an easy smile across my lips, but it felt wooden, like trying to snap twigs. My hands trembled. I clutched them in front of me as the limo's rear door opened. I can't do this... I can't do this...

Akil emerged from the back of the car. The sunglasses shielding his eyes made it impossible for me to accurately read his expression. He wasn't smiling. His lips pulled thin. My heart did a little skip. I can't do this.

"Hey," I gushed, forcing too much glee into the single word in my desperation to appear innocent.

Akil stood behind the open door, a hand placed on the roof of the car. He turned his head to take in Nica's car beside us and the closed shutters on the workshop. I smiled brightly, but figured it probably came off as a grimace.

"We--er--we had some car trouble."

"Where's Nica?"

His voice betrayed nothing, its tone flat. I assumed he was angry, and the stoic mask was there to cover the simmering rage. He hadn't called his element, but that only meant he wasn't concerned.

"She'll be out in a minute. She's talking to the mechanic... You didn't have to come all this way. We were having coffee." I shrugged. "A girls' afternoon out."

His gaze dropped a little. The direction of his attention was difficult for me to ascertain behind those dark glasses. Then I realized he was looking at my hands. I clasped them a little tighter together, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Akil slammed the car door and strode toward me. He took my hands in his and turned them over, revealing the two cuts across my left palm: one from summoning Val and the other from attempting to read the sword. He wouldn't know why the cuts were there, but there was no way I could disguise my sharp intake of breath.

"What did you do?"

I looked up at him. "I...I summoned Val."

Akil dropped my hands and snatched the sunglasses from his face. He slowly folded the sunglasses and tucked them over the waistband of his trousers, each movement precise and deliberate. I wasn't sure how long I could stand there waiting for him to rage at me. My knees were about to give out.

"Why would you do such a foolish thing?" His voice still level, he fixed his dark eyes on me. I'd preferred him with the sunglasses on. Now I had the full weight of his stare on me. I refused to look away, knowing if I did, it would give him the hint of guilt he needed.

"I wanted to ask him why he sent the Hellhounds."

Ryder stepped from the door with Nica in tow. He swaggered up to Akil, thrusting out a grubby, grease-covered hand. "Nice car, but I wouldn't leave it around here for long." Ryder indicated across the street with a nod. The hoods were back--five this time, a veritable crowd. They watched us, hands tucked in their pockets, shoulders slouched, but I began to wonder if there was more to them than first met the eye. Perhaps the little collection of fine cars had brought them out, or Ryder knew them. Were they backup?

Akil barely registered their presence. He regarded Ryder's hand with a slight curl of his lip. Once Ryder realized Akil had no intention of shaking his hand, he tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, not in the least bit bothered by Akil's brush-off. "These ladies, huh? Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." He slapped a hand on the hood of Nica's car. "Ran out of fuel. Would you believe it? They're lucky I'm a nice guy. Especially as this little doll here has had a few too many beers."

Nica flicked her hair out of her face. "I'm fine. Thank you, but... Charlie, you should drive."

"Sure." I was all too happy to get in her car. The thought of riding back with Akil made me nauseous. She tossed me the keys. Grateful for the excuse to get away from Akil, I hurried around the car and ducked in the driver's side, acutely aware of Akil's stare burning into me. Nica climbed in beside me, and we both watched Akil say a few words to Ryder. Whatever they had been, it was enough to wipe Ryder's smile off his face. We drove back in virtual silence, the limo a constant presence in the rearview mirrors.

"I won't say anything," Nica said.

She wouldn't meet my glance and didn't say another word for the entire journey. I believed her, but I wondered what Stefan had said to her to guarantee her silence. I had more to worry about than Nica's silence. Akil would have questions, and he wasn't going to like my answers.

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# Chapter 14

The superb surroundings of the Trade Restaurant bustled with Boston's elite. Glasses chinked while laughter tickled the air. An authentic decor hinted at its waterside location. Pieces of driftwood decorated the room like well-placed works of art, while leather and glass gave the place an air of quality. It was delightful, but I was miserable.

Nica had called Akil's apartment to inform me that my presence was requested here at 7:00 p.m. Akil couldn't even be bothered to ask me himself. That annoyed me. Nica's cold shoulder annoyed me. The fact I had no idea how I was going to get myself out of this mess angered me. Frankly, I could barely contemplate surviving another night. I told myself it wasn't as bad as all that, and then remembered where I'd been before Akil had plucked me out of obscurity. There are things worse than death.

Akil was late. When he eventually arrived, someone accosted him in the doorway, shaking his hand as though he were royalty. Maybe they knew what he was. Maybe they didn't. It didn't really matter. Human or demon, he was untouchable. He had it all. Money. Respect. Anyone of the women in the restaurant would have gladly followed him home. All he needed to do was catch their eyes. He was a force of nature. An elemental demon walking amongst men. A god.

How the hell was I supposed to beat that?

Akil noticed the half-empty wine bottle on the table and suppressed a smile as he sat down opposite me.

"You're late," I grumbled.

"Traffic."

I snorted a laugh. Traffic? He could bend reality around him, and a few stop lights had prevented him from being on time? Right.

A waiter appeared and offered Akil a choice of wine. I glared at him through the brief exchange, watching him taste the wine and express his preference before the waiter poured him a glass. Once the waiter departed, Akil met my stare, his smile hitching up a little. "You're angry."

I shrugged. "No."

He leaned forward, swirling the wine in his glass. "You are angry with me." He, on the other hand, appeared to be in quite a good mood, as though my anger pleased him.

"Yes." I sat forward, planting an elbow on the table and picking up my wine. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Sometimes."

I bit into my lip. A flicker of anger ignited inside me like a pilot light. From that one little light, an inferno could blaze, but right now, it was controlled. "What are you doing, Akil?"

"What do you mean?" Oh, playing coy now was he?

"Let's cut the bullshit." A few of the other diners in the restaurant glanced our way. Akil also found that amusing. "What's going on? The workshop? The Hellhounds? Did you know a demon attacked me in the stairwell at your hotel? Damn thing nearly chewed my face off."

"You're surprised?"

That little flicker of anger, it flared brighter, my element stirring, awakening. "Are you doing this to me?"

"No." He said the word softly. Both of us were leaned in close enough that he didn't need to raise his voice. "How many times do you need me to say it?"

"It's not Val. I asked." I waved my left hand. The wounds from earlier in the day were scabbed over but still sore.

"That was idiotic." He pointed a finger at me, smile failing. "You're very lucky he didn't turn you inside out."

"He couldn't. I protected myself." Ha! See? Not so stupid. I decided not to mention how my brother had tried to skewer me. "He said he didn't send those hounds, so who else, Akil? There's only one other demon I know who has enough power to control those beasts."

"And this one demon you say you know, did he save you from an abusive owner, the very same owner that sheered a wing from your ethereal body and destroyed your mind? Did this demon give you the tools you needed to exact your revenge on your owner? Did he protect you from that day to this one? Has he ever hurt you? Ever?" Embers of heat briefly sparkled in Akil's dark eyes before vanishing as he blinked.

And that's where my argument always fell over. I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes, rubbing my hand over them. "No."

"I don't deserve your anger, Muse."

I opened my eyes to see him watching me. "So who does?"

"I don't know. Why does one demon have to be to blame? You've ruffled enough wings to infuriate a whole horde of demons. Look at that detective, who I saved you from, in case you've conveniently forgotten that as well. He was just one of many. What does it matter? If you had done as I'd asked and stayed with me, none of this would have happened."

He knew all the right words, but it wasn't enough anymore. "Why me? I'm just a half-blood. Why do they even care if I live or die?"

The waiter appeared with his pen and pad. "Are you ready to order?"

Akil glared at him with enough force to make the poor guy squirm in his shoes and slink off. Akil picked up his glass of wine and took a generous sip. "There is something I've... neglected to mention."

"Oh?"

He swept a pertinent gaze about the restaurant. "Not here."

"Then let's leave." I pushed my glass to the middle of the table, about to stand, when Akil's hand covered mine, his warm fingers closing, holding me tightly.

"No. We order. We eat. And we enjoy each other's company."

The heat from his hand wove its way up my arm, its sensual touch rooting me to my seat. His words weren't a request. A part of me resented being told what to do, but the power in his words teased through my human barriers and did peculiar things to my demon half. There was no denying the control he had over me, over the demon inside of me. She would roll over and let him tickle her belly if she could, and I couldn't blame her. She was me, and there was a large part of me that desired everything about Akil. How else does a woman fall in love with a demon?

* * *

ONCE I SHRUGGED OFF my anger, I actually enjoyed the meal. The food was fantastic, and Akil had all the right levels of charm with an undercurrent of wicked innuendo that had me nearly salivating with the thought of what we might get up to. He hadn't got to where he was by bullying his way to the top. His suave exterior, irresistible charm, and outright sexy demeanor were virtually impossible to deny. The evening air had a frosty bite when we left the restaurant, prompting me to pull my coat tighter around me as we walked along the waterfront. Yachts of all shapes and sizes bobbed in their moorings, riggings clinking against the masts. We leaned against the railing beside a vast yacht with a helicopter on its retracted top deck.

I took a deep breath of sea air. There was something pure about the sea, its endless ebb and flow, timeless and constant. It would be there long after I'd gone and would maybe even outlast my brother. I hoped so. Akil hugged me against his side. His jacket was over my shoulders, keeping out the worst of the chill. We stood like that for a few minutes. I listened to his breathing, let the warmth of him soak into me. The sky above sparkled with diamond stars. The water below was a bottomless black darkness.

He turned me to face him. The press of his body, coupled with the lightheaded effects of the alcohol, conspired to rouse temptation in me. As he lifted a hand to my face, I leaned my cheek into his palm, closing my eyes and sighing.

His lips brushed mine. "Why did you leave me?" he whispered.

It was the only question I could never answer in a way he would understand, and perhaps that was an answer in itself. He would never understand what it meant to be human. He could pretend, but he had none of the fragility of life. It wasn't even that though. He wouldn't know the joys of the simple things in life because he was always playing the grander game. We were like ants to him, milling back and forth, our destinations of no interest. I'd only caught his eye because I'd belonged to Damien.

For five years, I'd been Charlie, and it had been the best five years of my otherwise wretched life.

"I didn't leave you." I rested my forehead against his, moistening my lips as a depth of sadness dragged my mood down. "I left behind the part of me that's demon."

"After everything I did for you." His hand pushed against my face. Only when I felt his touch tremble did I open my eyes. I searched his eyes. Slivers of heat fragmented the dark irises. It had never really occurred to me that I could have hurt him. But standing beside him, my gaze lost in the maelstrom of emotion in his eyes, I realized I had. I'd walked away from him after everything he had done for me. I'd turned my back on him.

I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his. When he didn't immediately respond, I pulled back a little. "Akil?" The way he held my gaze, his eyes ablaze with heat, told me something was wrong. I caught a glimmer of emotion like nothing I'd seen from him. Before I could process it, his lips met mine with a ferocious hunger. I immediately succumbed, but a fragment of uncertainty had splintered in the back of my mind. I'd seen something in Akil that struck fear through my heart like the piercing jab of a rapier. Hatred.

"You want to know why they seek your demise?" he breathed, pinning me back against the railing. His hand roamed down my waist, over my hip, and gripped my thigh, hitching my leg up, enabling me to hook it around him and pull him tighter against me. I couldn't think clearly. His kisses burned on my cheek, my neck, branding my trembling skin.

"Yes," I hissed.

"You're not half a demon."

He let his element roll over me. The warm flush of it across my skin aroused my element. My demon woke from her slumber, summoned like a cobra at the beckoning call of her charmer. I struggled to pull her back, fearing she might spill over my skin and reveal herself right here by the marina.

He smothered my mouth with his, blunt teeth nipping gently at my lip. "There is no such thing as half a demon. Inside..." He splayed a hand across my chest. "You are whole."

His hand roamed higher, fingers easing behind my neck. "You're entirely human and demon, and they despise you for it." His grip tightened around my neck while the demon inside me rode higher, fighting to be free. I tried to rein her back in, but Akil's hardened grip distracted me. I couldn't breathe. I dug my fingers in behind his, trying to pry his hand free as my demon burst out of my flesh, enveloping me.

Akil took a few steps back to admire his handiwork. I stood bathed in my demon form and tried to consider my actions, tried to think clearly about what I was doing, but the chaos spiraled out of control. I couldn't reason with chaos. It wanted the madness, the hunger, the glory of destruction. He could see me battling for control but wasn't preventing me from manifesting. If anything, he was enjoying his personal freak show and my outright failure.

"What are you doing?" I panted. My wing sprouted from my back, tugging at my flesh as it unfurled. My right side slumped. The weight of the one wing pushed me down, while the opposite stump protruded uselessly.

"You're beautiful."

I was dangerous, not beautiful. He was calling my element, luring all of it out of me, but with nowhere to channel it, I would fall victim to its wrath.

"Stop." Another wave of heat washed over me, its receding edge dragging the last vestiges of power out of me. I dropped to my knees, giving myself over to her completely, because it was inevitable. I couldn't control her, not like this, not with a demon of Akil's lineage pulling my strings.

"Akil, please... don't do this. I can't..." I slumped over, one hand on the ground. "I can't control it." Heat from the earth pooled about me. I felt the residual warmth from the city shoring me up, an unending supply of chaos to fuel my lust for destruction. I didn't want to hurt anyone, but before long, I wouldn't have a choice.

Akil stood over me. "This is what you are." He took my hand and pulled me to my feet, apparently impervious to the tendrils of my power lashing around him.

"How dare you?" A snarl rippled across my lips. "You think I won't use this? You think I can't? You have no idea what you've done." My voice no longer sounded like mine. My demon spoke through me. The words echoed in on themselves.

Akil reached a hand through the shimmering veil surrounding me as if to stroke my face, but the thought of his invasive touch only angered me further. How dare he play me like this? I batted his hand away with a growl. When he tried again, I planted both hands on his shoulders and shoved him back.

He just smiled. I peered through my demon guise and watched his demon form emerge, framing his human vessel so that both man and demon existed, one layered over the other. Mammon leered at me, his leathery wings held aloft. Embers fizzed along their ragged edges. I cocked my head to the side, closing the fingers of my right hand into a fist while pooling energy into my arm. It came willingly, like an eager pet rushing into me. I flung the blast of heat outward, feeling it peel over my arm and spill from my fingers. Akil staggered back, lifting a hand, palm out. He laughed.

By that point, I'd had enough of the games. I summoned everything I could call, pulling heat from every surface, teasing it from the tiniest of molecules, and drawing it into my very being. I drew the lingering heat from the metal of the engine of the boat behind me. The lights, central-heating systems, electricity cables, even the residual warmth inside the walls of the nearby buildings and the ground beneath our feet. It came freely to me, rushing from every crevice to bolster my strength.

"Nobody uses me, Akil," my demon snarled. "And you're a fool if you think you can."

He backed up and gleefully shook off his mortal appearance. His truly demonic being appeared before me. He smiled, betraying rows of pointed teeth behind black lips. A chuckle rumbled through him like distant thunder. I lashed out, cracking a whip-like tendril of fire in the air before thrashing it across his chest. He flinched but opened his arms, his muscles quivering as the wound I'd opened instantly resealed itself.

I lashed the tendril of heat at him again, catching him across the face. A gash smoldered across his cheek before the leathery skin stitched itself back together. My demon roared her frustration, not just at him, but at everything. The torture we'd endured, and then my attempt to forget she even existed, and now these numerous attempts on our life ignited a molten river of rage. I lifted both hands, holding them in front of me and balling the free-flowing energy between them. My fingers, blackened like coal, framed the pulsating sphere. Its heat rippled in the air around me.

"You can't hurt me, Muse." Mammon's voice resounded in my head.

"I already did." I saw him falter. Even with him in his demon state, I could see his features pitch into a frown. I launched the radiating sphere at him, casting with it every ounce of anger and frustration in me. I funneled it all into that attack with a scream of rage that shattered the glass in the buildings behind him. Alarms shrilled in the air as the flow of energy slammed into Mammon. He deflected it with ease at first, but as the flow strengthened, its blanching heat flooded over him, forcing him to stumble back. Seeing him hesitate only drove me forward. I called more power into me, letting it flow through me and blast outward, taking with it a lifetime's worth of fury.

Mammon found his back against the wall, wings pinned flush against the granite blocks, and still I poured everything through me, channeling it all down my arms so it could spill from my hands. Suddenly, he lunged, plowing a shoulder right into my stomach to drive me back. I hadn't seen him conjure the ethereal blade, but I saw it now, right as he lifted it above his head. I had a moment to appreciate the beauty of its shimmering blade before falling. Mammon's demon face sneered down at me as I reached for him, but I was fast falling away from him. A cool breeze brushed against my smoldering flesh right before the water engulfed me, quenching the blazing rage within a few breathless seconds. My demon retreated inside me so quickly that she knocked the air from my lungs. I gulped water, a current of bubbles fluttering in front of my eyes. My lungs burned for air. My head pounded.

I didn't know which way was up. I kicked out and twisted, desperately seeking the surface, but saw only darkness. My demon cowered inside me. The water completely robbed her of any helpful input. My attempts to summon my element were met with spluttering denials.

I'm drowning...

That wasn't quite how I'd envisaged bowing out of this life and certainly not by Akil's hand. Quiet descended over me. I still thrashed, my limbs desperately seeking purchase in the endless black. My chest heaved and my lungs flooded with water, but I didn't mind so much. I could watch it all from afar, as though it were happening to another poor soul, not me. It was okay. I'd be okay. It no longer hurt.

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# Chapter 15

Salt water bubbled up my throat. I bucked against the wooden boards beneath me and coughed water from my lungs. My stomach heaved up water and the remains of my meal, dumping it unceremoniously on the decking beside me. I spluttered and spat, my throat burning, eyes watering, but I was alive.

"She's okay!"

I didn't recognize the voice, or the people looming over me. Someone rushed in and wrapped a blanket around me, saying the paramedics were on the way. I might have muttered something about being fine, which of course I clearly was not. It took a few minutes before I could stand. Flashing blue lights danced off the yachts around me. Police cars and fire trucks lined the marina. Glass glistened on the roadway. An ambulance peeled its way through the crowd. Someone asked me if I knew what had happened. I shook my head quickly, wet hair clinging to my cheeks. The marina looked as though it had survived a bomb blast. I began to tremble, shock rattling my bones. I couldn't quite breathe. My head spun. I had to stop walking and clutch hold of the stranger who'd been helping me. When the paramedics finally got to me, I needed them.

* * *

BY THE TIME I ARRIVED at the city hospital, I'd regained some of my wits. I couldn't stay there, not without them asking too many questions. I still had the death of a detective hanging over me, not to mention a Prince of Hell trying to kill me. At the first opportunity, I found the washrooms and attempted to clean myself up. My reflection didn't look like me at all. The woman in the mirror looked like death warmed up--literally. I ignored her terrified eyes, her bruised flesh, and the dozens of cuts and tried to gather my thoughts into a coherent order.

"He tried to kill me." My wide-eyed reflection peered back at me. The demon inside me twisted anxiously, knotting a ball of pain. I could argue I'd brought it on myself, but Akil had been the one poking the sleeping tiger with a stick. He should have left well alone.

There was nothing I could do with my appearance. I tried to comb my fingers through my tangled hair, but the knots refused to give in. I'd have to walk out of the hospital and hope I didn't get stopped. Outside the washroom door, a hand gripped my arm. I turned, armed with a stock response about being fine, only to find Stefan frowning at me. I snatched my arm free from his grip and brushed my hair back, preferring to watch the people flow through the corridor around us than see the concern on his face. He was going to be nice, and if he did that, I'd likely cry. I sure as hell was not crying in front of him, or anyone.

"I'm sorry." He stepped into me as someone briskly brushed by him. I backed up, finding the wall to lean against as he bowed his head, searching my expression. "Are you all right?"

I nodded curtly, avoiding his stare.

Stefan hesitated as if searching for the right words. "I didn't think he'd..."

"Drown me?" I shrugged. "Me neither."

Stefan looked as though he had a few hundred questions, but my general washed-out appearance must have shocked him into silence, because he stayed quiet.

"Can we..." I tried to swallow and winced. My throat felt as though I'd attempted to drink shattered glass. "Can we get out of here?" I couldn't look at him. I wasn't ready for questions or any of the answers. I didn't want to think at all and almost wished I could hide like my demon, just curl up in a ball and pretend it had never happened.

Stefan's car looked like a rental and smelled like one too, but the quiet comfort inside immediately lulled me into a sense of security that I hadn't had since, well--forever. I twisted in the front seat, pulling my legs up to my chest, and wedged myself there, chin resting on my knees as I watched the city blur past. The shivering wouldn't stop, and my throat burned, constantly reminding me how close I'd come.

"Are you okay?"

"Stop asking me that."

After twenty minutes, I noticed we were in the suburbs. The houses were sparsely scattered along the tree-lined streets. Then Stefan pulled the rental car onto Route 95 North. We joined the four lanes of traffic, and before long, Boston was little more than an orange glow against the night sky in the rearview mirror. The drone of the wheels on the road eventually lulled me to sleep.

* * *

WE ARRIVED AT A LAKESIDE house. Its white, timber-clad façade and wrap-around porch did a grand job of declaring it a New England character house. The interior looked as though it had once undergone some modernization--in the seventies--but it was clean, functional, and had some of those wonderful anti-elemental markings on every wall. Stefan let me wander as he retrieved a duffle bag from the car and dumped it in the middle of the lounge.

"This where you bring all your girls before you bury them in the woods?" I broke the silence we'd harbored since Boston.

He chuckled. "This is--was my father's house."

I remembered that Nica had told me his father was dead, but I wasn't comfortable enough with Stefan to ask about him.

"I don't suppose you have a change of clothes in that bag?" I smelled the salt water on me, combined with the delightful odor of diesel, vomit, and my own burnt-out smoky residue.

Stefan hefted the bag onto the coffee table and unzipped it to reveal a selection of guns and swords. It made for an interesting overnight bag but was not exactly packed with home comforts.

I screwed up my face. "Is there a shower here?"

"Sure. It'll be lukewarm. Take a right up the stairs. It's on your left. Check for spiders."

He looked deadpan serious until I began to climb the stairs and saw him enjoy a little smile as he busied himself checking the contents of the bag. He looked up suddenly, catching me watching him.

"You're safe here."

I nodded, afraid my voice might betray exactly how much that meant to me, and then hurried upstairs.

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# Chapter 16

I slept the remainder of the night on the patterned couch, with the weapons strewn about the coffee table within reach should Akil burst through the door. Without an invite from the owner of the house, Akil couldn't enter, but that didn't stop me from waiting anxiously for his arrival. Borrowing one of Stefan's shirts to sleep in had been a good idea in the middle of the night when I was exhausted and didn't care. Now, it was early morning, and I wasn't entirely comfortable walking around the house with only his shirt covering my dignity, and not much dignity at that.

The smell of coffee lured me into the kitchen where the panoramic lakeside view immediately beckoned me toward the windows. The land below the house swept down to the water's edge. The lake stretched to either side of the expanse of windows and beyond, hidden behind towering pine and birch trees. I couldn't see another house in the isolated landscape, let alone another person. I'd never been so detached from the city and wondered if I should feel isolated. I didn't. I felt safe.

"Hey."

Stefan's sudden appearance made me jump. I tugged self-consciously on the edges of the shirt I'd borrowed, pulling it down as far as it would go--not very. If he noticed, he didn't show it. Points for him for keeping his eyes to himself.

"That's some view..." I gazed out the window again.

"In the winter, it's breathtaking."

I skewed a smile at him. Of course he'd like the White Mountains in the winter. He would literally be in his element. He'd dressed casually in jeans and a black shirt, the dark color brightening his astonishing eyes. I had to wonder how he passed for human at all. Those eyes were compelling to the point of distraction.

"Coffee?" He gestured at the percolator already working its magic.

"Definitely."

Watching him breeze about the kitchen, it occurred to me that I hadn't really considered his part in all of this. He continued to show up and help me out of sticky situations, and yet he hadn't really asked anything of me. He'd mentioned in passing how he wanted my help to kill Val, but the subject hadn't been broached since. It wasn't as though we'd actually sat and talked. We could now though.

"Are you going to ask me what happened?" I watched him pour the black coffee into two chunky mugs.

"I know. Half the demon population of Boston knows." He flicked his gaze to me. "Muse, you practically drained the city center of heat and threw it all at Akil. I didn't need to be there to feel that." That was a fair assessment, although I was still trying to figure out how exactly it had happened. "But I was there...at the end."

He passed me the mug of coffee and a box of sugar cubes. "I saw what you were doing--what he did. You were in the water for five minutes. At least."

I sipped the coffee, letting it scald my lips. Five minutes was a long time. I remembered the dark and the cold. So damn cold. The water had snuffed out my element in one gut-wrenching blow. Had I not been drowning, the sudden quenching of the inferno raging through me could easily have sundered my soul in two. It would've been like pouring ice water into a roaring forge. Anything caught between those two opposing forces could easily succumb. Had Akil known that when he'd pushed me over the edge?

"You didn't think to help?" I'd meant to ask lightly, but a quiver undermined the confidence of my words.

Stefan gave me a hint of a smile, making it seem sympathetic. "And get between you two? I'd rather face the Hellhounds again."

I couldn't blame him for that. I could have killed me as surely as Akil. My thoughts hadn't exactly been my own.

"Akil waited for you to resurface."

"How long?" I blinked too quickly and leaned against the kitchen cupboards, needing a little more support than my legs could offer.

"A few minutes. Some people showed up. Someone called the cops. He didn't hang around after that. I couldn't see you in the water, let alone save you. You were lucky, really lucky. The two of you managed to wake the entire marina. Someone saw you..." He averted his gaze to the windows. "They pulled you out of the water..." He paused, and I had to wonder what I'd looked like. Limp. Cold. Pale skin. Blue lips. "I thought you were dead."

"I've been dead before. Several times. It's nothing to write home about," I said. He mirrored my smile, but he wasn't buying my bravado. It was, however, true. Damien had enjoyed bringing me back from the brink of death, nursing me back to health so he could start all over again. The unwanted memories vied for attention, forcing my eyes closed. I rubbed at my aching forehead.

"How are you holding up?" Stefan asked.

Considering my on-off boyfriend had almost succeeded in killing me and how my demon-self had attempted to summon the molten rock from beneath her feet... yeah, I was doing fine. "I'm okay." It was a lie, but what else was I supposed to say? "I think you were right...about Akil. What you didn't see last night... He..." I rested the coffee on the countertop and admired the view of the lake. The serenity beyond the windows helped level my fragmented thoughts. "I hurt him. I mean, when I left a few years ago."

Stefan sat at the pine kitchen table, leaning back a little in the seat. "You walked away from the Prince of Greed."

I skewed a sideways glance at him, but his habitual smugness had evaporated. If anything, he looked weary.

"That sealed your fate, right there."

"But..." I didn't need to say it again... But you don't know Akil like I do. "He's never hurt me. Not once."

Stefan sighed. "He tried to kill you."

"No, he didn't. He was deliberately baiting me. That's all. He summoned my demon, and I lost control. He wasn't trying to kill me. He wanted... it--her." I tapped my chest.

"Muse, listen to yourself. You're defending a demon, and not any demon, a Prince of Hell. They aren't known for their patience and understanding."

I shook my head. Akil was right about one thing. Stefan would never understand. He'd spent his life killing demons. He had it simple. I'd spent my life among them. I might despise the majority of them, but I knew them. They were family. Twisted, bitter, dangerous, slippery, backstabbing, but family all the same.

I held Stefan's sorry expression. He pitied me. I knew that. We weren't ever going to agree.

Stefan finally broke the standoff. "There are some things we need to do. Are you up to it?"

"Depends what it is."

"We need to revoke that invitation. It's easily done, but we need to do that soon, before he realizes you're alive and missing."

"Okay." I was up to that. "And?"

"The sword."

Ah, the sword. "I don't know." Stefan stood so suddenly I jumped. The cool clarity in his eyes had returned, scolding me with a frosty glare as he passed by me. Apparently, I didn't have a choice.

* * *

REVOKING THE INVITATION was easy enough, as it turned out. A bowl of warm water to house my pale reflection, and a few utterances later, it was over. I didn't feel any different, but Stefan assured me it was enough. As with anything demon-related, it was the intention behind the symbolism that held the power.

He left me alone for an hour while he went into the nearest town for groceries. I took the opportunity to be nosey and gave myself a little tour of the lakeside house. Stefan had said it was his father's. If that was the case, Stefan's father had been an avid reader, because the books lining the wall beneath the stairs were all old, leather-bound editions. The majority focused on the subject of demons. I plucked a few from the tight rows and thumbed through them. Much was already known about demons, but not nearly enough. The demons kept it that way, preferring to flit through the veil without the hindrance of worshippers and scholars tripping them up.

Many myths were forged on truth. Christianity attempted to reveal the veil, but they mixed the message up with too much of the divine. There is no divine entity, no good versus evil, no heaven or hell. It's all part of the netherworld, hidden just out of sight in the corners of your vision. That flicker of movement at the end of a poorly lit street, the tingling across your flesh as you sense you're being watched. The demons are right there, with us, and yet just out of reach. Some tinker on this side of the veil, some prefer the netherworld. Akil liked it here. He enjoyed walking among the people, playing their games, feeding off their greed. If there's one thing we mortals have a lot of, it's greed. Other demons hop back and forth, preferring quick visits. Val despises it here. To him, we're worthless bags of flesh and bone.

Wandering about the house, I found a framed photograph of a grizzled man in his early forties standing by the water's edge, fishing rod in one hand, the catch of the day--a salmon--on the grass at his feet. He had a substantial grin on his weathered face. On a second glance, I recognized a fierce glint of pride in his eye. Just like his son. He had to be Stefan's father. Stefan had his mother's eyes but his father's mischievous grin.

Returning to the bag of weapons on the coffee table, I noticed the katana protruding from among the other swords. The damn thing was haunting me. I wrapped my hand around the handle and lifted it out. A new scabbard covered the blade, made of carbon fiber by the looks of the interwoven sheen. The sword felt light in my hand, with a perfect balance between the handle and blade. I could never forge something so labor intensive. The process took months and involved upward of four swordsmiths. Of all the weapons in Stefan's bag of tricks, this one was priceless.

I closed my left hand around the scabbard and pulled it a few inches free of the guard, exposing a hypnotic swirl of light on the tempered edge of the blade. I'd revealed just a hint of metal, just a little tease, but I couldn't resist freeing the entire length of the sword before laying the scabbard on the couch behind me. I tipped the blade up, watching the sunlight from the window drape across the carbon steel. The crisscrossed pattern of leather around the handle had been cut from shark skin, tough, light, and durable.

It felt good in the hand, weighty with potential. I turned my left hand up and laid the blade across my palm. Almost immediately, a snap of energy danced up my arm, just enough to release a tickle of excitement inside me. My element simmered but didn't wake. I should have left it alone, should have put it back in its scabbard and tucked it away safely in the bag. The horror in that blade might have stayed there for a little while longer, but my old friend, curiosity, led me astray.

I sat on the edge of the couch with the sword across my lap. I was safe here. Stefan would be back soon. Why not get it over with? I ran my finger down the sharp edge, watching a bright red droplet of blood gather at my fingertip before dripping freely onto the floor. I curled my fingers into my palm and waited for the blood to pool, then I smeared it over both hands. When I placed my hands gently on the blade, the images rushed me so suddenly I jerked rigid, sucking in a gasp.

The lakeside house and its comfortable decor vanished. The lake and mountains beyond became a distant dream. I could see, hear, and smell the city. The noise, the lights, the colors. The images printed themselves on my thoughts, stamping over one another in their rush to be seen. I struggled to keep up. My breathless panting and the rush of blood in my ears, all that anchored me to my body. The sword plunged through flesh. I cried out, then, now, in my head. I couldn't see who it was, but I heard his liquescent gasps, lungs bubbling with blood.

Voices, male. The room spun. The city lights behind the windows swirled like fireflies in the air. Red coat, a smiling face. Use this, Akil said, tossing the sword at the man in the red coat. He caught the sword, snatching it from the air with one hand, a half smile pulling at his lips. The image shattered, fragmenting into hundreds of pieces before each sliver rushed back together, pulled as if by a magnetic force. I saw the blade sink into a man's chest again, felt the metal carve precisely through muscle and lung tissue. He choked on the rising blood, spluttering it over his lips as he fell forward. I saw his face.

I knew him.

Sam.

The sheer wave of horror tore me from the vision, thrusting me back into my trembling body like an unwelcome visitor. My stomach lurched. A disorientating pain sliced through my skull. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could barely remember where I was. All I saw was Sam's face and the fear and confusion in his eyes. Hunched over, I sunk my fingers into the rug beneath me, digging my nails in as a wretched groan escaped from my lips.

"Muse..."

Stefan's hand rested on my back. His touch ignited the fury within me. I snapped my head up, snarling at him. "Get away from me."

He lifted his hands in surrender, leaning back on his knees, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he gritted his teeth. "I was there, but I had no hand in what he did."

A sob bubbled up my throat, followed by another. I tried to keep it all inside, to blockade the rush of grief, but sorrow swept aside what little strength I had left. Collapsing back against the couch, I covered my eyes with my bloodied hand, not wanting to witness or believe what I'd seen. "Not Sam..." I choked on the words as cool tears trickled over my cheeks. "Not him."

Stefan's hand pressed lightly on my shoulder. His grip tightened as I trembled.

"Don't." I shoved at him, pushing him away. "Don't touch me." But he caught my hand, then my arm. I tried to tug free, needing to retreat, but his grip tightened, preventing me from fighting him, and then his arms closed around me, holding me close to his chest. Trapped against him, listening to the sound of his steady heartbeat, the fight in me evaporated, and I couldn't hold back any longer. I cried so hard the sobs racked my shivering body. I clutched his shirt in my hands and buried my head against him, welcoming the embrace as though it could block out the truth, shut out all the anguish and pain. My element thrashed inside me, but the demon slunk back, cowering at my core. Perhaps it was Stefan's embrace that held her back, or the symbols on the walls, because I didn't feel the raging heat that I should have. I just felt fragile and alone.

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# Chapter 17

I sat at the end of the jetty with the shimmering water of the lake all around me. The cold wind teased through my hair and nipped at my face, forcing me to hunker down and tug Stefan's heavy leather coat around me. I pulled my legs against my chest. But I wasn't going inside. I couldn't. Not yet. Stefan had known. He'd known Sam was dead days ago, and he hadn't said a word, preferring instead to force me to witness it firsthand.

Akil had killed Sam. There was no denying it. No amount of lies could refute it. I'd seen it.

I remembered the message Sam had left me. A job, he'd said, one he couldn't refuse. Akil. Phoenix Developments. The biggest property development firm in the city had invited Sam with the promise of a contract, and he'd gone willingly, walked right into Akil's office with no idea he was meeting with one of the Seven Princes of Hell. I could imagine Akil's charming greeting, his easygoing mannerisms, and all the while he was playing Sam for a fool.

I should have told Sam the truth about me. If I'd been straight with him, told him everything about me, he might still be alive. In trying to protect him, I'd left him exposed, like a lone sheep in a pack of wolves. Tears moistened my cheeks, but the sobs had died. I hugged my knees against me and watched the ripples on the lake. The wind hissed through the trees behind me. I felt Stefan watching me from inside, probably wondering whether he should leave me or intervene. He had better leave me.

Not a single word. He'd swaggered into my workshop. I want you to read this blade... Why didn't he just say, "Akil killed Sam and he's coming after you?" What was so hard about that?

I thought of the phone messages I'd left for Sam. I'd said I was sorry, that I was wrong, that I was afraid. He would never hear those messages. I should never have gotten involved with him. He was a good man, one of the best. I wasn't meant to have someone like that, tainted as I was. I should have stayed away. He'd died because of me. It didn't matter how you looked at it. The blood was on my hands.

"Come inside." Stefan stood behind me. I hadn't even heard him approach.

"Screw you." I sniffed. The wind whipped my hair across my face and in front of my eyes so that I had to raise a trembling hand to sweep it back.

"Please. Just come inside."

"You're no better than Akil." I rested my chin on my knee, teeth chattering against the cold. "For all I know, you're working for him."

"I am."

I tensed and turned my head to look up at him.

Stefan crouched behind me. "At least, that's what he believes." He held out a hand, fingers curled lightly into his palm. His gentle smile tried to reassure me. "Come inside."

I watched the wind tease his hair about his face. His brilliant eyes locked unblinkingly onto mine.

"How do you think I knew about your workshop?" he asked. "Knew what your demon name was, knew about your talent for reading metal? Akil hired me, Muse. He believes he hired an assassin. I was to play with you before killing you, and his involvement would never be revealed. But he's been deliberately misled. I'm an Enforcer. I protect people like you, caught in the crossfire." He paused, offering his hand again. "Come inside."

* * *

IT FELT GOOD TO WEAR properly fitting clothes again, even if they weren't mine. Stefan had picked some up on his visit to town, guessing my size surprisingly well. Boot-cut jeans and a white V-neck long-sleeved top. Simple, but comfortable, and that's what I needed. I was a long way from home, and my old life had been torn to shreds. I had nothing to my name, nothing to call my own. Even the clothes on my back had been bought for me. I couldn't go back to my apartment, and I dared not go back to Akil. There was no one else. Even Stefan's motives were dubious. I had begun to trust him; why wouldn't I? He'd been the one ray of light in this whole wretched nightmare, but I could no more trust him than I could Akil. By his own admission, he was working for Akil--hired to play with me and execute me.

Stefan planted a tub of chocolate ice cream on the kitchen table and handed me a spoon. We hadn't spoken since his confession on the jetty, and in that time, the silence had begun to drag like a trawler net between us. Unspoken words weighed us down.

He saw me frowning at the ice cream. "What? Don't tell me you don't like ice cream?" He looked shocked enough that I had to smile.

"Sure." Ice cream before lunch? It was just a bit odd. That was all. I sat across the table from him and watched as he popped open the lid. "I gather you like ice cream?"

An eyebrow twitched comically. "Snow demon." He shrugged.

His oddly placed humor made it difficult for me to stay angry with him. Leaning forward, I sunk my spoon into the ice cream, cracking the hard chocolate layer before scooping out a bite-sized chunk. It did taste pretty good.

"I meant what I said." He flicked those dazzling eyes to me before scooping out some ice cream for himself. "You're safe here."

My smile fell short of meaningful. "I've never been safe. You think you being here makes me safe? Or the remote location? He'll find me. Nobody escapes Akil. If he doesn't... some other demon will. I've only survived this long because he protected me. I've always belonged to one demon or another. On my own... I'm vulnerable."

He bowed his head, pressing his lips as though struggling to find the right words. When he looked up, he leaned on the table, closing the distance between us. "They lied to you. You're not vulnerable. You're powerful." Pointing the spoon at me, he said in all seriousness, "They want us dead because we have it all."

"What do you mean?" I jabbed at the ice cream with my spoon, chipping off frozen chunks.

"They kill half-bloods, preferring to scrub us from existence rather than regret it later, because we're dangerous."

I licked my lips, twisting the spoon in my fingers. Akil had said something by the marina, right before he'd dragged my demon out of me. There's no such thing as half a demon. I looked up at Stefan, meeting his eyes. A flicker of understanding passed between us.

"They've lied to you since birth, Muse. It was that or kill you."

I laughed. "Okay, say I believe you. What makes us so terrifying?"

"We exist in both worlds. The veil means nothing to us. You and I, we can pass freely between realities. We have the ability to call upon a vast amount of power, not just in this world, but from across the veil too. Full-bloods can't do that. Not even a Prince of Hell can do that."

I grunted disbelievingly. "Right. Even if that were true, I could never contain that much power. It'd tear me open..." He looked at me in such a way that I felt a tickle of excitement dance across my skin. Those eyes peered through his lashes. A crooked smile lifted his lips at one corner. "You've done it... haven't you?" I whispered.

"Twice." He jabbed his spoon into the ice cream. "It's not easy to control, but I can show you. I need to show you if we're going to stop Akil."

A flicker of hope skittered through me, a fleeting dash of possibility. "You're not lying?"

"No."

My demon shifted inside me, a curious resettling as though she were satisfied. I was not yet convinced. "No? Then why did you keep the truth from me?" I dropped my gaze. "About Sam."

"I couldn't trust you. If you cared for Akil as much as I thought you did and I told you he'd killed Sam, you wouldn't have believed me. I tried to call you after it had happened, to warn you... but you'd have gone straight to Akil. I'm sorry I kept it from you--I am. But the only way you would believe me was to see it for yourself."

The white noise on my answering machine--the silent messages from Monday morning--They'd been from Stefan. That didn't explain why Stefan had been there, in my vision. Why he had smiled when Akil tossed him the sword. "I saw your expression. When I looked into that blade... you were there, right by Akil, when he killed Sam."

Stefan stabbed the spoon into the ice cream and left it there, leaning back in his chair. "I didn't know who Sam was. I was about to leave--our business transaction was over with--when Sam arrived. I was late--he was early--whatever. Akil thought it would make the ideal opportunity to test my allegiance. I had no idea he was going to kill him in front of me." Stefan rubbed a hand across his face. "The plan was to infiltrate Akil's operation. We'd set up the assassin identity and put the word out, knowing he'd eventually bite."

"You and Ryder did this? You set Akil up from your garage and Ryder's kitchen? I find that hard to believe. Akil's got people everywhere. He'd have checked you out."

Stefan crossed his arms. "It's not just Ryder and me. There are others. The Enforcers don't stop with me. You think Akil's got people everywhere? You don't know the half of it."

It was a great deal to take in, and I wasn't entirely sure I believed any of it. I set my spoon down on the table, wondering what other secrets were out there. I'd been sheltered by my demon owners--I knew that--and later by Akil. Frankly, I hadn't gone looking for trouble.

"Why me?" I asked. "Akil hired you to kill me, right? So... would you have done it? How far were you meant to go?"

"When he told me you were a half-blood... I knew--I knew I couldn't hurt you." Stefan's chair scraped back as he stood. He moved to the kitchen cupboards where the view captured his attention and held on to it. "I had no intention of hurting anyone. It was a ruse to get in..."

I waited, sensing he had more to say. He turned and rested back against the countertop, facing me. "I've not met a half-blood before--someone like me." The perpetual smile had vanished, and I realized he felt the loneliness as keenly as I did. A lifetime of persecution. I had no idea what he'd been through, but being different was never going to be easy. He might not have suffered as I had, at least not physically, but that didn't mean he wasn't hurting.

I'd spent so long believing him to be a pillar of strength that I hadn't even considered the cost to him. He'd become tangled in a battle between a Prince of Hell and little old me, and yet he'd stayed. He could have walked away. He should have.

"Do you see now why I had to know I could trust you?"

I nodded slowly. "You're taking a big risk, telling me all this. We don't know each other, not really. I could go to Akil and try to use this information to save my own ass."

"True." His smile was back. "But I think you'll find your ass is beyond saving."

He was right about that. "Well then." I replaced the lid on the ice cream. "You'd best teach me how to raise hell, because we're going to need it."

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# Chapter 18

Stefan stood in front of me, just within reach. The pine trees surrounding us blotted out most of the dense gray sky. Pine needles blanketed the forest floor. The rich smell of wood sap and pine permeated the air, cleansing the city smog from my lungs. It was cold, the breeze bitter, but all that was about to change.

Apparently the lack of heat in our surroundings would restrict how much of my element I could summon, rendering this experience fairly safe. Or so Stefan assured me. It wasn't my element we wanted to call. It was my demon. In theory, she would need to manifest, and I would learn to maintain control. From there, the two of us combined, sharing the same space, time, and reality, could draw upon the heat--my element--beyond the veil. I had never attempted such a thing and wasn't entirely convinced it was even possible. To draw power from beyond the veil would mean stabilizing a link between the two realities. Demons could hop through, but the journey was static. A to B. I was going to summon my element through the veil while keeping the link open: destination B coming to me.

"Don't look so worried." Stefan grinned.

He wore his infamous red coat with the buckles strapped closed, pulling his coat tight across his chest. The breeze teased his hair across his face, whipping it in front of his dazzling eyes. Whether he knew it or not, his presence alone made my demon restless. I didn't know if it was the cool surroundings or just the nerves getting to me, but I felt the chill of him even at arm's length. From the eager smile, the glint of mischief in his eyes, and the quiver of excitement in his voice, he clearly thrived in this wilderness. Some of that enthusiasm must have rubbed off on me. A trickle of delight shivered down my spine.

"They lied to you, Muse. You've spent so long hating half of yourself that you've stifled your abilities." The words rushed from his lips.

"I don't hate that part of me." From the twitch of his smile, I knew he saw through my lie. I'd spent my entire life holding her back. She was a part of me, but she'd always been the darkest part, the shadows in the back of my mind, the horror in my depths. I summoned her when I had no other choice, because I was afraid of her, scared of the chaos, the undeniable desire for the madness that overwhelmed me every time she broke my surface. Stefan had told me I needed to embrace her, to let her have all of me, to drop the reins and trust her entirely. He made it sound easy.

He nodded once, my cue, and I relaxed the mental barriers that held her back. I closed my eyes, shaking out my hands. There was nothing I could do about the trembling. She would know I was afraid no matter how hard I tried to hide it. This wasn't about hiding. I had to reveal everything to welcome her in.

A flicker of panic snatched at my breath. What we were doing was dangerous. She could easily smother me, swat my attempts at control aside, and do whatever the hell she pleased. Hence the uninhabited location. She could also turn my efforts against me. Without a specific outlet, the result was always the same. She'd drown me in my element, my punishment for calling her and not releasing her.

So many things could go wrong.

"It's going to be okay." Stefan's voice was laced with a confidence I didn't share.

The breeze filtered through the branches of the trees. The sound of the wind rose and fell like waves caressing a beach. Slowing my breathing, calming my mind, I called to her. She immediately stretched inside of me, her power flexing beneath my skin. A ripple of heat rode over me, chasing away the bitter mountain air and flooding my body with warmth. Cocooned by her touch, I felt her crawl into my skin, layering her existence over mine. I smiled. With no rage, no resentment, only curiosity fuelling us, her explorative approach felt almost welcome, like an unexpected hug at a family reunion. It felt as though she too was surprised, and it occurred to me that I'd never really been alone.

I tilted my head, eyes still closed, as I felt her fill out my body. Then her warmth broke over my skin and explored. Curious tendrils sought an elemental source. The trees fencing us in, the ground beneath my feet, it all held residual warmth but nothing like the potential we found in the city.

"How do you feel?" Stefan asked.

I opened my eyes, fixing him in the center of my gaze. "Good."

"Okay. Take her to the next level." His broad grin mirrored the thrill strumming through me.

This was where it got tricky. Usually by now, I'd be experiencing some sort of emotional burst. Rage often sparked the next level, but resentment, fear, and desire all served as triggers. I had none of those things. I would need to invite her to manifest.

I closed my eyes again, shutting out all exterior stimuli. Stefan hadn't said exactly how I was meant to invite her, but I figured it was like anything when it came to demons. Intention was enough. I simply focused on relaxing, chasing away every ounce of fear and dread, leaving my mind clear of the resentment I'd harbored for my demon half.

She laughed, the sweet chuckle spilling from my lips as though it were mine.

The only chance you have of defeating Akil is to wield every ounce--every fragment of power you have, and to do that, you must have full control of your demon. Stefan had made it sound so simple.

I snapped open my eyes, fixing my stare back on Stefan. His image shimmered in the heat rolling off me in a haze. She was coming, and my doubts about my own capabilities were beginning to undermine my confidence. My control wavered. I staggered a little as my demon breached my physical form. She became me. Her ethereal form superimposed itself over my human flesh. Lifting a hand, I saw her blackened skin stretched over mine, her fingers tipped with sharp obsidian claws. My wing opened behind me, stretching upward with a refreshing flick.

Stefan's expression had hardened. A slight smile still played across his lips, but he'd wisely adopted caution. Once manifested, I am a wild and unpredictable force of nature. Chaos personified. Chaos spiraled at my core. Blazing heat radiated through my chest.

"Summon your element," Stefan said. "All of it. Reach beyond the veil and call it to you." He took a step back, then another, but he kept his eyes on me.

My demon watched his retreat keenly. I felt her measuring him, trying to decide if he was friend or foe. I lifted a hand, letting her trail an explorative ribbon of power from my fingers in his direction. It shimmered in the air with intangible heat. He wouldn't react well, of that I was sure, but curiosity prevented me from pulling it back. Stance rigid, Stefan let the ribbon of heat twist around his ankle. His opposing chill spilled over my fingers as though my hand touched him. The cool bite of it felt sharp, but it didn't hurt.

"Muse..." he growled my name, eyes narrowing.

I got the message: stop getting distracted and get on with it. As the power spooled into me, I breathed in, summoning the warmth from everything around us. I called it all forth, gathering it against me, but it wasn't nearly enough. There was only one other source. The veil. Beyond it lay the netherworld, a place of extremes, a home I'd run from long ago. My brother would sense me the second I breached the veil.

Thoughts of Val turned to niggling doubts and became obstacles. My demon reared up, sensing my weakness, and then she plunged forth, her will overriding mine. The veil tore open between Stefan and me, a ragged wound in the fabric of reality. Beyond it, the heat was immeasurable. My element flooded through the veil into this reality, spiraling around me. I couldn't catch my breath, let alone control the rush of raw energy spilling into me. The wild element whipped around me, searing nearby branches and burning the ground at my feet. I stood in the center of a molten maelstrom, in the eye of a firestorm, my body alight with heat and flame. It just kept coming, gushing through the veil, over and into me.

I threw open my arms, back arched, wing held high behind me, and summoned it all. Swelling with power, my blackened skin simmering with energy, I heard my laughter twist in the madness. My physical body shone like the center of a star. The tumultuous heat built and fire rushed like liquid through my fingers, my hair, and across my flesh. Limitless power dripped from my flesh. A nuclear reaction charged my demonic core. I felt alive, connected to the source of creation. My humanity melted away. The demon rode high.

The veil began to shatter. The wound broke and disintegrated, its edges flaying, peeling away. I sensed the change. I wanted more. All of it. I wanted to taste the chaos, to swallow it whole and let it consume me.

The gap in the veil failed, collapsing in on itself. Immediately, my source of power vanished. I felt the break like a sword through the chest. Bathed in flame, I raged at the world and flung the heat away from me. Fire rushed outward in a tumbling blast, flattening everything in its path. A whoosh in the negative space behind the tidal wave of flame dropped me to my knees.

It took a few breathless moments for me to ground myself back in reality. Perspiration hissed against my demon skin. Steam rose from my flesh. Wood smoke twisted in the air around me. The ground beneath my feet was scorched to cinders. Hunched over, my wing hanging limp against my back, both my demon and I were spent. I barely had enough energy to lift my head and see Stefan crouched in front of me, drenched from head to toe. His hair clung to his face. His multifaceted ice-wings streamed with rivulets of water. He mustered a smile, but it barely reached the corners of his lips. As he reached out, ice sparkled on his fingers. He shook his head and swept a hand back through his wet hair, fracturing the accumulated ice.

I took his hand firmly in mine and gasped. Power lanced up my arm, a fizzling, darting, pins-and-needles kind of power. Instinct told me to pull away, but he leaned in close, capturing my surprised stare with his iridescent eyes. As I clutched hold of his hand, the curious touch of ice laced its way up my arm, threading through and around the wavering ripples of heat. It should have hurt--in a way it did--but such was the mischievous intensity in Stefan's expression that I wanted the brittle ice against my sweltering flesh. I wanted to know how it would feel to have those quenching chills writhe over me. It was wrong. Our opposing elements clashed, but it felt so right.

He stood and tugged me to my feet. I stumbled against him, sucking in a gasp as his chill wrapped around me. Shivers sped down my body. I lifted my gaze to his as my demon slipped away, satisfied and exhausted on so many levels. Stefan fought back a smile. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and looked away. Following his gaze, I saw the destruction I'd wrought upon the forest. The pine trees stood naked, their bark black against the gray sky, needles scorched from the branches.

Stefan extricated himself from my grip, taking with him the cool wrappings of power. He rolled his shoulders, and the glorious sculpted wings dissipated into flakes of snow before fizzling against the hot earth. He glanced back at me. "You are capable of great things," he said with conviction.

If by great things, he meant complete destruction, then yes, it would seem so.

* * *

I COULDN'T SLEEP. NOT surprising considering how I'd torn a hole in the veil and sucked heat out the very fabric of the netherworld. The remnants of adrenaline chased through my veins. My mind buzzed from the overdose of power. Sleep was the last thing on my mind as I lay in the dark, watching the moonlight cast swaying shadows across the walls. My demon sat smug and satisfied inside of me. I felt her languishing in the afterglow of the power she'd tasted.

I tossed aside the sheets and tugged on Stefan's shirt. The clothes I'd worn in the forest were in the wash. They'd survived, in the same way that my human flesh survived the blistering heat whenever my demon manifested. I can only put it down to the fact that, when my demon steps into my skin, she protects my fragile human flesh, protecting herself in the process. That doesn't stop her from tearing into me mentally when she doesn't get her way.

I padded barefoot downstairs, startled to find Stefan seated on the couch in near darkness. He saw me and leaned forward to place the picture frame he'd been holding on the coffee table. When he looked up, the smile didn't lessen the distant look in his eyes. I lingered on the bottom step of the stairs, hand resting on the banister.

"I couldn't sleep," I explained awkwardly, getting the distinct impression I'd intruded on a personal moment.

Elbows on his knees, shirt sleeves rolled up, he bowed his head, rubbing his hands together as if he sought to regain some composure. When he looked up, a few locks of hair had fallen over his face, forcing him to sweep them back. "It's okay."

I contemplated returning to the guest bedroom. Half dressed and intruding on his personal time, I felt a little awkward and out of place. "Erm... are you okay?"

"Sure."

Clearly, he wasn't. I'd been expecting some sort of witty comeback making light of our situation. A "sure" wouldn't cut it. Now I was concerned. It wasn't like I knew him well, but up until then, he'd pretty much made it all look like a breeze, as though this sort of crap was his day job. His unrelenting confidence had shored up my complete lack of it. I sat on the edge of the couch across the coffee table from him, tugging the edge of the shirt over my thighs.

"I was wondering something..." I hesitated as his gaze followed my efforts to cover my legs. He quickly flicked his attention back to my face, then elsewhere, anywhere but my eyes. "You're the same as me, right? I mean. We're different elements, but you're powerful too?"

He nodded and settled back in the couch, draping an arm across the back.

"So why do you need me? You started this to get to Akil... set it all up to get close to him before you even knew who I was. You must have had a plan. An end game?"

"The end game was to catch Akil out. We know he's overstepping the boundaries here, breaking the laws. We just need to catch him in the act. Hiring me, among other things, was part of that. But you're right... We didn't know about you--although I'd heard of a half-blood that Akil 'kept.'"

I winced a little at the word "kept" and saw Stefan flinch in return. "It became clear, early on, that I'd need your help."

"Why? What can I do to him that you can't?"

"You're his weakness."

I didn't understand. Akil was a Prince of Hell. They didn't have weaknesses, at least none that I was aware of. "What does that even mean?"

"He's obsessed with you, Muse. I don't know why--no offense, you're easy on the eye, but he's a pure-blood demon, a Prince, and you're what they class as... filth."

I frowned at the last word. It was true, and yet knowing it, hearing it, always summoned horrid memories.

His smile chanced a return, but it didn't linger. "Anything to do with you, and he's distracted. Even hiring an assassin, he's sloppy. He can't see straight when it comes to you. Maybe it's because he's full-demon. He can't fathom why he's drawn to you. Either way, you're the key to stopping him."

I sighed and let my stare wander about the room. "I think it's a power thing. After what you helped me do today, I'm pretty sure it's not me he wants--or wanted. It's my demon. Now... now I just think he wants me gone. I walked away from him, and nobody does that, especially not a half-blood. My brush-off would have slighted his honor."

Stefan smiled softly. "No doubt. His ego too."

"What about you?" I leaned forward to turn the picture frame toward me. The photo was the same one I'd seen earlier: the handsome fifty-something man with the catch of the day at his feet. "What's your story?"

Stefan averted his gaze once more, dipping his chin before blinking slowly.

"I'm sorry," I said. The quiet became a little too awkward. "It's none of my business." If it was anything like my past, then I could understand why he didn't want to tell me. "We survived though, right?" Barely, in my case, but barely was enough.

"Against the odds."

Something in those three words, perhaps the weary tone or their implied meaning, whatever it was, it made me feel such a depth of compassion for him that a stubborn lump formed in my throat. On impulse, I shifted off the couch and moved to the cushion beside him. Perched awkwardly on the edge, I clasped my hands in my lap with a nervous smile ticking across my lips. "I had no idea there were people like you out there. I just thought it was demon or be damned. Then, Akil taught me how to summon my demon with intent, not just by accident. He woke her in me, and together we killed my owner. It was the best day of my life. My owner, Damien...he was a sick son of a bitch. Vile in many ways. Akil taught me...that it didn't have to be like that."

"You were lucky," Stefan said softly. I caught an undertone of sadness and knew he understood.

I was lucky. If Damien hadn't paraded me in front of Akil, I might not have survived much longer. Had Akil not taken it upon himself to free me... Had Akil been worse than Damien... Had I not been strong enough to maintain my sanity through all of the pain and degradation...

"My point is." I cleared my throat. "We're the products of our past. Without those experiences, as horrid as they were, I wouldn't be the person I am today."

Stefan moved so quickly I barely saw him move at all. He was suddenly very close. His hand hovered beside my cheek as though he'd lost his nerve at the last second. I froze. For a few moments, I didn't breathe, didn't move. Then he eased a little nearer, his lips so close all it would take was a little give on my part, and we'd kiss. As his hand lightly touched my cheek, a sliver of power snapped between us. Its dart-like flicker forced a hiss through my teeth. He laid his hand against my cheek, and the chill of his element slid over me, a shivery tremor following in its wake as a traitorous, muffled groan slipped from my lips. I could have kissed him, should have... He was there, so close, but I knew if I did, it wouldn't stop there. My heart fluttered nervously. The urge to close that tiny distance between us was so intense that I had to grip the couch to stop myself. He took a breath just as his lips brushed mine, so lightly, like the gentle flutter of snowflakes.

I sprang back, hand clasped over my mouth, the other pulling the shirt down to cover my thighs. "I er..." I waved a hand in the air, gesturing wildly. "I should um...you know, get back--get some sleep. Not that I... Erm... Yeah." Stop waffling before you say something you'll regret, I thought. The tease of desire had ignited inside of me at his touch. My element bloomed quickly, spilling heat through me. My heat and his cold, fire and ice, it was wrong on so many levels. And I wanted it.

He grinned wickedly, his demeanor as cool as ice. Damn him.

I clamped my mouth closed, afraid I might tell him what I really wanted, although he probably read it all on my face. His eyes in the dark held all manner of tempting promises. The gape of his collar betrayed a hint of his sculpted body. I could so easily have sat back down and undone those shirt buttons, one little button at a time. Hot lips on his cool mouth, tasting, exploring. I'd lay him back, slip my hands beneath his shirt, and let my heated touch ease across the rippled plane of his sculpted chest, across the scorpion tattoo, lower... Hot, flustered, and within a few heartbeats of giving in to temptation, I turned quickly and headed for the stairs.

A howl fractured the serenity of the night. The hollow sound of the beast sliced through the heat of desire and dashed my wanton thoughts. Stefan was on his feet. He plucked the katana from the bag of weapons and tugged off the scabbard. He flicked the light off in the kitchen and then returned, snatching a gun from the bag before joining me at the foot of the stairs. "It can't know we're here. Not yet," he whispered. "But this isn't the city, and we're the only things out here."

In other words, we were screwed.

Another howl echoed outside, closer this time. The chill of fear swept over me. I tried to summon my element, but the preventative marks on the walls snuffed it out before it could breach my flesh. Stefan shook his head, sensing the stirring of my power, then handed me the gun. I noticed it was the gun I thought he'd lost when I felt its familiar weight in my hand.

"You have seven rounds in the magazine," he said. "Use them."

"What if we go outside? Use our elements."

"Only if it finds us." He planted a hand on my shoulder and forced me to sit, my back against the wall. "There's a chance it may not... Call enough of your power to see it."

I flexed my elemental muscles, calling just enough to spill a veil of power in front of my eyes. The last time we'd dealt with the hounds, we'd only escaped by hiding. This time, hiding was all we had. I cupped the gun in my left hand, right hand around the grip, finger off the trigger but ready against the trigger guard.

Stefan did a double take, then grinned. "Flick the safety off."

"You enjoy this crap way too much," I grumbled, doing as he'd advised.

"Slide the chamber back."

I skewed a scowl in his direction, catching that glint of humor in his eyes. "I have fired this gun before--" The kitchen windows exploded inward.

Glass blasted through the kitchen doorway, showering the spot on the couch where we'd been seated moments before.

"Go!" Stefan shoved me up the stairs as the thunderous crash of splintered glass and wood filled the air. I stumbled on the steps, clambering up on all fours as the heaving bulk of hairless hound slammed its way through the kitchen doorway, taking out half the wall with it. I got a glimpse of its blood-red eyes as it swung its head around before I finally found my feet and dashed up the remaining steps and down the hallway.

Stefan flung open a bedroom door. "The window. Go. Get outside."

I was inside the room before I realized he wasn't following. "What are you doing?"

"Go. I'll keep it here. Run. Don't stop. Just run." He was gone.

I headed for the window and yanked open the lower section enough so I could duck outside. The wind blasted into the room, whipping around my bare legs as I stood frozen. I couldn't leave him. Gun in hand, I turned and darted back out into the hall. The massive hound had clawed its way up the staircase, knocking the banister out in its furious attempt to get to Stefan. I saw the beast snap its jaws together, lunging at Stefan as he swung the sword across its snout. Its whimpers sliced through my skull. Teeth gritted, I raised the gun, steadied it in my left hand, and aimed down the barrel. As the hound lunged at Stefan again, I fired. The gun jumped in my hand. The casing ejected. The hound jerked and swung its crimson glare on me. I fired again. The bullet sliced down the right side of its hideous face. Again, and this time, the bullet hit the Hellhound right between the eyes, blasting through its skull. The beast jerked back and collapsed, slipping from the landing to land with a dull thud on the living room floor.

Stefan lunged at me, grabbed my left hand, and tugged me forward, back down what remained of the stairs. The hound's breathing snuffled from its wet jaws. It wasn't dead. They don't die.

"Quickly." Stefan pulled me toward the door. He yanked it open. And froze.

I plowed into the back of him, about to ask why he'd stopped, when I saw the mountainous bulk of Hellhound blocking his path. The beast hunched forward, fat paws splayed on the path. Pools of glistening drool gathered below its rippling lips. I reeled back. The hound behind us snarled and shook its head, snapping its jaws together as it regained its senses. Instinct tugged on my demon, but she couldn't break through whatever magic those marks on the walls performed. Backing into Stefan, I slipped my left hand into his. The Hellhound beneath the stairs stamped its feet, steadying itself. It ducked down, legs ready to spring.

I lifted the gun, not entirely sure how many bullets I had left. My arm trembled, aim all over the place. Then I heard an all too familiar voice.

"Invite me in, and I'll call them off."

Flinging my stare over my shoulder, I watched in horror as Akil walked around the hound outside, running a hand down its quivering, hairless flank. The beast jerked its snout, sniffing the air and chomping its jaws. There could be no doubt who controlled them. Stefan stepped back into me, then glanced behind him at the hound beneath the stairs. His eyes found mine, a brutal honesty raw on his face. We were in trouble. I tightened my hand in his, saw the fleeting smile on his lips, and then he let go to face Akil.

"Come in. Make yourself at home." Stefan stepped aside, sweeping a gesture into the house. "Sorry about the mess. Unexpected guests."

Akil stepped across the threshold. He slid his gaze over the chaos in the room before straightening his shirt cuffs. His stoic expression gave nothing away. Dressed immaculately in a dinner jacket and black trousers, right down to his polished Oxford shoes, he looked every inch the city tycoon. Silver cufflinks caught the moonlight seeping in through the back windows. The same light danced in his dark eyes when they settled on me. Instinct told me to move back. I might have, had I not learned what he'd done. The suave son of a bitch had murdered Sam--my friend--in cold blood. I was under no illusions about Akil.

I stood there in my underwear, wearing Stefan's shirt, and glared back at Akil, my chin up, shoulders straight. I was not backing down.

He humphed a laugh and said, "Amitto," with a flurry of his hand. The Hellhounds slumped in unison. Their leathery hides began to dissolve. Fizzling embers devoured them, spiraling dust into the air until nothing remained.

With the hounds gone, I became aware of the wind flowing through the open door and through the house, into the kitchen where the panoramic windows had been smashed. I heard the trees outside creaking against the weight of the wind, branches snapping. The forest groaned as though it recognized the ageless forces of chaos inside the house. I lifted the gun, my aim surprisingly steady.

Akil glared back at me and smiled. "Shoot me."

Finger on the trigger, I wanted to. It would take just a twitch, the smallest of movements to blow him away. "You killed Sam."

Akil looked away, blinking slowly. His smile widened. "Is that what Stefan told you?"

"No." My hand began to tremble. "I saw it in the sword."

He met my glare once more. "Did you? You're sure? Because... from what you've told me in the past... the images can be difficult to define. Blurry. Inconsistent."

No, he wasn't going to do this. I knew what I'd seen. I had felt the sword plunge through Sam's chest. It was real. "Why?" I hissed through gritted teeth.

"Put the gun down, Muse." The growl beneath his words offered a clear warning.

Stefan stood beside me. He reached up and closed his hand around the top of the gun, bringing the weapon down so it pointed toward the floor in front of Akil. "You don't want to do that."

He eased the gun from my hand and flicked the safety back on. Frowning, I watched him toss the gun onto the couch and then hand the sword to Akil. Unease crawled across my skin as Akil lifted the katana in his right hand, his heated gaze admiring the blade. "A fine weapon, don't you agree, Muse?"

Stefan stood to Akil's left, hand tucked casually into his jeans pocket.

I frowned, eyes narrowing on Stefan. What was going on here? I searched his face for any sign to indicate this was wrong, but he just stood there, cold.

Akil ran a hand down the flat plane of the blade. "Your little stunt earlier, drawing your element from beyond the veil... that was... astonishing. I knew the moment you called the heat to you. Even in Boston, I felt the shift in power. It's how I found you."

My hands clenched into fists. "I'm not the pathetic half-human girl you think I am."

"I know that. Why do you think I've kept you all these years? I even had Stefan test you to see whether you were capable."

I clamped my teeth together. Anger trembled through my muscles. My demon twisted, eager to break free but unable to do so. Stefan didn't deny Akil's words. Even under the weight of my stare, he didn't flinch. He just met my gaze as though none of this mattered to him.

Akil's lips hitched up at the corner as he glanced from Stefan to me. "Stefan's working for me, Muse. Always was."

I knew that, well sort of, but was I meant to know it? If I revealed I knew, would that put Stefan in danger? "What--what do you mean?" Was Stefan still working for him? Even now?

Akil closed the distance between us in a few strides. I stumbled back, bumping against the wall as he invaded my personal space. "You don't get to walk away from me, Muse. Ever," he said with a snarl.

I sneered up at him. "I got that when you tried to kill me at the marina."

He slid a hand over my shoulder and laced his fingers around my throat, but the tightening of his grip didn't come. His thumb rubbed lightly against my neck. "That was...a mistake."

"A mistake? I nearly died, Akil."

"That was not my intention..." He bowed his head, bumping his forehead against mine as he brought his hand higher, cupping my face. "I just meant to... I wanted you to react. To see your demon. She's quite remarkable."

I turned my head away, fighting to breathe beneath his overbearing presence.

"That's what this has all been about," he whispered in my ear.

Hands on his chest, I pushed against him, trying to force him back, but I might as well have been pushing against stone.

He breathed in through my hair, his chin brushing my forehead. "It's her I want. Not your weak human shell."

"Akil... Please." I shoved again, pushing hard enough to force him back a step, but that only gave him the room he needed to bring the sword up between us and press the blade against my throat.

The sharp edge nicked my skin. A warm trickle of blood dribbled down my neck. I pleaded with wide eyes, snatching breaths where I could without worsening the dig of the sword against my flesh.

"Your previous owner had no notion of the creature he kept in chains." Akil slid his left hand over my hip.

I couldn't stop the shivering. As the demon thrashed inside me, my human body had become riddled with fear. My heart galloped, thudding in my ears. "You don't own me," I growled.

"No?" He leaned into me, pushing the blade against my neck, forcing my head back. "I beg to differ."

I heard the metallic chink-chink of a gun slide being pulled back. "Step away from her." Stefan had pressed the gun against the back of Akil's head. From my awkward angle, I peered down my nose and over Akil's shoulder at Stefan. His element swirled in his arctic eyes, their intense blue fracturing deep, revealing his ice-bound soul.

Akil chuckled. The lurid ripples of his laughter rode over me. My head was light and my legs weak. Fear robbed me of my will. "I'll cut her throat," he snarled.

"Do it. But know I'll blow your skull apart. Immortal or not, that's gotta hurt."

Akil raked his gaze across me, almost as though his glare alone could slice through me. He measured his options. Indecision narrowed his eyes, and then, reluctantly, he pulled back. Stefan countered behind him. Only when Akil withdrew the sword from my throat did I slump against the wall, able to breathe again. After dabbing at my neck, my trembling hand came away slick with blood.

I looked up at Akil in time to catch a twisted smile lashing across his lips. He didn't resemble the man I could have loved, didn't even look like the demon that inhabited his body. He was a stranger to me. The darkness had corrupted him, creating a monster, or had he always been that way?

"You fell for her, didn't you?" I noticed Akil's fingers flexing around the sword's grip. "I killed the last man who touched her."

Stefan couldn't help looking at me. I may have seen some acknowledgement in his eyes, right before Akil twisted around, knocking Stefan's gun arm up before plunging the katana deep into Stefan's left shoulder, driving him to his knees.

Instinct lurched me forward as Stefan cried out. He fought to bring the gun around, but Akil twisted the sword deeper into his flesh, wrenching a strangled cry from Stefan's lips.

"Stop!" I yelled.

Akil swung his head around, yanking the blade free from Stefan's flesh. He rounded on me, bringing the bloodied sword around to point the tip at me. "You are mine," he growled. "And I'm taking you home."

"No!" He didn't mean home to Boston, he meant the netherworld, and the thought flushed my veins with white-hot terror, wrenching my strength out from under me. I dropped to my knees. "No, please." I shook my head from side to side, and tears blurred my vision. Panic tightened my chest. I clenched my fist over my heart. I couldn't go back home.

Akil's face twisted into a hideous mask of disgust. "I will tear that demon from your human flesh if I have to peel your skin off piece by piece." The venom behind those words severed the last vestiges of hope I might have had that, somewhere deep inside, he still cared for me.

A gunshot cracked through the air.

Blinking rapidly, I watched the curious bloom of blood spread across Akil's white shirt. He looked down, as though wondering where the blood had come from. Another shot, and his torso jerked. Another, and I felt a warm spray of blood mist across my face. The fourth gunshot rang out, its deafening retort causing me to flinch. Akil sank to his knees, his face white with shock, and then he collapsed forward, motionless.

Stefan had propped himself up on an elbow, gun quivering in his right hand. His aim wavered with his labored breathing. He gritted his teeth as he pulled himself up onto his knees. "Go," he grunted. "He won't stay down... for long."

Adrenaline ousted my fear. Self-preservation kicked in. I rushed to Stefan and hooked an arm under his, helping him to his feet. I staggered as he fell against me. "Can we kill him? While he's out?"

"No. He'll come back no matter what we do."

I glanced back at Akil's motionless body, expecting him to twitch awake at any moment.

"Go. Take my car. Just go, Muse."

I felt Stefan's element stirring, its chilling touch snapping at my flesh, lashing out protectively. "Where exactly?"

Stefan pried himself from my grip and stumbled toward the door. "Ryder."

"Ryder?" He was the least likely go-to guy to get me out of this. I stole one last fleeting look at Akil's body, tremors rattling my bones, then followed Stefan outside. The bitterly cold night air nipped at my face. My trembling intensified. If I could hold myself together a little while longer, just long enough to get away...

Stefan had slumped against the driver's door, his left arm limp at his side. Blood dripped from his fingers, creating bright red rivulets down the car's paint until it pooled along the door seal.

"Stefan, please. Let me help you."

"I'm okay." He forced every word through clenched teeth. "Ryder will know what to do. Go."

"I'm not leaving you here."

"Just go." He grimaced, pain racking his body. He tucked the gun into his waistband and pressed his right hand against the wound in his shoulder, struggling to hide how his fingers shook. It didn't take long for the blood to swell and spill over the back of his hand.

I placed my hand over his. His shivering seemed all the worse now that I could feel it. He allowed me to ease his hand away, then dropped his head back as I stripped his shirt away from the wound. He snatched breaths between spasms of pain. Akil had stabbed him low in the shoulder. The blade had passed right through. The jagged wound oozed dark blood and showed no sign of stopping. "Get in the car. I'm taking you to a hospital."

"No, Muse." He sighed, eyelids flickering closed.

"Stop being stubborn and do as I say." I opened the rear passenger door and gave him a warning look. "Get in, or we both stay here."

"You're impossible," he muttered, clutching the open door and moving gingerly to climb inside.

I drove us out of there as fast as the rental car could bump along the dirt track to the main route. Stefan sat slumped in the back seat, teeth clenched. I glanced in the mirror, watching him battle the pain. Every pothole, even the slightest ridge in the road, tugged a restrained groan from him.

"No hospitals," he said when we hit the smooth main route, and I planted the throttle to the floor. "Get to Ryder."

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# Chapter 19

I screeched the car to a halt outside Ryder's premises, bumping it up the curb as close to the door as I could get. Early morning air wrapped around me as soon as I stepped from the car, stealing the warmth from my bones. The brilliant blue sky only made the desperate situation feel all the more dire. I banged on Ryder's door. The car's engine ticked behind me as it cooled.

Stefan was sprawled across the back seat, asleep or unconscious. The milky pallor of his skin was pale enough to frighten me.

"C'mon, Ryder." I hammered a fist against the door. "Open up!" My shout echoed down the empty street.

What if he wasn't home? Where was I supposed to go?

The door finally opened. Ryder rubbed his eyes, yawning. Wearing the same clothes I'd seen him in days before, he scowled at me. "What the..."

His wide-eyed stare took in my blood-soaked shirt, bare legs, and blood-splattered face. Then he noticed Stefan's motionless body in the back of the car. "What happened?" Ryder shoved by me and flung open the car door. Climbing inside, he pressed his fingers against Stefan's neck, checking for a pulse.

"Akil." The tremor in my voice barely registered against the swirl of dark thoughts in my head.

Ryder climbed out and nodded. "Get in. I'll drive."

I climbed into the back, with Stefan's head resting in my lap as Ryder took control. I was grateful for it. The hours it had taken us to get back to Boston, constantly checking the mirrors for any sign of being followed, my worry that Stefan would die in the backseat--it had left me beyond drained, numbed. I rarely felt properly cold, but I felt it then, a deep, soul-weary chill. I had no idea what Ryder was going to do, but he seemed to have a plan, because he swung the car around and sped out of there as quickly as I'd screeched in.

Stefan breathed lightly. The rise and fall of his chest reassured me a little. He felt cold, but I chose to take that as a good sign. However, the pool of congealed blood on the back seat told another story. "Akil will be after us," I warned Ryder.

"Okay. It'll be okay," Ryder assured, and, bizarrely, I believed him. "Where we're going, Akil can't follow."

* * *

AFTER NO MORE THAN ten minutes, Ryder pulled the rental car into a narrow industrial street dominated by a vast warehouse at its end. Graffiti plastered every inch of the red brick walls. Scrawling letters and gang symbols wound their way around a steel door.

"Ryder?" I peered out of the car windows, not seeing anything in the street that could possibly help. If anything, we were in a worse neighborhood than the one we'd just left.

He rolled the car to a halt outside the steel door and cut the engine. Twisting in the driver's seat, he said, "When inside, do as they say."

"What?" I hadn't heard him right. What did he mean? My thoughts dragged through molasses. Exhaustion wrapped me in a woolly cocoon.

Ryder climbed out. I followed suit, too tired to argue. We managed to pull Stefan from the car, hitching his arms over our shoulders. Stefan barely registered us at all. He was just dead weight against me. As we shuffled Stefan to the door, I noticed the huge scorpion spray-painted over the doorway, its pincers embracing the top of the doorframe. "What is this place?" I grunted, heaving Stefan's limp arm into a better position behind my neck.

The door rumbled sideways, and we were met by an armed guard. He ushered us into an antechamber and closed the door behind us. The small room couldn't have been more different to the exterior of the warehouse. White walls gleamed beneath harsh fluorescent lights. A second steel door had a small reinforced glass window, revealing hints of a white corridor beyond.

The guard buzzed a button beside the door, which opened with a whoosh of antiseptic-scented air. Two guards bore down on us, one female, the other a stocky male with a scar below his right eye, both armed with assault rifles.

"We'll take him from here." The guard beside me said, extracting Stefan's arm from around my neck. He handed him over to two waiting white coat-clad men. I managed to catch sight of a gurney, but as I stepped forward to follow, the scarred guard shot his hand out, shoving me. "Stay back," he warned.

"Hey." I instinctively lifted my hands. I wasn't a threat to them; couldn't they see that?

His scarred face held a determined grimace as he shoved me again. "Against the wall," he barked.

"What?"

He grabbed my upper arm and twisted me around, slamming me face first against the wall, then proceeded to frisk me. His female companion stood back, rifle clutched across her chest, face empty.

"Get off me. I came here to help." I winced as his hands rode roughly over my bruised skin. "Get your hands off me," I snarled, summoning enough of my element to cause him a nasty burn. My demon woke eagerly, answering my call. An alarm sounded. The rapid chirps accompanied the sound of locks automatically bolting.

"She's demon." The female guard declared matter-of-factly.

Scarface drove an elbow into my back. The impact wrenched a cry from me. I snarled and twisted, balling my hand into a fist and driving it into his cheek. Considering all the crap I'd had to deal with in the last few days, he was lucky I didn't incinerate him where he stood.

My fist cracked across his jaw just as the female guard strode forward, clutched my right arm, and stamped a branding of some sort on the back of my hand. A jagged dart of pain thrust up my arm and struck me in the chest. I fell forward, doubling over against the ball of agony in my gut. My demon suddenly fell back from me, as though something had tugged her out of reach. Her rapid retreat arched my back, jerking the air from my lungs. She didn't go easily and sunk her claws into my metaphysical insides, but it was no use. I felt her tear from within me, and then there was silence, a quiet like I'd never known. An empty pit had opened inside of me, a void where my demon had existed. She was gone.

"What have you done?" I wheezed before collapsing.

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# Chapter 20

I woke in a bright white room. A fresh pile of clothes sat neatly beside the door. The bed beneath me was bare but surprisingly comfortable. I couldn't hear anything outside the room, just the buzz of the lights above and my own raspy breathing. The air smelled of disinfectant, the scent so strong it tickled my nose and scratched my throat.

I shivered and collected the clothes before peeling off Stefan's ruined shirt and dressing in a gray jump suit. I did all of this without thought, my mind peculiarly numb. Once dressed, I tried to run my hands through my hair, but found it in desperate need of a shower to wash out the blood. Akil's blood. I couldn't think about him, about the threat he'd cast at me. I'm taking you home.

Standing on tiptoes at the door, I peeked through the glass. A single empty chair sat against the opposite wall, but otherwise, the place was empty. Shivers rippled up and down my back. Why was I so cold? I hugged my arms across my chest and noticed the mark on the back of my hand. An angry red welt indicated exactly where the female guard had stabbed me with something. Whatever it had been, the effects had chased away my demon. She'd gone. I couldn't call her, couldn't feel her. There was nothing of her left inside of me, only a cavernous void.

I began to pace from one side of the tiny room to the other, flexing my hands into fists. What was this place? They'd known I was part demon as soon as I'd tried to summon my element. They'd been prepared. The scorpion over the door couldn't be a coincidence. Ryder had breezed in, while they'd abruptly stopped me. Were these the Enforcers Stefan had spoken of? He'd said there were others. The guards, though, they'd looked like military. They hadn't hesitated when dealing with me, although I had managed to swing at one. I had the bruises on my knuckles to vouch for that.

The door rattled and opened. Another armed guard regarded me coolly. "Come with me."

I narrowed my eyes at him and crossed my arms. "I want to see Stefan. Is he okay?"

He stepped back and gestured for me to leave the room. He was taller than me, stockier, with a swagger born of rigorous training. He carried the gun firmly, his grip one of confidence, as though the gun were just an extension of him. I could have lunged at him, but what good would it do me? I might have gotten out of the room, but there were other guards. This wasn't a holiday camp. It would make more sense to gauge the lay of the land before I lashed out.

"Are you taking me to Stefan?" I asked.

"No." He blinked, eyes disarmingly warm. "I'm taking you to Adam."

"Who's he?" I rubbed at my arms, desperately trying to warm myself.

"Come with me, and you'll see."

If I didn't, I got the distinct impression from his military-grade stare that he'd force me. I'd already been on the receiving end of their greeting and didn't relish the thought of repeating it. So I followed him through the rat maze of corridors, passing a few casually dressed people who didn't give me or my armed guard a second glance. We climbed a few steps and entered a level far more conducive to comfort, like a busy office floor--no, like a hospital ward, but where you'd expect to see beds, there were desks. Dozens of people milled back and forth, chatting animatedly. Phones rang. A bubble of laughter sounded somewhere behind me. I caught glimpses of people in white coats and saw various curved, ultra-thin televisions suspended on the walls, showing what looked like newsfeeds from around the world.

We arrived at an office. The blinds were closed, so I couldn't see in. My guard rapped on the door, and a sharp voice inside said, "Enter." I came face to face with an older version of the man in the photograph at Stefan's house. I tried to hide my surprise by watching the guard leave. If this man was Stefan's father, how come he was alive and well?

Standing against a chair, my hands resting on the back, I flicked my gaze about the comfortable office space. A bookcase brimmed with books along the whole of the left wall. A couple of comfy chairs, a glass-topped coffee table, and an antique ball and claw foot desk rounded out the space.

"I apologize for the harsh treatment." The man, who I assumed to be Adam, stood behind his desk, a steaming cup of coffee in his right hand. I smelled the blend and wondered if he'd offer me a mug. I needed it.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, dislodging his rimless glasses before taking them off and rubbing his eyes. "I wanted to thank you personally for bringing Stefan back to us."

"Is he okay?"

He nodded slowly and replaced the glasses. "He's fine. Exhausted, but recovering well." He pulled out his chair and sat down, gesturing that I should do the same. When I didn't move, he smiled. "My name is Adam."

He could play nice. The niceties might even be genuine. He did have a warmth about him that slightly disarmed me, but I wasn't buying whatever he was selling. "You tore my demon from me."

"Yes. A precautionary measure. Don't worry. We'll give you the antidote when you leave."

How could he appear so flippant about tearing out a part of me? "I didn't come here to hurt anyone. I don't even know what this place is. Ryder brought us here. Stefan's safe... so I'd like to leave. Can I leave?"

He took a sip of coffee then leaned back. His chair creaked at the shift in weight. Brushing absently at his deep green sweater, he sucked in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. "You could, but I suspect Akil will be looking for you."

My fingers dug into the back of the seat. "How much do you know?"

"Everything." He brushed a hand across his stubbled chin. "You're safer here."

"Says you. So far, you've violated me and tossed me in a cell." I didn't like him. He appeared to be a fatherly figure, the caring type, but I stood before him with a chasm inside of me where my other half was missing, and I couldn't forgive him that. "I don't know you. I don't trust you."

"We mean you no harm," he said, but his nonchalant tone wasn't sincere.

"I want to see Stefan."

"He's resting." He must have caught a gleam of frustration in my eyes, because he tried to soothe me with a soft smile. "Very well. You can see Stefan, and then perhaps we can have a candid discussion about the options available to you."

I tossed him a worthless smile. Until I spoke to Stefan, I wasn't trusting anyone.

* * *

A GUARD DEPOSITED ME outside a numbered apartment door. As far as I was aware, we were still in the warehouse, but without any windows, and after ascending and descending so many different staircases, I'd completely lost my bearings. I knocked on the door and watched the guard get himself comfortable in a chair a few strides from me. Either they were worried I was going to do something, or I was a prisoner here. I'd yet to figure out which. Maybe it was both.

Stefan opened the door. For a few fleeting seconds, he didn't smile, didn't react at all. His navy blue shirt hung open, revealing the corner of a bandage plastered over his left shoulder. A spot of blood had oozed through the gauze, but otherwise, he looked remarkably well.

The smallest hint of a smile finally twitched across his lips as he stepped aside, then acknowledged the guard outside with a nod. His room was small. A bed, desk, TV, no windows. Functional, like a hotel room, but with the locks on the outside. Once Stefan had closed the door behind him, I opened my mouth to ask one of a hundred or so questions I needed answered. He pressed a finger to my lips. He shook his head and beckoned me toward the desk. On a piece of paper, he scrawled: They're listening.

Oh crap. The frown on his face confirmed my suspicions. All was not well.

I cleared my throat and glanced around me as though I might actually see the microphones. "How come you got the guest suite and I got a prison cell?

"They don't trust you." He caught sight of the angry mark on my hand and must have known what it meant, because his eyes narrowed. His lips set in a terse line. "Are you all right?"

Folding my arms, I hugged them against me. "Yeah, I'm okay. Feel a bit... peculiar without my demon."

"She's still there; they've just repressed her." He sighed then made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "I'm sorry."

I shrugged. Sorry wasn't going to bring her back. "How are you?"

"Good." He brightened. "Thanks to you."

"And you wanted me to leave you there." I grinned. "After everything you've done for me, that wasn't going to happen."

He tried not to smile, then gestured at the bandage on his shoulder. "Could have been worse."

"You're lucky he missed. He never misses."

"He won't again, especially now that he believes we're lovers."

I snorted a laugh as though such an idea was ludicrous. Fire and ice? Impossible. I must have done a good job at dismissing the idea, because Stefan's smile fell short before he turned away and buttoned up his shirt. "Did they introduce you to my father?"

The man in the photo. I'd been right to guess he was Stefan's father. "Adam? Yeah..." I stopped short of telling him what I'd thought. "I was told he was dead."

"He likes the world to think so. I often wish he was. He and I... we don't get along..." Stefan slid a glance my way. "Ever."

Oh. "Good, cuz I don't like him." I looked at the door, wondering whether the guard was still outside, then searched the generic landscape pictures on the wall and the cheap ornaments for any sign of cameras or microphones. I couldn't see anything, but that was the point of hidden surveillance. I had so many questions burning right on the tip of my tongue, and I couldn't ask a single one.

"Am I a prisoner here?" The weary undertone in my voice surprised me. I hadn't realized how exhausted I was, not just physically, but mentally too. It had been one hell of a week.

"No." But he nodded contrarily, which threw me. He gave me a sheepish smile, as though he were responsible.

Clearly, there was more going on here than I had any hope of understanding on my own. "What is this place?"

"The Institute. The human response to demon occupation."

Never heard of them. "Since when are demons occupying this realm?"

He gave a slight shake of his head, implying he couldn't explain. Then, without a word, he took my hand and opened the door, startling the guard outside. As the guard moved to stand, Stefan waved him off. "We're good."

"My orders are to watch her," the guard grumbled.

Stefan, a head taller, straightened up to him. "I said I've got this."

"You can strut all you want, but I've got orders, and I'm following those orders, demon."

Stefan was on him in one swift lunge. Hand twisted in the guard's jacket, he rammed his arm under the guard's chin and slammed him back against the wall. "Call me that again and I'll show you exactly how demon I can be."

My breath misted in front of me as the temperature plummeted. Stefan was calling his element, and if the guard reacted like they had with me, then Stefan was better off backing down. I lightly touched his wounded shoulder, briefly feeling the full force of his arctic glare on me before he blinked and loosened his grip on the guard.

"Fine." Stefan backed off, striding down the hall, so I had to jog to keep up. I gathered his reaction hadn't been personal and suspected he was as frustrated at the whole situation as I was. We walked in silence. The guard lagged behind.

Only after it felt as though we'd walked the length of the warehouse four or five times, through various corridors, passing through a cafeteria, did Stefan slow. A little out of breath, I stopped beside him, catching sight of the guard weaving his way through people loitering in the hall behind us. Stefan opened the door into what I assumed was the Institute's library but felt more like a storeroom. Freestanding metal bookshelves created a dozen or so rows that divided up the windowless room. As we entered, the lights above flickered on, detecting our presence. We were the only two visitors, besides the guard, who followed dutifully behind us.

Stefan left me beside a bookcase. He returned to the guard and muttered a few words. They both glanced my way, sharing conspiratorial smiles. I frowned, wondering what they were up to, and then ran my finger down the spines of the books. They weren't like any books I'd seen at the local library. Some were stained, their foreign titles barely decipherable. Some were the size of concrete blocks, great tomes that I'd struggle to lift. I recognized Latin, but couldn't speak or read it. Another had been written in what I assumed was Cyrillic.

Stefan slipped an arm around my waist, startling a gasp from me. I twisted around to face him, surprised to find him so close. He leaned into me, backing me up against the books. "Go with it..." he whispered, seriousness on his face where I'd expected to see mischief.

The guard had dropped into a chair, facing the opposite direction while absently thumbing through a book. Stefan bowed his head. I felt the abrasive stubble of his chin brush against my cheekbone and his cool breath teasing through my hair. I could blame surprise for my racing heart, but it would've been a lie. I rested a hand on his lower back, then moved it awkwardly to his hip. A deep chuckle rumbled through him. He took my hand and placed it on his lower back.

"You could at least make it believable," he whispered.

That wasn't my problem; the wicked thoughts running through my distracted mind were. Without my demon, my element didn't flush through my skin, but a different kind of heat had begun to pool inside me. Without realizing it, I'd blamed the demon part of me for the attraction I'd felt toward Stefan ever since he'd first walked into my workshop. I'd told myself she'd wanted the opposing power coiled inside of him, but it hadn't been just that. Now my demon was trapped, out of reach, and yet as he stood close against me, I couldn't think clearly through the rising thrill of desire.

"This place, the Institute, is where I trained." Stefan's whispered words tickled my ear. "They deliberately created me as a weapon. That's all I've ever been in my father's eyes. If you ask him, he'll tell you I'm not his son, I'm an experiment. They'll use anyone, exploit everything, to get what they want."

I shivered. "What do they want?"

"They protect this side of the veil, our reality. They're the reason there aren't more demons on this side. They monitor all demon activity. If one steps out of line, they're quick to dish out their idea of justice."

I swallowed, flushed and lightheaded. "Why did Ryder bring us here?"

"Because this is the only place Akil can't get to us. The graffiti on the walls outside--you must have seen it--creates a void. This place is a demon blind spot. No full demon can pass those symbols." Stefan teased my hair back from my cheek. "Like you, I've spent much of my life trying to escape my past--this place."

"They aren't the Enforcers you spoke of?" I was following the conversation. Barely.

"Yes and no. The Enforcers are the soldiers on the front line. We're trained to kill demons. Ironic, considering I'm half-demon. The irony is lost on my father."

I could see the guard from where we stood. He'd picked up a magazine, not in the least bit interested in what we were doing.

"Why are they watching us? Why don't they trust me?"

"You belong to a Prince of Hell. You're powerful, volatile, and ill-informed. I'm not sure I trust you." He pulled back just enough to look down at me.

"The feeling's mutual." I pressed my lips together. "At the house by the lake... for a minute there, I thought you were going to hand me back to Akil."

He tilted his head, and a curious smile betrayed a wicked flicker of mischief. His eyes narrowed. Those eyes had a magic that held me spellbound every time I met his gaze. If an ice-demon could have a heated gaze, he had one.

I dropped my head back and closed my eyes, trying to escape his intensity without succumbing to the building urge to grab him with both hands and devour him. My world was falling apart around me, and I could do with the distraction. A distraction; yes, I could tell myself that lie. Stefan was a welcome distraction. That's all.

"You're trembling."

"I'm cold," I lied, then added with a sigh, "I want my demon back. I don't feel... right, without her."

"I can take your mind off her," he said softly, "off everything."

Opening my eyes, I found him watching me, lips slightly parted, raw hunger in his gaze. I could pull him against me and drown in desire. I glanced at the guard, who now rested his head on a propped-up hand, bored and probably dozing. Stefan turned my face toward him, his fingers trailing down my cheek to skip across my mouth. I parted my lips a little, breaths coming too quickly to hide. He knew what he was doing to me, but the smug humor had vanished. The severity in his expression only served to further enflame the hunger inside me. He leaned in, and I closed my eyes, expecting the kiss to come, but he deliberately avoided my lips and brushed his cheek against mine. I groaned, left hand clutching his shirt.

His rapid breathing tickled my neck as he bowed his head. Had my demon been present, I was sure I'd already have lost myself to desire. I felt the crawl of his element, the explorative touch of it, but it was gentle, nothing like the bold approaches of before, as though he knew I was lacking half of myself and was holding back.

The door to the library opened. Adam strode in. Just a few moments more and I'd have had Stefan against the bookcase, shirt open, and trailing kisses down his chest.

On Adam's arrival, Stefan tensed. The growl that rumbled from him perversely further aroused my already overly sensitive body, but the desire I'd seen in him had quickly been replaced by anger.

"Stefan, you and Muse need to join me in the prep room," Adam announced, oblivious to the moment he'd destroyed. "Now."

The guard had found some enthusiasm and was on his feet, acting the part of model sentry.

I didn't want to let Stefan go. He moved away so that I had no choice but to release him. I wanted to gather up that shirt in my fists and pull him into a kiss so hungry he wouldn't be able to escape. Neither of us would. But that moment had been dashed. It was only when he moved away that I'd realized how much I ached to have him. My legs were weak, and it took me a few moments to find my strength.

Stefan flung a knowing glance over his shoulder, eyebrow arched. The promise to finish what we'd started rested silently on his lips.

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# Chapter 21

The Prep Room--or Preparation Room as the sign on the door read--appeared to be a room bristling with flat-screen TV monitors. Behind the bank of monitors, each showing a different news channel, CCTV feed, or webcam footage, sat an empty meeting table with enough places for fifteen or more people. Ryder was already in the room, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, hands gripping his upper arms. He wore the same untucked crumpled shirt, same threadbare black jeans. He grunted a hello, back to his surly self. Tufts of unkempt hair stuck out at all angles. He made the fell-out-of-bed look all his own.

"Your man is lighting up the town," Ryder grumbled, nodding toward the monitors.

I followed his gaze and saw several TV screens showing news footage of South Boston, or Southie as my neighbors fondly referred to it. I recognized my home neighborhood from the eclectic mix of terraced houses, cream clapboard facades, and leafy streets. The footage showed the same brownstone building on fire from different angles. Then I recognized the street, the buildings opposite bathed in firelight, the same buildings I'd woken to each morning. The blazing building was my old apartment building. My heart sank. "Were there people in there?"

"No, but it's lost. The fire department is letting it run its course--too dangerous," Ryder explained. "That's your apartment building, right? One damn coincidence, Muse."

It wasn't a coincidence.

Stefan stepped forward, concern etched across his face. His father hung back by the meeting table, watching our reactions. "It's a warning. Akil can't find you, so he's sending a message."

I scratched at my arm, grimacing. "He could have killed someone." I had a moment of panic as I wondered if my cat, Jonesy, was okay, but there was nothing I could do. On the screens, flames licked from the arched windows, and black smoke billowed skyward. The last part of my normal life--Charlie Henderson's life--had just gone up in smoke.

Ryder watched my reaction. "He will kill if you don't go to him."

"I can't." They were all looking at me, waiting for me to make the call on what to do. "I can't go to him. He wants to take me home, to the netherworld. I can't... I won't go back there." The thought alone turned my stomach. The world works differently there. My human half wasn't cut out to survive among the demons, especially considering what Akil had planned. I looked at each of them, my frown deepening with each disapproving stare. "He wants my demon. He wants her out of me..."

Adam shook his head as he perched on the edge of the meeting table. "It can't be done." Briefly, he flicked a glance at Stefan, who ignored him. "Half-bloods are irrevocably one and the same, demon and human. He can't separate your demon from you."

I grinned and threw a hand in the air. "Right. Are you going to tell him that? Because he's going to try. If he takes me back there... either he'll kill me, or Val will. The second I step through the veil, I'm demon bait."

Stefan spoke up. "You have the strength to fight them."

Sure, if this were fantasyland. "Not all of them, Stefan. I've barely begun to experiment with what I'm capable of. I could maybe fight off one or two, but..." I didn't need to finish the sentence. I was as good as dead if I stepped through the veil, and everyone in the room knew it.

I glared at Adam. "You need to give me my demon back."

"I can't do that. Not while you're under our roof. You're too dangerous."

"And he isn't?" I flicked a gesture at Stefan.

"Stefan has control," Adam said calmly. "You do not."

Maybe he was right, but without my demon, I was vulnerable. "You have to give her back to me." I crossed the room and stopped in front of Adam. He looked back at me without an ounce of fear, so complacent, in fact, that he just about dared me to lash out at him. "Please." I didn't want to beg, but I needed her back in my skin. She was my strength, my soul, my fire.

"There is a way."

"Please. Anything." I despised the desperation in my voice.

"You stay here. Work for us."

I blinked, as taken aback as though he'd struck me. He noted my reaction and smiled. "We can always use half-bloods like you. Properly trained, you're valuable assets."

Stefan stepped between us at about the right time. He eased me back a few steps, perhaps sensing I was about to leap at Adam to try and shake the antidote out of him.

"I'm not working for you," I snarled. Stefan held me back. "Give me my demon back! You had no right to take her! Who do you think you are?"

"Muse," Stefan warned.

"I don't care." I tried to step around him, and he caught my arms. "Let go of me. He's putting this right. He has to give her back. I need her." An unexpected sob choked me, and with a sneer, I broke free of Stefan's grip and lunged for Adam. He lashed out before I could reach him, the back of his hand striking me across the face with enough force to fling me down against the table. Blood pooled in my mouth.

I pushed down on the table and flicked my hair out of my face, pinning him with my stare. His expression had barely changed at all. Stefan saw me tense and grabbed me from behind, pulling my arms behind my back as I struggled to get free.

I spat blood at Adam's feet, fighting against Stefan's viselike grip. "If you don't give her back, I'll tell the world where this place is. I'll tell Akil."

Adam sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing at his closed eyes. "Take her away."

Stefan swung me around and shoved me toward the door and then rounded on his father. "This is all your doing." He jabbed a finger at Adam. "Don't make an enemy of her."

Adam stood slowly. "Like I did you?"

Stefan clenched his right hand. His knuckles whitened, and then he spun around to escort me out of the room. In the hall outside, I shook off Stefan's grip. "I need her back, Stefan. They don't understand. You don't understand..." A few passing employees gave us a wide berth.

Stefan pulled me along a few steps until I managed to yank my hand free again. He glared at me. "How do you think they came up with the poison they injected you with? Who do you think they tested it on?" He saw the horror on my face. "I understand more than you know, but lashing out at him won't get you anywhere. We're prisoners here until he says otherwise."

I sunk a hand in my hair. Panic began to steal away my rational thoughts. I needed my demon back. With every hour that passed, her absence damaged me. An ache had begun to spread outward, a terrible heartfelt ache, like grief. On top of everything else, it was almost enough to flip me over the edge toward insanity.

Ryder emerged from the Prep Room and froze midstride. Stefan waved him back. I darted my gaze between them. A sickly wave of fear washed over me. I had to get out of this prison, get away from these people. I wanted to go home, to my apartment, to my cat, to Sam. None of those things existed anymore, and besides, the Institute wouldn't let me go. If they did, I'd be walking straight into Akil's arms. Oh god, I didn't want to do this anymore.

Bumping against the wall behind me, I slid down to the floor, pulling my knees up and scrunching myself into a ball. "He's going to kill me."

I heard Ryder tell someone to keep walking and felt Stefan's warm touch on my back.

"Akil..." I lifted my head. "He won't stop. I can't escape him, and I can't stay here. What am I supposed to do?"

"We can stop him." Stefan slid his hand down my arm and took my hand, lifting me back onto unsteady legs. "There is a way."

* * *

WE WERE BACK IN THE little-used library with books strewn across a coffee table. I sat in one of the comfy armchairs, knees drawn up, hands clasped around a Styrofoam cup. I listened to Ryder and Stefan talking. Ryder sat on the arm of a chair while Stefan paced. He collected and deposited books as he voiced various plans. I hadn't said a word in at least twenty minutes. My coffee was cold, but I didn't notice. The shock of the events over the past week had finally caught up with me. I'd showered, thinking it might help me feel halfway to human again, but not even the hot water could banish my trembling.

"There is a way. Muse can drain him of power," Ryder was saying. "Akil can't summon from the veil like she can. He has to draw his element from the city, and that's a limited resource. If she drains him, he'll be vulnerable."

"But still immortal," Stefan said.

Ryder shrugged. "Well, yeah. There ain't no way around that."

"We can trap him though. I've trapped demons before using the glyphs. Once inside, he's contained. He can't summon his true self. If there was a way to keep him like that..."

I ran my tongue across dry lips. "What about the drug they put in me?" They both looked a little surprised that I'd spoken. "What would it do to him?"

"PC-thirty-four," Stefan replied. "The Institute uses it to knock out lesser demons. It represses the demon aspect. To Mammon, Akil's true form, it'd probably give him a headache."

"What if I could administer it while he's in his human form? Would it prevent him from manifesting his true self?"

"It might." Stefan nodded. "If you then summoned your element, you could render him weak enough to trap him."

"How do we trap him?" I asked.

Ryder grinned and nudged an elbow into Stefan beside him. "You remember that time we sent Barbatos back to Hell? The look on his pig-ugly face when he realized what was happening... Man, that was priceless." Ryder chuckled. "Good times."

Stefan fought not to smile, then gave in and grinned. "Yeah, that was something..." He realized I was waiting for the two of them to get over their male-bonding moment and cleared his throat. "We can either send him back through the veil to the netherworld or trap him here, on this side. Sending a Prince back won't be easy. They're too powerful. It would require a blood sacrifice." Stefan hesitated, seeing my confusion. "A human sacrifice. Someone mortal has to go with him, but it's a one-way trip."

Ryder nodded. "That's a death sentence. Nobody is going to volunteer for that." We all silently agreed. "So we have to trap him here."

Shoving some books aside, I set my coffee down on the table. "How long does the drug last?"

"It's uncertain. At least..." Stefan's pause held more weight for what he didn't say. "We know it can last years." He tried to hide the tremor in his voice while avoiding my gaze. He swallowed and dragged a hand across his chin.

I thought I'd had it bad, but at least I'd always had my demon with me. Through the beatings, the torture, she'd always been there. The Institute had taken that strength from Stefan; his own father had torn out half of Stefan's soul. No wonder Stefan had control. He'd had it conditioned into him. The pain he'd endured--I'd spent less than a day without my demon and already felt her absence like the loss of a limb. What would the drug do to Akil? Would it even affect him?

"I suppose they've never tested it on a Prince before?" I said, halting the approach of an awkward silence.

"No. It may not even work. Lesser demons are weaker here than across the veil. Princes... they're different. His vessel is little more than a mask. The drug may have no effect at all; in which case, he's gonna be pretty damn pissed when you try and inject him with it."

I nodded slowly. Akil would kill me if he figured out what I was planning, but I was as good as dead anyway.

"You're going to have to get close to him, Muse, without him realizing what you're doing. Otherwise, he'll manifest and then...then he'll likely kill you without hesitation." Stefan crouched in front of me, searching my expression. I let him see the resignation on my face. Hiding from the truth was pointless.

"I can get close to him." I closed my eyes and dipped my chin. Getting close to Akil would be the easy part. I knew exactly how to distract him while keeping him tied to his human vessel. A little black dress and a bottle of red wine should do it. Getting the drug in him would be more difficult.

Stefan's touch on my cheek roused me, bringing me back to the present. The concern on his face wasn't particularly encouraging. I smiled, more for his sake than mine. "What happens once I've injected him?"

"Hopefully, if it works and he's trapped, he won't be able to summon his true self. He'll be virtually human."

The idea twisted a knot of regret inside me. It felt wrong. What I was planning, it was worse than death for Akil. To trap him in his human form, unable to return to his home, unable to summon his true manifestation. Killing him would be kinder.

"Is there another way?"

Stefan glanced at Ryder, who gave him his usual noncommittal shrug. "Had he been anything else but Mammon, we could have warned him off, but he won't respond kindly to threats."

"Can't you just tell him about this place, tell him what they can do? He might walk away." It sounded as hopeless as it was. I was clutching at straws. Akil wasn't going to walk away. That wasn't his style. He wanted it all. If he knew about the Institute, he'd tear it wide open. Threats wouldn't deter him.

Stefan didn't even bother answering my halfhearted question. He stood and sucked in a deep breath before weaving both hands through his hair, hissing sharply as his shoulder twinged. "We had originally hoped to reason with him, to stack his crimes against him, and persuade him to go home." He sat on the edge of a chair, leaning forward to rub his hands together before facing me. "That was before he killed Sam. Before I realized how far gone he is."

I couldn't help wondering if I was somehow responsible for Akil's unhinged behavior. I hadn't known any of this would happen when I'd left him. It had been a simple case of just leaving. I'd told him I never wanted to see him again and turned my back on him. He hadn't called, hadn't shown up outside my apartment, so I'd thought it was over. Easy.

Ryder dropped into his chair. Hooking a leg over the arm, he slouched at an angle, crossing his arms. "It's not just you, Muse. Nica's caught in the middle of it too."

"Nica?" Seeing Stefan slice a glance at Ryder, I immediately knew he'd said something wrong. "What is it?" Stefan struggled to meet my eyes, muscle jumping in his jaw.

"Nica was the one who put us onto Akil in the first place," Stefan said. "She set everything up from the inside. Akil voiced his... displeasure with you. She knew he was preparing some sort of retaliation, so she planted the idea of hiring an assassin and then steered Akil in my direction. She's been playing him from the inside and feeding us the information."

She was a braver woman than me, that was for sure, and not even half-demon. "She works for the Institute?"

"Yes and no."

Ryder let out an exasperated sigh. "Just tell her." When Stefan still didn't elaborate, Ryder said, "Nica is Adam's daughter. There. That didn't hurt. Jeez."

"She's your sister?" I asked Stefan, voice pitched with surprise.

"Half-sister." He cast a dismayed glare at Ryder, who shrugged.

"Why didn't you tell me? How... Wha-Why didn't she?" All this time, she'd been working against Akil. Sourcing the "file" on Stefan, chatting with me at the party. She'd been right beside me, and I didn't have a clue. "At your workshop, you removed the battery on her phone... You didn't trust her."

"You didn't trust her." Stefan leaned back, becoming increasingly restless. "I removed the battery because I didn't want Akil tracking her cell. I didn't know you'd invited him into your life, leading him right to us. It doesn't matter. What matters is that her safety is paramount. Her life is at risk."

"No shit." What kind of father lets his daughter go undercover as the PA to a Prince of Hell? Adam had a lot to answer for. "She's there now..."

Ryder arched an eyebrow. "Yup, and Adam won't pull her out. Says her intel is too valuable."

"I hate that man." I fingered the bruise on my cheek where he'd struck me. I was beginning to realize what kind of man Adam was, the kind who would indeed use and extort anything and anyone to get what he wanted, even his own children. At least the creatures that were trying to hurt me were demon; they couldn't help themselves. Adam was meant to be human. I'd seen demons behave more humanely.

"Nica's involvement shouldn't matter," Stefan said. "If Muse can carry out the plan, she'll be safe soon enough."

"Okay." If Nica was there, in the middle of all of this, then I could certainly find it in me to back her up. "Then let's do this." But first, I needed my demon back.

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# Chapter 22

Stefan held up a small cylindrical device, no larger than a spool of thread. "It's a jet-injector. Fifteen times smaller than the mass market varieties. No needles. A quick jab to the skin and it'll administer the drug into Akil's system via a near sub-sonic blast. Within a few seconds, he should feel the effects."

Such a small thing could deliver such a debilitating drug. I absently rubbed at the back of my hand where I'd been jabbed the day before. We were in Stefan's apartment, where I'd waited for him to return with the antidote for me. Every second I'd waited seemed like a lifetime. How on earth Stefan had endured months--years--without his demon, I couldn't even imagine.

He placed the injector on the desk next to its twin, which was marked with a plus symbol. That was my antidote. He reached for it, but didn't pick it up. Instead, he curled his fingers into his palm and looked back at me. "You're as close to normal now as you're ever going to be." I must have frowned, because he leaned back against the desk with the injectors sitting neatly beside him. "If you ever wondered what it would be like to be human, you're feeling it now."

It hadn't occurred to me that, without my demon, I was essentially normal. I lowered myself onto the edge of the bed. Of course, I had wondered what it would be like to be human. I'd tried to imitate a normal life and might even have succeeded had I kept running, but I was never going to actually feel normal.

Tucking my hair behind an ear, I lifted my gaze to Stefan. He might have gotten away with the neutral expression if his eyes hadn't betrayed an intensity that belied his calm exterior. He had dressed impeccably for him. His black shirt with ultra-fine vertical white lines emphasized the brilliance of his eyes while his jeans bunched in all the right places. And there I was, dressed in an unflattering Institute jump suit.

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say. Maybe if I didn't have half the netherworld trying to kill me, I could flirt with the idea of repressing my demon--maybe. But it wouldn't feel right. It wouldn't be right. I couldn't hide from what I was; the events of the past week had taught me that. Besides, the thing inside me, my demon, she deserved more.

Without a word, Stefan shoved off the desk and strode into the bathroom. The door swung behind him. A few seconds later, I heard the hiss of the shower. He leaned around the doorframe and beckoned me inside. My gaze lingered on the injector.

The bathroom gleamed with stainless steel fittings while a waterfall shower billowed steam behind glass doors. Its relentless hiss was the only noise I could hear. I opened my mouth to ask why we were in the bathroom, but Stefan pressed a finger to my lips. He leaned in close and said, "The noise from the shower will prevent them from hearing everything."

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. I'd had enough of this place.

"You don't have to go back to being a half-blood," he said.

Opening my eyes, I saw what almost looked like hope on his face and smiled. "I want to."

"Don't take the antidote. Walk out of here and make a life for yourself somewhere else, in another city. Get out of this, Muse. You can."

"Even if I could, he'd find me." It was an impossible dream. Without my demon, Akil might struggle to locate me, but it would happen eventually. He had resources beyond mine, means by which he could find me anywhere. I could change my name, flee halfway around the world, and he'd still find me. Then there was Val. If my brother discovered I was essentially human, he'd gut me the second he found me.

"Isn't it worth trying?" He looked almost pained. I wondered if this was his dream.

My smile twitched. "What you don't seem to understand is that I want the demon, Stefan." I licked my lips and leaned a hip against the counter. "In the five years I hid, there was one thing I missed more than anything else."

From the way he tore his gaze away, I could tell that he knew what I was about to say.

"You can't tell me you don't enjoy the chaos." Suddenly, I was grateful for the hiss of the shower smothering our conversation. This was not a discussion we'd want the Institute to hear. "Five years, I kept it hidden inside. I played at being normal, but it was never going to last because I want the destruction. It's a part of me..." His lips turned up with a fragment of a smile, but he was fighting it. "When you walked into my workshop, you were the first demon I'd been close to in years. I knew you weren't human. I felt the power coiled in you and I... I wanted it."

His fingers danced across the granite countertop.

"And you can't tell me it was the demon because it wasn't. It's me. The lust for chaos is a part of me. I can't shut half of me out and live like that. My demon is half of what makes me whole."

"Even if it gets you killed?" His sudden gaze pierced right through me, sending what felt like a trickle of ice water down my spine.

"That's not going to happen." I faced him, sensing the weight of unspoken words. I'd thought him to be as clear as the winter sky: the confident demon-slayer, all bravado and no substance. But I'd been wrong. Beneath the swagger, the smug smile, and the complacent attitude pooled a dark reservoir of emotion; its ice-covered surface had begun to crack. I'd been naive to think I knew him at all.

He abruptly pushed away from the counter, intent on leaving. Without thinking, I caught his hand, pulling him up short. He looked back at me with such a weighty sadness that I sensed that he knew something I didn't. He stepped against me, hands tilting my face up, his lips on mine. Repressed hunger broke through my defenses, and I fell completely into that kiss. I hooked my arms around his neck and locked him in an embrace neither of us could escape. My own hunger might have surprised me if I'd cared to think about it, but the overwhelming need to have him close left no room for doubts.

As he pulled back, I felt him tremble. His short, ragged breaths fluttered against my cheek. His hands rode over my hips, then sought the zipper at the front of my jump suit, sliding it open so he could slip his hands inside and ease it off my shoulders. Where his light touch brushed against my shoulders, the heat of desire flushed my skin. I had expected his touch to be cold, but it wasn't.

He drew back with liquid ice in his eyes as he watched me tug my arms free of the suit. I peered through my half-closed lashes at him, a wicked grin on my face. He responded with a throaty growl that pooled wanton heat inside me. He hitched me up onto the counter and trailed the most frustratingly light kisses across the rise of my breasts. Leaning back, I let him tease those snowflake kisses farther down. I gasped as his lips tickled the curve of my waist.

When his mouth found mine again, I hooked my legs around him, refusing to let him go. Fumbling with his shirt buttons, I popped them open one by one, feeling him smile against my mouth. I sunk my hands inside his shirt and heard him snatch a gasp as I grazed the wound on his shoulder.

"Oh, sorry!" I pulled my hands back, but he grabbed them.

"Don't stop," he breathed, shrugging the shirt from his shoulders and dropping it to the floor.

Despite the angry red wound on his left side, the light played across his chest in such a way that I wanted to touch--to taste--every inch of that divine masculine body so much so that I briefly froze, biting my lip, breaths coming fast and untamed. I held the tide of desire in my hands and could still pull it back. Doubts nibbled around the edges of my runaway thoughts. My needs, hungers, desires all conspired to push me toward the precipice of surrender; if I fell for Stefan, I'd fall hard.

He gathered my face in his hands, drawing me up so all I could see were those dazzling eyes. His lips brushed mine, but he pulled back when I tried to turn those teasing kisses into something hungry and all-consuming. He teased, luring me close with promises upon his lips and then easing back when I answered. I groaned low in my throat. He'd be the death of me if he kept this up. When I couldn't stand the game any longer, when he'd tugged on the strings of desire until my thoughts blurred and my body burned, he sunk his hands down my back and pulled me against him. I hooked my legs around his waist, molding myself against every inch of him, breath and body ebbing and flowing. He hitched me up, lifting me off the countertop, and carried me into the shower, still partially dressed. Hot jets of water pummeled us. I laughed and watched the warmest, most genuine smile lighten his lips.

He swept a hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face, lending his features an intensity I'd not appreciated before. The streaming water quickly drenched him. Rivulets ran down his face, across the shadow of stubble darkening his chin. He leaned me back against the cool tiles and slipped his hands inside the jumpsuit to ease it over my hips. The garment dropped. I kicked it away; consumed by the need to let my hands wander. A curious stir of power tickled my touch as I slid my hands up his chest. I could feel his element rippling around him; an aura of energy he kept restrained. The heat from the water likely helped with his control. I considered whether I should take the antidote and let my demon out of the bag but wasn't entirely sure I could control her. I could barely control myself.

I tugged at the waist of his jeans and popped the buttons, laughing into a kiss. He swept an arm around my waist and nuzzled my neck. I turned my head away, sinking my free hand into his wet hair as he planted frostbitten kisses on my neck and shoulder, deliberately summoning a little of his element into each touch. The pierce of ice through the heat shivered a primal need through me. "You're lucky I'm only half of me," I growled.

He dragged his gaze back to mine, and the unadulterated look of need he gave sent a quivering wave of desire pulsing through me. Panting, drowning in the urge to have him, all of him, I knew there was more to this than just a distraction. There always had been. I slid an arm around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss that came straight from my heart, my soul. It was the sort of kiss that defines moments, seals destinies. The kiss you remember forever. Whether he knew it or not, I'd fallen for him.

I shoved him back up against the tiles. He responded with a husky growl, the sound deep enough to be part demon. It was my turn to tease. I stepped back, even though every inch of my body ached to be near him. As the scalding water streamed over me, rushing through my hair, over my face and shoulders and down the plane of my stomach, his eyes drank me, devouring every inch of me. His smile said enough without words. He reached for me but I batted his hand away and quirked an eyebrow. Stefan lifted his chin, smile turning wicked. I scattered fleeting kisses across his chest. He muttered my name under rapid breaths. When I nipped at the tight flanks of muscle, he twitched and gasped. Wandering lower, I traced the tip of my tongue over the scorpion tattoo. His sharp intake of breath heightened my own maddening desire. Looking up the length of his body, he looked down at me, his smile interrupted as I tugged the jeans over his hips. He dropped his head back against the tiles, eyes closed, giving himself to me completely.

* * *

STEFAN HAD HOOKED A leg over mine. The naked length of his body lay against me, his head propped up on a hand. He watched me while I stared at the ceiling. It occurred to me that the Institute had probably heard everything. Someone somewhere had been listening to one hell of a show, but I didn't care. Let them listen. His fingers skipped a haphazard path across my chest, deliberately tickling. I batted his hand away with a chuckle. He responded by summoning a small ball of ice into the palm of his hand. Pinching the ball between his fingers, he traced lazy circles across my midriff. I giggled and closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation. Our time together, it felt wonderful in ways I didn't know were even possible and there was so much more we could do. If I had my demon, if we both embraced our elements and came together like we had then... The thought alone snatched my breath away and fluttered my heart in my chest. The resulting pleasure ride would be a primal thing; beyond words and likely dangerous, but imagine the thrill, the ecstasy, our elements entwined like the two scorpions in Stefan's tattoo. But our time was coming to an end, and we both knew it. In a few hours, I'd be with Akil and there was no guarantee I'd ever see Stefan again.

He sat up on the edge of the bed and rolled his left shoulder, wincing a little. I knelt behind him and kissed around the stitches. He watched me over his shoulder. I took that as an invitation to continue and teased fluttery kisses across his shoulder. "You held back..." I said.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. "Of course. You're vulnerable without your demon. I didn't want to hur--" He flinched as I nipped at his shoulder, and then he twisted with a grin and pinned me down on the bed.

I'd known he was holding back. His control was faultless. He was right. Without my demon, I was essentially human and vulnerable. Had he lost control of his element, he could easily have hurt me, but I'd sensed more hesitation than that. Looking up at him now, nothing of that hesitance remained. There was a chance I'd imagined it...

He kissed me slowly, drawing out the moment. I rose up into that kiss. I didn't want to let him go and pulled him close, slipping my hands down the curve of his back. The things we could do together with more time-but he pulled away.

"They'll be asking for us soon," Stefan said. I pulled him back down into one last, lingering kiss and then let him go. His roaming gaze slid over my body. A magnetic pull attempted to drag us back together, but he resisted with a sigh and stood to retrieve the injector from the desk.

Returning to the bedside, he asked, "Ready?"

I sat up, nodded, and let him take my hand. A trickle of shivers surprised me, as though fear was trying to warn me. Stefan's words came back to me: If you've ever wondered what it would be like to be entirely human, you're feeling it now.

He noticed the goose bumps prickling my skin. "Sure?"

He might pine after normality, but I did not.

He jabbed the injector against my hand. A slight hiss and it was done. I closed my eyes. Within a few seconds, I felt my demon rush toward me, building inside me. Her weight, the elemental force, rolled over me, washing through me, wave after wave, pouring its strength--its energy--back into my flesh, my muscles and bones. I cried out, back arching, the power blazing white-hot beneath my skin. Only when the force of her return passed could Stefan close his arms around me. My fire inched outward, inspecting him, invisible tendrils threading around him, through him, curiously seeking his demon. I felt the cool touch of his ice element respond like the meeting of old friends.

He brushed my hair back and kissed the top of my head. "It's going to be okay."

I don't know who he was trying to convince, me or himself. Either way, I didn't reply.

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# Chapter 23

My high heels tapped out a beat as I walked beside Ryder down the hall toward Adam's office. He continued to grin at me, making no attempt to hide his smirk. I wore a short black dress. Knee-high boots clashed somewhat with the dainty little dress. I'd asked for a "sexy" dress and boots since I didn't have a single item of clothing to my name. It was all for Akil's benefit, of course, but the boots were my indulgence.

We stopped at Adam's office. Ryder knocked, his tongue poking into his cheek as he arched an eyebrow at me. His wandering gaze had gone beyond irritating and into humorous. As much as Ryder grated on me, I was beginning to appreciate his honesty in a world filled with lies. "Will I see Stefan before I leave?"

Ryder shrugged. "Not bored of him yet then?"

I smiled. "Careful. Too hot to handle."

He lifted his hand. "I remember."

We shared a chuckle just as Adam called from beyond the closed door. Ryder opened the door, gave me a loose farewell salute, and closed it behind me. Adam plucked his glasses from his face and stood behind his desk. He wasn't sneering, too proud for that, but he wasn't going to tolerate my presence any longer than necessary.

"Are you ready?" He stayed on his feet.

He had a commanding presence. Perhaps that's where Stefan got his innate confidence. Clearly, Adam was not a man to be trifled with.

"Why did you want to see me?" I avoided his question because I could.

"I wanted to thank you, for doing this."

A frown touched my face. "I'm not doing it for you or this place."

"Nevertheless, we have the same goals." He lifted his chin, raising his gaze to look down his nose at me. "My offer stands. We could use something--someone like you."

His choice of words dragged a smile across my lips. "Use being the operative word." I stepped closer. "I've known demons more human than you. I never want to see you or your people again."

"Good. Then I suggest you never mention any of this to Akil. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you... if you manage to survive him."

I snorted a laugh. This man was a waste of my time. I had bigger fish to fry. "Stefan was right when he said you don't want to make an enemy of me. If I can kill my demon owner, I can certainly kill you."

A smile cracked his otherwise impassive face. "Then we're on the same page." He sat down and picked up the file in front of him, replacing his glasses. "Good luck, Muse." I got the distinct impression he didn't mean it.

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# Chapter 24

It was snowing when I reached Akil's waterfront hotel. The sun, little more than a dull orb, hung low in the sky behind the skyscrapers of the financial district, its radiance smothered by a heavy blanket of gray clouds. I pulled my leather jacket tighter around me, flicked the collar up, and jogged up the steps into the Atlantic Hotel.

Walking into the opulent foyer, I felt a little like Julia Roberts, and not in a good way. My dress was too short and my boots too close to the knee. The bottle of red wine in my left hand finished off the rock-chick, don't-give-a-damn attitude. I'd buried my right hand in a jacket pocket. The injector was nestled safely in my closed fist.

Catching the empty elevator before the doors pinged shut, I turned and saw Nica running toward me. I jammed my foot in the door, and she slipped inside, barely meeting my querying glance until the doors closed.

She faced me, suddenly animated, hands skittish. "Don't talk. Just listen. Stefan is lying to you--"

"I know."

"No, you really don't." She gripped my arms, her face pale and eyes wide. "I don't have enough time to explain everything. He knows you're here. Listen. Stefan is working for Akil."

"I know," I said again. She needed to calm down and listen to me. None of this was headline news.

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, then stepped back and chewed on a nail. "You don't."

We were running out of time. The elevator chimed its floors, fast approaching the penthouse suite.

"Nica." I tried to give her a reassuring smile. "It's okay. He told me everything."

The sheer depth of her pained expression trickled a rivulet of fear down my spine.

"You're in danger, Muse." Her hand went to her throat. "We all are."

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened, revealing the vast penthouse entrance hall with its opulent fitments and gleaming white walls. We stood looking at each other, no words, just confusion and fear bouncing between us. Then I stepped off the elevator and turned to watch the doors close between us. The expression of terror on her face had unsettled me, to say the least. Already nervous and afraid, I really hadn't needed her panicked, last-minute pep talk. I shook myself, trying to chase away the renewed fear. Sucking in a deep breath, rolling my shoulders back, and keeping my head up, I strode forward into the lounge.

Akil stood by the windows, his back to me, but he saw my reflection in the glass like a ghost, hovering just out of reach. Fat snowflakes twirled in the air outside, bumping against the window. Occasionally, the wind would sweep them up and hurry them along, only for more to return. He wore a blood-red shirt complemented by charcoal trousers, and even after everything he'd done, my shallow heart did a little traitorous flip at the sight of him. The mahogany color of his hair, the bronze glow to his skin, it all seemed surreal after how I'd left him, face down on the ground, body riddled with bullet holes.

He looked over his shoulder at me. "You owe me an apology."

A spark of anger ignited inside me, quickly combining with fear to create a heady concoction of emotion that conspired to undermine my resolve. I couldn't mess this up. If I reacted in a way he found suspicious, it would all be over, but how exactly was I meant to react? The things he'd done. The things he had yet to do... Threatening to tear my demon out of me, literally peel my skin from my bones. How was I supposed to process all that?

"I'm not apologizing to you." I settled resolutely on anger and moved to the leather couch, where I dumped the bottle of wine on the glass coffee table with enough careless force to rattle the glass.

"Then why did you come here?"

"Where else could I go?" I threw my glare over the back of the couch at him. "You burned down my apartment."

He tilted his head to the side, assessing me, reading everything. The way I sat, my quickness of breath, the race of my heart, how I tucked my hair back behind my ear. I moistened my lips. He'd see it all, searching for any inconsistency. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I doubted it. His curious eyes drank me in, absorbing everything, making my skin crawl.

"I..." I faced forward, feeling the weight of his gaze burn into the back of my head. "I know I can't get away from you. So, I thought, why bother?" I needed to tone down the tight note of fear in my voice and hide the shake in my hands if this was going to work. "So...I'm ready."

He was suddenly behind me. I swallowed as his hands rested on my shoulders. His fingers squeezed, and for a moment, I wondered if he might try to strangle me as he had at the marina. What was I doing here? I couldn't do this.

His thumbs rubbed against my back in undulating circular motions, massaging the tightness from my muscles. I tilted my head back a little, finding his touch bizarrely comforting. "Before you take me home... I wanted to ask something," I whispered.

"Yes."

I jumped at his whisper against my ear.

"I wanted us to spend the night together. I mean, like this. We talk. We maybe... y'know. I brought wine." I was rambling, but that was okay, wasn't it? It was acceptable to be terrified of him. His hands vanished from my shoulders. I waited. He could break my neck without missing a heartbeat or stab me in the back and I would never see it coming. No, no he wouldn't. He wanted me alive. If I died, my demon died too. To get to her, he had to keep my human half safe.

He moved around the couch and placed two wine glasses down on the table. I held back my sigh of relief and sunk my trembling hands between my thighs.

"You left me there, Muse." His level tone made it impossible for me to gauge his mood.

I blinked, my nervous smile flickering across the surface of my tight expression. My skin flushed with a clammy heat. Panic skittered at the edges of my thoughts, desperate to break through.

He caught my hesitation, my confusion. "At the house by the lake." He poured the wine. The swirl of the alcohol against the clear glass distracted me.

I laced a hand through my hair, tucking it back, out of my eyes. "You did set the hounds on me."

He handed me a glass, and I eagerly gulped back a few generous mouthfuls. I spluttered a little, lifting a quivering hand to my lips. Akil sat neatly next to me, draping his left arm over the back of the couch toward me and swirling his wine in his right hand. He appeared to be amused by my obvious anxiety and my failed attempts at concealing it. I might even have said he was savoring the moment, deliberately dragging every hesitation out of me, hanging on every stuttered word as though he knew what I was planning. He couldn't know, but that didn't stop me from fearing he did.

"The Hellhounds make for unbiased sparring partners, don't you think?" When I didn't reply, he said, "It was for your own good." His hazel eyes never left me, testing me, probing me, delving into my soul.

"How exactly does sending the hounds after me do me good?" My anger flared a little brighter, finding fuel. Anger, I could use. Fear, I could not.

"I wanted to know how strong you are. Think of it as a series of trials. To see if you're worthy."

I pinched my lips closed and placed my glass back on the table, unable to look at him. Heat seeped from my skin. Anger smoldered inside me, emotions fueling the summoning of my element, just as Akil had taught me. Channel all of the hatred, all of the abuse, the fury and fear. Funnel every instance of pain into your center, and release it to your demon. He had told me that. Stop fighting it, he'd said. Let her in, and I could do anything.

"You saved me." I said, surprised by my own words and the tremble of my voice. Tears pooled in my eyes. "You saved me from Damien and every day thereafter. You kept me safe... all this time. Kept Val away from me..." When I faced him, the tears skipped unbidden down my cheeks. "I thought..." I gritted my teeth, forcing the painful truth out. "I thought you loved me."

"No, you didn't," he calmly replied.

"Fuck you, Akil. Of course I did. Maybe not in the beginning. But... what we had... the way you--" Dammit, the words wouldn't come. I shot to my feet and walked a few strides away from him, heels clicking on the marble tiles. "When we were--when we are together, I feel as though there is nothing else in this world. Nothing else matters, just you. You let me think that. All these years, you played me." He set his glass down and moved around the couch. I couldn't stand to look at him. Hand on my hip, I bowed my head, hiding my face behind my hair.

"You. Left. Me."

I recognized his anger and felt a quiver of terror ripple through my already tense muscles. I straightened. He came toward me, lips pulled tight in a grimace. I fought the urge to turn and run. Planting my feet firmly, I stood my ground, summoning a little more of my element.

"You left me, Muse," he hissed. "You walked away." He stood too close against me. His power reached out to embrace me.

"Don't pull that shit, Akil. So, I walked away? Big deal. It's not like you couldn't find me. This isn't about me leaving you; it's about you playing me from the first time you saw me." He lifted a hand to touch my face, but I batted it away. "You must have thought it was your lucky day. Here was some lesser demon with a half-blood as a pet. Beaten, abused, one wing missing. I bet that ticked all your boxes, didn't it?"

This time, he lifted a hand to strike me, but stopped short as our eyes met. He would see the fury broiling in my irises.

"Go on," I sneered. "Do it. You're no better than he was. You've been working me, biding your time, watching me squirm like a worm on a hook, ready for you to take the last bite. You make me sick."

He stepped back, his perfect face set in a frown. "I did all of that for you."

I laughed. The maniacal sound of it reverberated around the room. "Is that what you tell yourself? Did you kill Sam for me?"

Akil's lips twitched in a snarl. "Sam was nothing. An obstacle. A distraction. He didn't deserve you."

"He was a good man, and you murdered him in cold blood." I called the warmth of the room into me. The lights flickered. My demon purred her pleasure at the flood of heat shoring up my rage. "If I could kill you for that alone, I would."

His threatening snarl turned into a smile. He stepped closer, and this time, I did move back, but he didn't stop. He was on me, shoving me back against the windows hard enough to startle a cry out of me. His hand splayed aggressively across my cheek then dragged down my neck. I tried to turn my face away. Disgust turned my stomach over. He knew what I felt, saw it on my face, and with another snarl, he pinned both my wrists back against the glass. I didn't struggle. There was little point, but I did call more of the fire element out of the building, sucking the power of the city into my flesh, bolstering my rage and lust for revenge.

He chuckled into my ear. "I find it amusing that you think you can say these things to me and escape my wrath."

"Why?" I hissed. "Because it's the truth?"

"The truth..." He seemed to taste the words, let them play on his lips. "Do you even know what the truth is?"

He stood so close against me that the heat between us shimmered. We teetered on the edge of losing control. I couldn't, not yet. If I could get my arm free and pluck the injector from my pocket, it would all be over.

His lips brushed mine. I clamped my mouth shut, trying to pull away. I couldn't help the pull of hunger for him. My element sought his great well of energy. My demon wanted him, but I could damn well fight her. The human part of me held the reins, and neither she nor Akil were going to win.

He released my right arm. Now was the time. I could just...

He sunk his hand into the right pocket of my jacket. There was no hesitation. He knew what was in there, and sure enough, he lifted out the jet-injector. Horror doused my anger and spilled a cooling wash of doubt over the inferno within me. He knew. All along. He knew I'd come here to trap him.

His crooked smile and arched eyebrow confirmed it.

Turning the injector over in his hand, he admired the compact device for a few moments as though intrigued, then slammed it against the window beside my head, cracking the glass. When he lifted his hand away, the injector--what was left of it--fell away in pieces that tinkled against the marble floor.

He met my horrified stare, and I knew my time was up. He would kill me now.

"You think I don't know about the Institute?" he hissed through bared teeth. "That I didn't know what you came here to do?" He leaned in closer, pressing his entire body up against me. The intense heat rippled an aura of power around him. "You dress yourself like a whore and believe I can be fooled by such petty things?" He buried his face in my hair and took a deep breath. "I can smell him on you." He nuzzled my cheek. "Your half-blood savior."

Panic chased away all rational thought. I tried to push against him, but he barely moved. I moved to strike him with my free hand, but he slammed my wrist back against the cracked glass, holding me there like a sacrifice.

"Let me go," I growled, kicking out, but he jammed a knee between my legs. His body smothered mine. "Akil. Please." My voice trembled. "You didn't leave me any other choice. I can't go back home. I won't. I'd rather die."

"As you wish." He released my left arm and clamped a hand around my neck, constricting my throat. I wheezed in what air I could and clawed at his hand, but nothing even came close to stopping him. I thrashed, throwing my head from side to side, chest heaving. My demon rushed through my skin, flooding into muscle, but he responded in kind. Fire blazed in his eyes.

"Akil!" Nica yelled.

He turned his head and received a face full of mace. He roared, flinging himself away from me as he clawed at his face.

Slumped over on my hands and knees, I gulped in precious air, choking and coughing it back up again. Stars dashed my vision. Incoherent thoughts reeled around my head. Nica snatched my hand and dragged me to my feet, pulling me stumbling after her, down the hall before veering into Akil's study.

"Not here..." I wheezed. No exit.

Too late. As I stole a glance out the door, I saw Akil's silhouette bearing down on us. We were trapped.

Nica backed up against the wall of books. "Oh Jesus, he's going to kill us." She pressed herself back into the books as if hoping they could somehow swallow her up.

I crossed the room and snatched a very familiar katana from its brackets. The same sword he'd killed Sam with. He must have brought it back from Stefan's lakeside house. I plucked a lighter short sword from a bracket and tossed it at Nica. She caught it, but from the look of utter terror on her face, I could see I wasn't going to be getting any backup.

"Stay behind me." I stepped in front of her as Akil rounded the doorway. He stopped a few strides into the room, regarding us both as we readied for the inevitable attack. He blinked slowly before looking away. A muscle pulsed in his jaw. When he faced me, sizzling embers danced in his dark eyes. He could call his true form at any time. If he did, Nica and I would be toast.

"Don't do this." All I could manage was a croaking growl, but it was enough. "You don't need to do this."

"I'll admit, this is not what I wanted." He took a few languid steps toward us, drawing out the inevitable.

I heard Nica whimper from behind me and raised the sword in both hands, sending a surge of element through my arms and down the blade. Flames licked up the steel, twisting unnaturally around the sword as my element embraced it. The blade would cut human flesh, while my element would slice through ethereal flesh.

"There's still hope for you, Muse." He reached the desk and danced his fingertips across its surface, leaving sizzling singe marks in the wood. "Give me that bitch, and I'll let you live."

"You're a liar."

"I'm the liar?" He slid his powerful stare over my shoulder to Nica. "She thought she could come into my home, my business, and my life and lie to me." His human image shimmered before settling again as anger undermined his control. "The insolence of the Institute astounds me."

I flexed my grip on the sword, never taking my eyes off him. "Blame them, not her."

"Oh, I do." He grinned.

My thoughts fragmented, vision blurring at the same time as Akil's human form rippled. I flung every drop of power inside of me into play and summoned my demon. She came eagerly, enveloping me in a burst of heat. My lone wing burst from my back. Its leathery flesh flapped in the air.

Akil laughed as I spread my stance. His molten eyes drilled into mine. Lips parting, he said softly, "There you are."

A snarl rippled across my lips. My blackened talons clenched around the flaming sword. "You think you know me." My wing flexed. "You don't."

A cool trickle of air teased into the room, like the promise of frost on a winter morning, and then Stefan sauntered into the room without breaking stride. He'd retrieved his leather coat and looked exactly as he had the night he'd entered my workshop and turned my world upside down.

"Akil," he said with an obscene tone of authority that both bemused and startled me. "This isn't part of the deal."

Akil slung a glare over his shoulder at Stefan, not at all concerned about his arrival. In fact, Stefan stopped next to Akil and stood beside him with as much confidence as I'd ever seen him wield.

I straightened, feeling a deep scowl cut into my features. A horrific idea planted itself firmly in my thoughts, Nica's words coming back to me. Stefan's working for Akil.

I pinned my stare on Stefan, hoping to see something like regret or sadness on his face. I searched those winter-sky eyes for any sign he was playing both sides: a wink, a twitch, anything. Any. Damn. Thing. But there was nothing for me in those eyes. He glared back at me, as cold and hard as glacial ice. Dread twisted a knot in my gut, turning my stomach over and tugging my strength out from under me. "Stefan...?"

Akil fought back a smile. "I admire your work, half-blood." He acknowledged Stefan with an appreciative nod. "And I upheld my end of the bargain. Nica is safe. In fact, the sooner you get her out of my sight, the better. Muse and I have much to discuss."

Nica gave me a wide berth and skirted the room, moving around to stand behind her brother. At least she had the decency to look sorry. She had tried to warn me.

I must have been quite a sight: a one-winged half-demon-half-human with her emotions raw on her face for all to see. I couldn't find my voice, let alone consider how I was going to get away. Stefan was working for Akil. Not in a "let's pretend I'm an assassin" way, but more of a "lying the entire time" kind of way.

"How long?" I rasped.

Stefan blinked, but otherwise stood motionless. "Since the explosion at your workshop."

Oh god. I staggered, my element briefly stuttering like a dying flame, its fuel burning out. "You set the explosion," I whispered. I even glanced at him to see if he'd deny it. Nothing. His skin held a delicate shimmer, like a touch of frost on the ground in the morning. I'd once thought him glorious. I'd seen him fight off Hellhounds for me. Watched Akil stab him...

"Akil never misses." I muttered. I should have known. Akil had plunged the very sword I was holding right through Sam's chest. He wouldn't have missed. It had all been an act. I lifted my head, and a growl bubbled up from my depths at the two of them, dark and light, standing together in their victory over me. I lifted my hand, dragging with it the latent heat energy in the room to gather together in a tight ball of white-hot heat in the palm of my hand. It pulsated, cracked, and fizzled. I flung the sphere at Stefan, but he easily sidestepped its arc, and it sailed past and splashed against the wall.

Nica backed up. "Muse--no!"

I breathed in energy, summoning every degree of heat from the building. It swept in from all sides, mostly from below, funneling through my legs and spooling at my heart.

Ice sparkled all over Stefan as though he were powdered with diamond dust. He ordered Nica to leave and moved away from Akil. He held out a hand, briefly halting the proceedings, and checked Akil's mildly amused expression, asking for permission. As though Akil owned me. It was the last straw. I sprang for Stefan, bursting forward, intent on plunging the sword right through him, but he batted the katana aside. I barreled on, slamming into him, driving him back against the wall beside the fireplace. Fire flowed from me, spilling over him. Its licking tendrils spat and hissed against his coating of ice. He snarled down at me, and with both hands, he shoved me back.

"You wanna test me?" I lifted a hand, talons glinting like daggers, and called upon the veil. "Because that's what this is. A trial, right? You've been testing me, preparing me for Akil." I laughed, and my demon laughed. Our voices mingled.

"Wait." He shoved away from the wall, ice-wings cracking and snapping behind him.

The veil was there. I could see it, like a layer of flesh pulsating between worlds. I could slice it open and reach beyond, thrusting a world's worth of energy into my demon.

"I..." He bowed his head, as though he might finally have an explanation for me, but it was a ruse. He summoned a shard of ice and launched it at my face. I jerked an arm up, gasping as the dagger of ice plunged into my arm before boiling into nothing but steam.

Stefan plowed into me, slamming me down against Akil's desk. He drove his arm under my chin, forcing my head back. Ice cracked against spluttering fire. Steam and sparks hissed in the air. Ice cracked off his demon visage, quickly replaced by more as his demon repaired its shield in seconds. He snarled down at me, driving his arm harder against my throat.

"That's enough." Akil's voice boomed.

Stefan didn't ease off. If anything, he leaned closer over me. Glacial-blue eyes were all I could see. "Trust me," he whispered and then the weight of him was gone.

I lay on my back, wing crushed beneath me, staring up at the ceiling. Trust him? No. I was done with trusting anyone. The bastard had lied to me over and over. He'd stolen my life from me, given me hope, and then torn it out from under me. He may even have captured my heart in ice, and he'd done it all with a crooked smile and a glint of mischief in his eye. Damien, Akil, Stefan, the Institute--they could all go to hell.

Akil tugged me upright. His fiery gaze unashamedly devoured my demon. I hissed at him and shoved him back. He stumbled, narrowing his eyes, control wearing thin.

"You can't have her!" I screamed.

Stefan stood off to my left, multifaceted wings relaxed. Water dripped from their icicle tips. He moved around the room, flanking me. I growled at them both, snapping my teeth together, and lunged for Akil. He'd seen me tense and dodged aside in time to avoid me. I twisted around in time to realize what I'd done.

Akil's human guise peeled away, and the Prince of Hell stepped forth. Fire danced in the air as his muscular bulk filled the space between the floor and ceiling. Wings of embers and ashes butted up against the ceiling, fire tracing through the veins like fireworks igniting the night sky.

Stefan's cold grip shoved me toward the door. "Go!"

I sneered at him, but I knew when it was time to leave. I made it as far as the lounge before Mammon parted reality in front of me, stepping through the ragged tear in the fabric of this realm. He reared up, wings spread behind him, black lips pulled back over rows of curved fangs. Stefan skidded to a halt beside me. He must have seen something in Mammon that I didn't, because he dropped to a knee and threw a shield of ice up around us like a brittle umbrella. I ducked behind the shield as a blast of pure energy slammed into it. The wave of heat flowed over us, but Stefan's shield cocooned us from the blistering tsunami.

Stefan leaned into the shield, holding it firm against the onslaught. He shuddered, teeth clenched, eyes closed as he poured all of his element into our defenses. Steam billowed around us, water droplets instantly vaporized by the barrage of heat.

He was losing. He hunched lower with an anguished cry. It was no good. He couldn't draw enough of his element from the world around us. The city was heat. It was my world.

"Mammon, stop!" I yelled.

The blast of heat ceased. I peeked over the top of the rapidly melting shield and saw Mammon eyeing me with a blank look on his demonic face. He snorted, lips rippling, wings ruffling behind him, dusting the floor with ashes.

I stepped out from behind the shield. "You were testing me, yes." With each step, I recalled the heat in the room, catching sight of Stefan slumped against the wall beneath the windows, drenched and struggling to gather his element. "Testing to see if I'm worthy... You want to take me home." I deliberately let my demon speak through me, over me. "To extract me from this human vessel."

"Yes," Mammon grunted.

"Then take me." My gravelly voice echoed back on itself. "Open the veil and take me."

"Muse," Stefan panted, "no."

"Shut up." I glared at Stefan. "You don't get a say in this."

Mammon snarled. He wasn't a fool. He sensed I was playing with him. But what was I to him? Just a lesser demon, and half of one at that. What harm could I possibly cause a Prince of Hell?

He shifted, slick muscles rippling, and then tossed a glance to my left where a tear opened in the veil. The thin skin separating the worlds peeled apart like flesh beneath a surgeon's knife. The edges frayed, and angry remnants of energy snapped about the mouth of the wound. I didn't hesitate. Reaching beyond the veil, I called the heat of the netherworld to me, channeling the unending reservoir of power. A huge swell of energy tore through the veil and into me, lifting me off my feet. I flung a hand out and directed the force of it at Mammon, but all he did was laugh.

He lifted a hand, capturing the flow of energy in his palm, and tossed it back at me as easily as throwing a soccer ball. I heard the sound of glass shattering and had an odd moment to recall how Akil had cracked the window earlier, and then I felt the cool embrace of the night air wrap itself around me. I saw the dark above, and snowflakes danced in the air around my reaching hands, but they fled, rushing away from me.

The bitter wind tore at my blackened flesh, whipping my hair around my face. I was falling. Instinctively, I flung my wing out, but all it did was twist me in the air, tumbling me over and over. I tried to claw at anything, desperate to find purchase, but there was nothing except the relentless assault of the wind and the harsh patter of snowflakes against my face.

Snowflakes.

They played around me, swirling around my flame-wrapped limbs like sprites with minds of their own. I felt them kiss my flesh, instantly dying when they met my heat. I wondered if Stefan had sent them, right before I plunged into an arctic darkness.

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# Chapter 25

I lay sprawled on my back, unable to see. I was no longer plummeting to the ground, but suspended motionless in a bitterly cold embrace. I opened my mouth and tried to snatch a breath of air, but water spilled over my lips and gurgled down my throat. I couldn't breathe in to cough the water back up. Clamping my mouth shut, I tried to fight against the weight of darkness. Something shifted. Water pooled around my sizzling flesh. I could lift an arm through the suffocating soup, but without knowing which way was up--or out--I had no idea how to escape.

A cold hand closed around mine and yanked me free, almost dislocating my shoulder. I slumped to my knees in the thick blanket of snow. My demon had all but vanished, the sudden cold chasing her away. I was myself again as I blinked up at Stefan. Snowflakes swirled around him. The cold wind tugged at his coat. I shivered at the sight of his boreal eyes. He shimmered beneath the streetlights, his skin liquid ice. The element seeped from his mortal flesh, enveloping him in pure energy. He'd called from the veil.

He held out a hand. It was only when I took it and let him pull me to my feet that I realized the entire stretch of Atlantic Avenue had been buried in at least three feet of snow. Winter had descended abruptly on Boston. Inexplicably, a snowdrift had gathered at the front of The Atlantic Hotel, exactly where I'd plummeted from the penthouse apartment above. I heard shouts of alarm around us. People wandered from their businesses and stranded cars.

"Holy hell," I wheezed.

Nica emerged from the side of the hotel, arms wrapped around herself, shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering. She slogged through the thick snow to get to us, her court shoes disappearing in her tracks.

"C'mon, we need to get off the main street," Stefan urged, glancing up through the swirling snow at the hotel. "He'll be on us in seconds."

I took Nica's hand, pooling warmth into my hand in an effort to keep her warm. We trudged through the snow, but its cloying weight slowed us down. I summoned what warmth I could find from the nearby buildings and focused it ahead of us so that the snow began to melt, shrinking back to create a path.

"We need to get to the Institute," Stefan said from behind us.

I glanced back. He'd shaken off his demon and returned to his normal self. Gun in hand, he covered our retreat, waiting for Mammon to emerge and give chase.

"No," I replied, pulling Nica barefooted behind me. "It ends now." Even I was a little frightened at the growl in my voice. I was not in a good place mentally, but I refused to stop and think about why. Now was not the time to go over the deceit Stefan had wrought upon me. "Whatever happens, it ends now. I'm not running anymore."

We emerged along Harbor Walk, a footway that follows the waterfront around the many wharfs and marinas along Boston harbor. The ink-black water of the harbor ahead of us reflected the sparkling lights from the buildings on the opposite side of the bay. Snow continued to dust the ground, but the farther away from the hotel we were, the less snow hindered our escape, until all that remained were lazy flakes fluttering like ghostly butterflies in the night air.

A pier stretched out across the water with smaller boats bobbing gently at its edges. I rounded on Stefan, forcing him to pull up short. "How could you?"

"Muse." He didn't even look sorry.

This wasn't the time to fight, I knew that, but I wasn't having him walk beside me any longer. I needed to know why he would lie to me before Mammon incinerated us all.

A scowl darkened his eyes. "Not now." He glanced behind him. "We need another plan."

If it weren't for the threat of Mammon, I'd have blasted Stefan with every molecule of fire I had at my disposal. "There is no other plan. He knew about the injector--"

I saw him flinch, guilt slicing through his attempt at indifference.

"You told him?" He didn't deny it; he could barely hold my gaze. "You told him!"

Nica stepped in front of me as I tensed to lunge at him. I'd have torn into him had she not stopped me. "Muse," she stuttered. "You can't blame Stefan."

"The hell I can't. I trusted him." I laughed and staggered back onto the pier. "It took me a while. I should have listened to my instincts at the beginning; they never lie. I should have known better... You son of a bitch."

Nica stood in front of her brother, then stepped back, relaxing against him as he slipped his left arm around her, pulling her close. I watched, the anger simmering beneath my skin, as he kissed her lightly on the head and whispered something into her hair. I read the apology on her lips even as the breeze stole the softly spoken words. They were close. That much was clear. He'd been protecting her, but in doing so, he'd put me repeatedly in the line of fire and then screwed me for good measure.

"Hey," I snapped. "Hate to break up the family reunion, but we have a Prince of Hell bearing down on us and not a clue how we're going to get away from him."

Nica swept a rogue tear off her cheek and nodded. "Just don't be so quick to blame, Stefan. Please..."

I avoided Stefan's glance and focused on Nica instead. I'd forgotten how vulnerable she was in all of this. A half-demon for a brother, the two of us throwing elemental energy around, revealing our demon selves as though it was perfectly normal. She must have been terrified; she was the bravest of us all.

"Stefan, can you and I..." I shoved my rage aside, bottling it and screwing the lid on tightly to be opened once this was over. "Together, can we overpower him?"

"It's possible. At least, I can draw from the veil, but I saw what he did when you summoned your element from the netherworld. Your attack slid right off him. You can't fight him, Muse. You wield the same power. All you were doing was feeding him energy."

Crap. I bit into my lip. There had to be a way. I racked my mind for anything resembling a solution, but didn't know enough about battling demons. I'd spent my life cowering at their cloven hooves, not standing up to them.

"Why did you tell him about the injector?" I know, not the right time, but I needed to hear it from him. "It could have worked."

Stefan moved around Nica, but as he approached me, I stepped back, holding a hand out. "Don't," I warned. I couldn't stand to be near him. It only made the gaping mental wound he'd inflicted hurt all the more. That, and the fact I wanted him to hold me. I needed to feel his arms around me. It had only been a few hours since we'd lain together. I'd been stupid enough to think that meant something. It had meant something to me.

"I didn't have a choice." Stefan stopped his advance, albeit with reluctance. "He had Nica. I had to tell him everything. If he suspected I was lying, he'd have killed her."

"But you're so good at lying." Anger spat the words through my clenched teeth.

He grimaced, glancing away before glaring back at me, jaw clenched, fists clenched at his side. "I did everything I could to protect you."

"Sure, while buttering me up for Akil. All that bullshit about teaching me to summon from beyond the veil. It was all for Akil. You were leading me right into the lion's den."

"I didn't have a choice." The wind tugged his raised voice away, carrying it across the dark water. "Nica should never have been sent in to work for Akil. He knew who she was the second he saw her, so he used his advantage to call me in. I was supposed to watch over you, nudge you in the right directions, see how powerful you were--how much you knew. I did all that, you're right, but I also kept you safe. Akil's trials would have killed you."

They might as well have, I thought. "Why didn't you tell me?" I couldn't keep the bitter sadness from my voice.

"I told you as much as I could without putting Nica in danger. I did what I had to. I'm sorry. Please, Muse. I couldn't let him hurt Nica. She had no one. The Institute--our father--wouldn't even acknowledge he'd sent her in there. I was all the hope she had."

He chanced a step closer, but I backed up. "Don't come near me."

He glowered back at me, eyes narrowing, but I could see how my words wounded him. The pain was apparent in his eyes. He had no idea what he'd done to me. I'd trusted him. More than that, I loved him. God help me, I loved him. He'd let me believe in him, and it had all been lies. Lie after lie after lie. Pile that on top of Akil's twisted betrayal and Damien's before him, and frankly, I was surprised I hadn't just thrown in the towel and merrily stepped through the veil myself. Stefan had been my last hope that everything would be all right. In his arms, I'd been safe. Now that too had gone.

I masked my sorrow with anger, sneering at him as he tried to make me understand. "Don't come near me. If we get out of this, I don't ever want to see you again."

"Muse," he breathed, face crumbling in pain.

"Never."

The clap of hands behind me pierced the night. The wind played with the sound, tossing it in the air.

"Bravo." Akil's deep voice purred, the single word spoken with a syrupy slowness. I turned, pooling heat into my hands as I fixed him in my sights. Back in human form, his appearance shimmered with a heat haze. An abundance of power rolled off him. We had little to no hope of beating him.

"He does love you, Muse." Akil frowned playfully. "I knew that much when I saw you together at the lake house. Two half-bloods of opposing elements; you realize it'll never work? Aside from the fact I'm taking you home. So, no need to fret. You won't be seeing him again." His lips twitched. "Ever."

I wasn't going back there without a fight. I summoned my demon, plunging her strength into my limbs. Energy strummed through me, weaving up and down my spine and rising to the tip of my wing. I planted both feet firmly, casting my arms out and stretching my wing back. Let him see me, all of me. Let him witness the furious broiling energy thrashing inside of me. If he wanted me, he could have all of me.

I called every fragment of heat from the city behind me, finding less there than I had earlier. My attempt stuttered. The cold of the snow still piled high on the street subdued the available heat. I hesitated only briefly before reaching farther, but the cold water of the bay offered little, and the reaching tendrils of power recoiled, snapping angrily in the air, their lust for power unsatisfied. Driven by rage, I sought the heat beyond the bay, but the farther I stretched, the weaker my efforts became.

Akil frowned. "I expected so much more. Stefan was very thorough in his reports of your newfound prowess."

The madness of rage spilled over me. A white-hot torrent of heat ripped across my skin, enveloping me in light. As Stefan had so eloquently said, I was about to go nuclear, and I had the source of energy I needed standing right in front of me. Akil seemed curious as my ethereal tendrils reached toward him. I wrapped the touch of them around his ankle and slid it sensually up his leg. He watched my element snap in the air around him with a look of admiration on his face. He lifted his hands as I teased more writhing ropes of power around his waist. I sensed the energy coiled inside of him: a vast abundance of fire ripe for the picking. He had torn my element from me at the marina right before he'd mistakenly or deliberately tried to kill me. Now it was my turn.

I twisted the vines of power around his wrists and then caught his hesitant glance. I had him. I didn't need to hide the fact from my face. I let him see my features twist with rage and grinned, revealing my own glistening, sharp teeth. He tugged at his right arm, but I pulled the restraining tendrils tighter. He snarled at me and arched his back, summoning his true form. Fire raced up my reaching, whip-like tendrils and dove into my chest, where it spun around itself, searching for an exit. My demon laughed, greedily swallowing up the power, letting it swell inside us.

Mammon staggered, his ragged wings shuddering. Embers fluttered in the air with the snowflakes. He stamped back, tossed his arms out, shook his horned head, but couldn't break free. He summoned his element, and I called it from him, drawing it out of him and sucking it into me. Our elements combined, flooding over me like a tidal wave. My eyelids fluttered closed, and undulating flames licked over my body. I didn't need to see him to know where he was. I was inside him, pulling at his mental barriers, clawing at his source, eager for more.

Bathed in a heat so intense it ignited the very air around me, I rose up inside the firestorm. The power gathered up my physical body, set off a blistering fusion reaction, and sucked every last drop of power from Mammon's ethereal body. We collapsed in unison. Through the flames, I saw Akil's demon fade away, leaving his unconscious human vessel on the pier. He wasn't dead, just exhausted in the truest sense of the word.

I, on the other hand, was about to experience exactly what it meant to summon a godlike amount of energy and not unleash it upon the world. The pain began immediately, but at first, it was barely noticeable. Just a few twitches like splinters of glass dashing my skin. Nothing I couldn't handle.

"Muse..." I made out Stefan's distinctive coat. He dropped to his knees in front of me, but he couldn't breach the wall of flame.

A snap of pain lashed up my back, wrenching a cry from my lips. "Just kill him..." I hissed.

He didn't move. It didn't matter what we did to Akil's human vessel, it wouldn't destroy the essence of him. Immortal, remember? Not the kind of immortal that isn't really immortal either. Princes of Hell don't die.

Tears sizzled in my eyes. "Stefan..." Terror clamped my chest.

He couldn't reach me. Pain tore my back. Energy lashed furiously at my insolence. A scream squeezed through my clenched teeth. I flung my desperate stare at Stefan. "Please, make this worth it. Do something. Make sure he can't come back." Energy cracked across my spine, slamming me against the ground. Fire spilled across the pier like a creeping river of lava. It was going to consume me. I couldn't contain this much power. Not even a full-demon could contain this much energy. My only other option was to release it. But if I did that, half of Boston would be destroyed. I lifted my head and saw Stefan beside Akil with something in his hand. Ice. I saw the water running down his arm... No, not water. Blood.

My element slashed through my flesh, lancing up my entire right side. I was beyond screaming. I'd retreated from my physical self, my human mind unable to cope with the pain. Power still tore into me, slashing great talons of energy through my body.

I felt rather than saw the veil open. My demon instinctively reached for home, seeking an escape, but she could no more escape than I could. Stefan had Akil's limp body draped over his shoulders. Blood flowed down his coat, dripping over his boots and onto the pier. I couldn't think clearly enough to understand what was happening. Nica was there, beside him, her face wet with tears.

Fire scorched every inch of my flesh. I could end this. The water. If I could get to the water... I could escape. It had nearly killed me before, but death seemed like the easy way out compared to the body-sundering assault my element was dealing me. I searched for Stefan, needing to see those cool winter eyes one last time. Amid the heat and flame, I caught sight of him. He saw me too, and a weighted sadness crossed his face. I reached out, extending flames toward him, and then he turned away and carried Akil through the veil. The tear in reality stitched itself back up behind him, and he was gone.

Gone.

I couldn't do this. I needed him. Someone. Anyone. I couldn't do this alone. My demon snarled at me, snapping inside my skull. She wanted to release the power. Let it all go, she hissed. The delicious release of chaos. Taste it. Let it go. Burn the city, burn the people, burn, burn, burn.

I clawed at the pier, nails fracturing, and dragged my blazing body to the pier's edge. Better to smother the flames, to drown in the darkness, than release the desires of the demon. I was half-human, and she was mine to command. She would not win, could not beat me. I would always be human first. My life here--my love--it was mine, and she would not take that from me.

I slipped off the edge of the pier and into the water.

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# Chapter 26

I don't remember Nica pulling me out, nor do I recall Adam scooping my cold, limp body off the pier before bundling me into the back of a car. They later told me I was unconscious and non-responsive for a week. Had it not been for the sweltering heat I radiated, they'd have given me up as a lost cause.

At least I have no memory of the pain. My human mind had locked it all away in a box marked Do Not Touch-Ever. My demon would remember it, but I didn't have to deal with that because the Institute had their claws in me, and my demon half had been sent packing.

I had a new prison cell, furnished with steel bars.

Adam visited me daily. A man of few words, he'd sit outside my cell and scribble a few notes. It was just as well they'd taken my demon from me, because I'd have spontaneously combusted him on sight had I had the power to do it.

I refused to speak to them. It was all the power I had left, so I stubbornly used it, hoping they'd forget about me--maybe even let me go if I played dumb long enough. No such luck. Adam hadn't spoken Stefan's name in weeks. He'd asked me a few rudimentary questions, which I'd refused to answer, but for some reason, that day, he decided to broach the subject.

"Do you know what happened to Stefan?" he asked in a monotone way, like a doctor might ask how you are on this fine sunny day.

I kept my head bowed, letting my tangled hair hide my expression. I knew what I'd seen, but I didn't know what it meant. When I finally did speak, my voice rasped across my cracked lips. "He took Akil back to hell..."

Adam let the quiet return before speaking. "He offered himself to the veil as a human sacrifice. He took Akil to the netherworld, making sure the Prince of Greed could never return."

I remembered the blood I'd seen dripping down Stefan's coat, but I hadn't known what it meant. I did now. He wasn't coming back. A one-way trip. He had said as much when discussing the idea of a sacrifice in the library with Ryder. I cared, I did, but numbness had descended over me. I knew it was a coping mechanism. The only way I could function was to not feel anything, but it was a tenuous solution, liable to fracture at any moment. I looked at Adam and wondered if he'd gained a few more worry lines since I'd walked out of here in a little black dress all those weeks ago. "He'll come back," I said.

Adam tilted his head to the side. "No. He's a half-blood in the netherworld without an owner to protect him. How long do you think he'll last?"

I clenched my teeth. Did this man not feel anything at all for his son? "He'll come back."

Adam stood with a weary, drawn-out sigh. "He's likely already dead."

I lunged at the bars, hissing. "He was right to despise you."

"Perhaps." Adam folded his notebook and tucked the pen into his shirt pocket before peering back at me, his soft brown eyes deceptively beguiling. "Of course, we could train you. If you worked for us, we could provide the knowledge you need to retrieve him."

"Sure, let me out of here, give me my demon back, and I'll help you." I don't think he appreciated my sarcasm.

He dragged a hand across his bristly chin then scratched at his cheek. "You'll come around."

I watched him walk away. The heavy steel door opened. A guard acknowledged him before pulling the door closed and twisting the lock.

Alone, I clenched the bars in my warm hands and tilted my head back, closing my eyes. Stefan was locked beyond the veil in a world that despised him, where every rippling shadow might kill him. I'd been there. I'd lived much of my life in the netherworld, most of it on my knees in chains. Stefan was alone, and he'd trapped a Prince of Hell with him. I couldn't begin to imagine how he'd survive, but he would. I had to believe he would. He'd survive until I could get to him.

I paced my tiny cell, hands laced in my hair.

Stefan had lied to me. He'd dashed my hopes. I hated him and what he'd done to me. He'd tossed my misplaced love back in my face, but I couldn't leave him there. He didn't deserve that. Nobody deserved that. If the Institute wanted to waste their time and money training me, that was their mistake. As soon as I got my demon back, I would cross the veil. Val was there, waiting for me. So was Akil. It was madness to even consider it, but what else did I have? Anything that had ever mattered to me was gone.

I stopped pacing and stood in the center of my cell, hands clenched at my sides. I'd work for the Institute. I'd play their game. I'd lie to them, let them believe me an ally, and when they trusted me, when they thought me one of them, I'd be back with Stefan to tear this place down around them.

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# Epilogue

The light had long ago given up the ghost, but I didn't mind the dark. It suited my mood. The bleached-white light from the workshop spilled into the small office through the dusty window, pooling enough of a wan glow across the desk that I could see the scuffs on my boots.

I heard the workshop door rumble open and glanced through the cobwebs covering the workshop's little window. The white sheet covering the half-finished Dodge Charger billowed like a skirt as the uninvited breeze slipped beneath it, then settled gently as the door closed.

I counted a few beats before Ryder poked his head around the office door. He wouldn't have wasted any time searching elsewhere for me. There was only one place I went when I needed to think.

"You're up. Demon, Class C, downtown."

I rocked my chair back, feet still resting on the desk. A Class C was a minor demon sighting, little more than a box ticking exercise. It was all I was permitted to do as a trainee Enforcer.

Ryder didn't hide his frown. He sucked in a breath and entered the gloomy office, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his grease-stained jeans. I could smell gun oil and knew he'd been working on his collection of Institute guns. He was the go-to guy for the Enforcer weaponry, and despite his disheveled appearance, he was a damn good weapons expert.

He scratched at an eyebrow and glanced back out the door, clearly uncomfortable with my silence. "Muse, you gotta talk to someone." He smiled, but it looked sheepish on his face, as though he were embarrassed to even mention his next words. "It's been months. You've not said a word about him; not mentioned him at all. It ain't healthy."

It was sweet that he cared enough to raise the subject. Talking about feelings wasn't one of Ryder's strong points. "What do you know about healthy?" I smiled. "I've never known a guy who could survive on coffee and Doritos before."

He lifted his hands, guilty as charged. "All right. I'm not the guy to talk to, but you gotta talk to someone. This silence, it ain't doin' you any favors."

He was talking about the Institute and their incessant reporting. Ryder was my handler. My tutor. My babysitter. Everything I did, every move I made, every screw up, he reported it to the Institute. It wasn't his fault. He had a job to do. At least he didn't lie about it. Who could I talk to? Nica hadn't said three words to me since that night on the pier, blaming me for her brother's sacrifice. I might not have felt so alone if they'd given me my demon back, but she was off limits. All I had was Ryder.

"I want my demon back." I plucked at a loose thread on my jacket. "I don't care about anything else."

"Not even Stefan?"

I flicked my gaze up without lifting my head, peering at him through my lashes. "Stefan's dead."

Neither of us believed it, but it was the right thing to say. The Institute needed to believe I'd given up hope, so that's what I told them. Ryder knew it was a lie, but he played the same game I did. Only when Adam and the Institute thought I was entirely theirs, would I get my demon back. Only then could I go beyond the veil and go after Stefan.

It had been months since Stefan had offered himself to the veil, locking both himself and Akil on the other side, and it would be longer still before the Institute trusted me. But if any half-blood could survive on his own in the demon realm, I had to believe it would be Stefan.

A quirky smile chased away the concern on Ryder's face. "C'mon, lil' firecracker. I'll race you there. Last on the scene buys the beers."

I made a show of examining my nails, then flashed him a grin. Ryder bolted from the doorway with me in hot pursuit.

He always wins.

* * *

Buy "Devil May Care" the next book in the acclaimed Veil Series here.

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# About the Author

Born in Tonbridge, Kent in 1979, Pippa's family moved to the South West of England where she grew up among the dramatic moorland and sweeping coastlands of Devon & Cornwall. With a family history brimming with intrigue, complete with Gypsy angst on one side and Jewish survivors on another, she has the ability to draw from a patchwork of ancestry and use it as the inspiration for her writing. Happily married and the mother of two little girls, she resides on the Devon & Cornwall border.

Contact Pippa here:

www.pippadacosta.com

pippa@pippadacosta.com

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# Justice Calling

by Annie Bellet

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# Chapter 1

Life-changing moments are sneaky little bastards. Often we don't even know that nothing will ever be the same until long after, and only in hindsight can we look and say, "There! That was it! That changed everything."

Well, at least we could, if we're alive to do it.

For me, it was just another Thursday evening on a blustery spring day. I was finishing up a Japanese-to-English translation job and only somewhat pretending to mind the register in my comic and game shop. That's the benefit of being the owner, I suppose. No one was going to tell me to be cheerful and pay attention to customers.

There weren't any, anyway. Thursday nights are game night and we close early. I hadn't flipped the sign yet as I was waiting on Harper, my best friend of the last four years, to stop swearing at her game of StarCraft.

"No amount of Banelings in the world are going to save you here," I said, glancing over at her screen.

"Marines are overpowered," she growled.

"Sure," I said, trying not to laugh. It was an old gripe. Whatever race her opponent played in the game was always OP, according to the logic of Harper. "Maybe you should play with a mouse instead of just your trackpad?"

"I'm practicing my hotkeying," she said. "Shut up, you're distracting me."

The string of bells on the door tinkled and I turned away from my laptop to face the front of the store, figuring it was either a college student or a harried mother looking for Pokemon or Magic the Gathering cards. Those types, beyond my regulars, are about all that trickle into my store on weekdays.

The man who came in was no college student, and he definitely wasn't a soccer mom. He walked through the door and paused, his head turning and his eyes wide from the change between daylight and the strategically placed lamps I keep in my shop. He took in the front display of the latest adventure releases and the wall rack of new-release comics, then stepped further in, head turning as though searching for something or someone.

His uncertainty gave me a moment to look him over. He looked roughly thirty years old and somewhat like a Hollywood version of a Norse God. About six foot six with shaggy white-blond hair, features that a romance novel would call chiseled, and more lean muscle than a CrossFit junkie. He was also packing a handgun, mostly hidden beneath his custom-fitted leather jacket.

So, you know, not your average comic book or tabletop gaming enthusiast.

There was also the part where my wards hummed for moment, a sound only I could hear. Which meant he wasn't human, either.

Not that this was weird for the town of Wylde, Idaho. Most of the non-college-student population isn't wholly human. We're the shape-shifter capital of the West. Harper herself is a fox shifter; two of the other three in my game group are a wolverine and a coyote. Guy who owns the pawnshop next to me is a bona fide leprechaun, and the woman who runs the bakery on the other side is some kind of witch or maybe a druid. The thick ley lines that run through the River of No Return Wilderness at the edge of town draw all kinds of supernaturals to the area.

It was what had drawn me here. I'd always heard the best place to hide a leaf is in a forest.

I was immediately on my guard. Wards aren't really my strong suit, so I didn't know what flavor of preternatural this giant was, but the gun didn't bode well. Nor did the way he looked at me like he recognized me, or the way he came over to the counter, moving with preternatural grace around the comic book displays. I gathered my power inside myself, preparing to send a bolt of pure energy into his chest if needed. I hadn't cast a real spell like that in years, but I figured I could get a single one off without knocking myself unconscious with the effort. Probably.

"Can I help you?" I asked, glad the counter was between us, even if the glass case full of dice and card boxes would be little more than a stutter step to clear for a shifter.

"Who are you?" he said. His voice was deep, with a slight accent. Russian maybe. His eyes were the blue of glacier ice and his expression about as welcoming.

"Jade Crow," I said, teeth grinding with the effort of speaking and keeping control of my magic. "Who are you?"

"Hi handsome," Harper said, climbing out of the overstuffed chair next to me that she'd been gaming in. She snapped her laptop shut and gave the newcomer a dazzling smile. She was angular and punky, with spiky brown hair and a way of making men forget what they were going to say when she smiled.

Then she stopped smiling and her eyes got huge, focusing in on the silver feather strung around his neck. "Oh, shit. Justice. Forgive me." And she bowed her head like she was addressing some kind of royalty.

"Justice? Like one of the shifter peacekeepers, right?" I said, my voice shaking a little with the effort of holding on to my powers for this long without letting loose. "The fuck is going on?" I glanced at Harper and then back at the intruder, keeping my eyes on the feather talisman. Yeah, it was better to look at his neck. Or his chin. His lips were way too kissable.

I shoved that thought away for later. Much, much later.

"I am Aleksei Kirov, a Justice of the Council of Nine. And you," he said, gesturing at me, "are a murderer."

"What?" Harper and I said at the same time. We shared a baffled glance. I hadn't killed anyone in my life, though not for lack of trying once. But still.

Behind the Justice, and invisible at the moment to anyone but myself, my spirit wolf guardian stirred, rising from where she'd been sleeping. Wolf didn't growl though, just cocked her head and stared at Aleksei, ready for trouble but clearly not expecting it quite yet.

"I haven't killed anyone. Ever." I let go of the magic inside me before I accidentally lost control and unleashed. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I ran my shaky hands over my hair, and tugged my waist-length ponytail over my shoulder.

Aleksei relaxed as a confused look came over his face. "You tell the truth," he said. "But I saw you in a vision. The Nine sent me here. There are shifters in danger and you were at the center, at the crossroads between their lives and their deaths."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. A small chill went through me. The only way I could see shifters dying because of me was if he had found me. My psycho ex-mentor and lover. I started to mentally pray to the powers of the universe that that hadn't happened or we were all in deep, deep shit.

"Nobody is in danger that we know of," Harper said. "Uh, Justice," she added, still trying to look respectful.

What I knew of the Council of Nine was practically legend, the shifter version of gods. They had Justices, powerful shifters appointed to keep the peace among shifter populations, and to keep the secret of shifter existence from most of the human world. They were judge, jury, and executioner all in one. Shifters didn't get up to much crime, but if they did, the sentence was almost always death. Pretty good deterrent, I suppose.

"Besides, I'm not a shifter," I pointed out. "So you have no power over me."

"Unless you pose a danger to shifters. What are you?" Aleksei asked, his ice-chip eyes narrowing. Subtlety was apparently not one of his charms.

"She's a hedge witch," Harper answered for me. I was glad, since this Justice guy seemed to have the ability to detect lies. Harper wasn't lying because as far as she knew, that's what I was. She was just wrong.

Even though she was my best friend, I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't tell anyone that I was a sorceress. Because they'd all try to kill me, or at least drive me away. Nobody likes sorcerers. Probably because most of us are assholes who kill and eat the hearts of supernatural beings for their power.

I was saved from having to verbally confirm or deny my witchiness by Ciaran. He pushed through my front door, all four foot nothing of him, his copper and silver hair neatly combed and his red coat clinging to his plump body. I looked at the clock on my computer monitor and muttered a curse. It was later than I'd thought.

"Harper," Ciaran said with a nod and barely a glance at Aleksei. "Jade," he addressed me in Irish, "I'd really like you to come have that look at my things before I die of old age."

"For a man who watched Saint Pat drive out the snakes, you're looking fine to me," I said, also in Irish.

That leprechaun neighbor of mine I mentioned? That's Ciaran. He'd picked up a load of things in an auction the day before, and as always with old things he liked to have me check for magical auras and any hidden surprises. I didn't use my talents much out of fear of broadcasting my location, but minor magic like detection was as easy as breathing for me, so I did the neighborly thing and helped out when he needed.

"So, uh." I looked at Aleksei. "Since I haven't killed anyone and am not planning to, maybe you can just go Justice somewhere else? I'm closing shop."

"I will stay here. We will talk after. My visions are never wrong."

From how rigid he was and how intently he stared at me, I wondered if maybe he had a sword up his ass or something. "Okay, buddy. Just tone down the creepy before I get back. And you'll wait outside my store. I don't do strangers." Whoops. That came out weird. "In my store. I mean, alone. I mean I can't leave you here alone. So wait outside." Great. Now I was babbling.

"Fine," he said and I swear to the Universe the bastard smirked at me.

* * *

CIARAN'S SHOP IS AN antiquer's paradise and a neat freak's nightmare. Also probably a nightmare if you have allergies. He kept it tidy, in its own cluttered way, but trying to keep dust off a few hundred old books, paintings, and curio cabinets full of knives, glassware, art plates, figurines, tools with unknown purpose, guns that last saw use during the Civil War, and other interesting items was a task even an immortal couldn't manage.

The shop had an almost smoky, magical feel that I loved. Above us, chandeliers of all kinds, from elk antlers to Waterford crystal, lit the place, casting shadows into the shadows until you felt as though you might come around a table piled with swords and find the wardrobe that leads to Narnia. The air wasn't musty; it was perfumed with orange and clove and some sort of citrus sent from whatever Ciaran used to wipe down the tables. The best part was that sometimes Ciaran really did have a magical item or two, though it was rare and he generally had me destroy them if we couldn't figure out what they did. Letting normals buy magical things was just asking for later trouble that nobody wanted.

"Hey," I whispered to Harper as we entered the shop, "what flavor is that Justice, anyway?"

"Flavor?" she whispered back. "Scary with a dollop of sexy?"

"No, like animal flavor," I said, whacking the back of her head with my palm.

"Oh. Tiger." She grinned and rubbed her head.

"Figures," I muttered. "Guess he wouldn't be, like, a rabbit or something." I'd bet a week of earnings he would be the biggest damn tiger ever. Shifter animals were usually larger than real-world ones anyway, but odds were that cocky bastard would be like the strongest, prettiest tiger ever to live. The universe was just like that.

"Most shifters are predators," Harper said, ducking in front of me. "Makes sense someone who has to hunt bad shifters and stuff would be a super predator, right?"

"You two done gossiping?" Ciaran called back to us. He was already halfway through the store.

Harper and I wound our way through the tables and cabinets toward the back office where Ciaran kept any interesting purchases for me to go over, just in case, before putting them out on the floor.

"Was at an auction in Seattle last month," Ciaran explained, using English for Harper's benefit. "Just got the goods shipped in today. Some old pieces; might be worth checking out before I put a price on them. Even found some of those silver buttons your mum likes so much, Azalea."

Harper wrinkled her nose at him. He knew she hated being called by her name and preferred her gamer handle. She was about to reply when she stopped cold in front of me, forcing me to do a little dance sideways to avoid running into her. My arm whacked a cabinet and it jingled and rocked but settled without breaking anything. Thank the universe. I figure if something ever fell in here, it would domino and the whole place would crash like a bad YouTube video.

"Where... how... no... I..." Harper couldn't get words out. She just pointed at a large stuffed fox that was perched on top of an oriental dresser.

"What about it, love? Are you all right?" Ciaran reached for Harper as she started to sink to the floor with horrible half-mewing, half-gulping cries.

I caught her first, wrapping my arms around her wiry body and finally seeing her face. Tears made her mascara run, and her shoulders shook in my arms.

"That's Rosie," she gasped. "That's my mom!"

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# Chapter 2

Through the power of Irish hospitality or maybe some magical leprechaun mojo, Ciaran had Harper bundled in a sweater and holding a cup of mint tea before she even realized she'd finally stopped sobbing. Which was good, because Aleksei, who insisted Harper now call him Alek instead of Justice, was grilling her and Ciaran like a cop pushing a suspect.

To be fair, I don't think he intended it to come out that way. I'd known him for maybe half an hour now and it seemed he only had one gear and it was stuck on one level: intense.

"I will go through my records, Jade, and see if I can get the ID of the man that sold this to me, all right?" Ciaran said. "It was a young man, on Tuesday, I remember that much."

"See it done." Alek turned his icy glare on Harper. His gaze seemed to soften, but it was hard to tell. "And why did no one notice her missing all this time? You said she's been gone since last weekend."

"Because she was out picking mushrooms," I said, stepping firmly between Alek and Harper. "Rose does that. She'll be gone in those woods a week or so. It's normal for her."

"How would a poacher get her?" Harper choked out. "She shouldn't have even been in fox form."

She was right about that. Rose, her mother, ran a bed and breakfast on a ranch that was grandfathered into the River of No Return Wilderness. She was an earthy, eccentric, and loving woman who took all sorts of shifter strays in. She liked to go camping in the wilderness every spring before the summer season brought in wildlife photographers, whitewater rafters, hikers, and all the other people the Wilderness Area attracted.

"I was sent here by the Council," Alek said and he shook his head, eyes narrowing speculatively at me. "That means foul play."

"Hey, I was manning my shop. Plus I wouldn't touch a gun even if it snuggled and made me waffles." I glared at him. "Oh, Universe damn you. Now you are interrogating me. This is not cool."

"My vision says you are the key," he said, folding impressively muscled arms over his broad chest.

"Maybe you need your psychic eyes checked," I shot back.

"Guys," Harper said, sniffling. "Please. We need to find out how Mom... oh God, I can't say it. Just. Help me."

I turned to her, taking the tea from her hands and setting it aside. She collapsed into my arms, shaking with renewed sobs. I couldn't resist another glare at Alek, making it clear this was definitely his fault.

"Hey! Jade? Ciaran?" a male voice called out from back within the shop.

Fuck. Game night.

"Ezee, Levi, we're back here," I yelled to them, then said to Alek as his hand reached for his gun, "Ease off there, Dirty Harry. They're furry friendlies."

"Is anyone human in this town?" he asked. He'd already sniffed at Ciaran and established he was safe, since he wasn't a normal.

"Steve," Harper said, swallowing another sob and wiping her nose on the now damp sleeve of Ciaran's sweater.

"Harper? You okay? What's going on?" The twins had made their way back to us.

Ezekiel and Levi Chapowits are Native American like myself, but Nez Perce, not Crow. They're fraternal, not identical twins, but they share a lot of the same features. Strong bone structure, above average height, thick black hair, dark eyes. Beyond that, and being giant nerds, they are nothing alike. Ezee is a coyote shifter and wears designer knockoff suits he sews himself. He teaches American History and Native Studies up at Juniper College.

Levi is a wolverine who wears nothing but cargo pants, work boots, and tee-shirts stained with the guts of the cars he works on in his shop. He wears his hair in a long Mohawk and has enough piercings in his face that I joke I could peel his skin and use it to strain pasta.

They both break the heart of every woman they meet, pretty much. Not just because they are handsome, smart, and awesome, but because Levi is happily married to a crazy hippie artist and owl shifter named Junebug and Ezee is as gay as Neil Patrick Harris.

"Someone killed Mom," Harper blurted out.

"Frakking-A," Ezee said. "That why there's a Justice here?"

Trust Ezee to have noticed the tall, hot guy and taken in the feather talisman in a glance.

"What?" Levi said. "Oh, hello." He tipped his head to Alek.

Alek nodded back, finally seeming at a loss for words in the face of the twins. I was certain he'd start interrogating them soon enough, however.

"Where's Rose? What happened?" Levi asked.

"Behind you," I said softly.

A lot more curse words came from the twins as they looked Rose's dead body over.

"I don't see a wound," Ezee said finally.

"We should get an autopsy. That's what they do on TV." Harper pulled the sweater tight around herself and stood up.

"Is your medical examiner shifter also?" Alek asked.

"No," Levi said. "He's with County. We aren't big enough to have our own." Levi also was a volunteer firefighter. That kind of multitasking happens when you live as long as shifters do and in a small town like Wylde.

I ran my hands over Rose's body, swallowing bile as nausea wormed through me. I was manhandling one of my favorite people in the world. My eyes felt too tight and hot in their sockets and I realized I was about to cry. Shit. I never cry. Not in a couple decades. Not anymore.

I don't know much about taxidermy, but I figured there would be seams, staples, something. I felt nothing but her fur, its longer russet hairs rough and the lighter undercoat thick and soft on my fingers. I looked into her creepily realistic glass eyes and wished I could ask her what the hell she'd been doing in fox form and how she'd gotten caught. It was possible whoever had done this had no idea he'd killed and stuffed a person.

Which didn't make my desire to hunt him down and stuff him any less rage-filled and immediate.

"Vivian Lake can do it," I said. "She's the local vet. Wolf shifter," I added, seeing the look on Alek's face. I took a deep breath as I stepped away from Rose.

Time to put on my Game Master face and get shit done.

"Levi, call Steve. Tell him no game tonight, family emergency. Ezee, you take Harper up to my place." I pulled out my keys and tossed them to him. Harper looked as though she'd protest for a moment but then leaned into Ezee with another sob.

"Thank you, Jade," she whispered. "I don't think I can, I mean..." she trailed off.

"I know. It's okay. We'll figure this out. You have a car?" I said, turning back to Alek.

Ciaran came down the back stairs from his own apartment with a blanket, holding it out. I gave him a half-smile of thanks, glad he'd foreseen that we would want something to carry her in.

Before I could, Alek took the blanket and wrapped Rose up with a gentle carefulness that surprised me. As presumptuous as he was, I was kind of glad I didn't have to touch her again. He looked at me, apparently waiting for me to lead the way out. Another surprise. Maybe he wasn't always a macho asshole. Or maybe he just wanted to keep me in front of him so he could keep an eye on me. I shoved away those thoughts.

"Okay, Justice, since I'm betting you'll want to be there, let's go see Dr. Lake."

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# Chapter 3

Alek didn't let me drive his truck. Guess the surprises had run out. It wasn't what Harper and I would joke was a "compensating for it" truck, but a good-sized Ford with scratches and dents and a little dirt around the edges that let you know this guy used his truck for things, not just for driving around. The interior smelled of wet grass, damp earth, and a vanilla-laced musk that I was pretty sure came from Alek himself.

My whole body, all my senses, was aware of the huge, handsome man only inches away from me. Not a thing that boded well. The last time I'd been this instantly attracted to someone, he'd tried to fatten me up with magic, Hansel and Gretel style, and then eat my heart. I inched my ass as close to the door as possible, putting a bit more gap between us on the bench seat.

The drive to Dr. Lake's should have taken about five minutes, but we hit the single stop light on Main and it was red. An old woman, someone I didn't recognize--which meant she was not a nerd and probably part of the human half of Wylde--inched her way across the crosswalk.

"Where are you staying?" I asked, more out of a need to fill the silence and not think about what was inside the hand-sewn quilt on my lap. There were two tiny motels in town, mostly catering to the college for visiting family, and the summer tourists.

"I have a house trailer," he said. "It's at the Mikhail and Sons RV Park, you know it?"

Of course I knew it. Mikhail and his two sons were bear shifters. Vasili, the younger son, had a thing for Magic the Gathering cards. His purchases paid my building rent every time a new expansion came out. They were good people. I could just imagine how they'd bent over backward to accommodate a Justice. I bet they hadn't charged him. I wasn't going to ask that aloud. I was more curious about this whole vision thing of his.

"So how's that Justice thing work? Do you just get visions and know where to show up? And why didn't you see Rose in danger?" I hadn't meant that last part to sound so accusatory, but fuck it. What's the point of a supernatural system of law if they can't help people before someone gets killed?

"Is like a compass," he said, turning his head to look at me. His eyes were no longer ice chips but deep pools, and there was something sad in his gaze. "I know where to go; I know that I will be needed. The visions are what the Nine know, what they share with me in my dreams. I only know what they know. Is not my power, but theirs."

I noticed his accent got stronger, and wondered if I'd upset him. It was hard to tell since his chiseled face gave away little.

"From what Harper has told me, the Nine are like gods. Can't they do a little better than vague visions?"

"They are not gods," Alek said. "And there is much in the world we cannot control." His tone and the sudden tightness in his jaw and shoulders warned me this was a dangerous subject.

"Hey, green light," I said, too brightly. The car behind us, clearly someone important and in a hurry, honked.

We rode the last couple minutes in silence. I wanted to ask him more about the vision of me, about me being somehow the crossroads between people living and dying. He seemed to think that meant I was killing people, but the most likely explanation was a lot scarier than that. If Samir, my ex, had found me, everyone I knew was in danger. Maybe his vision had nothing to do with whoever had killed Rose.

I took a deep breath and hugged the bundle, my eyes hot again with unshed tears.

"Left, into that parking lot," I said, pointing to Dr. Lake's practice. It was in a Victorian-style house--like a lot of us business owners in Wylde, Dr. Lake lived on the floor above her practice.

Alek came around and opened my door, taking Rose from me. I led the way into the office. Christie, a young wolf shifter who does reception for Dr. Lake, was the only one inside and I sighed with relief.

"Hey Christie, the doc in?" I asked.

"Yeah, she's doing paperwork," Christie said, eyeing the large bundle Alek carried. Or perhaps she was just eyeing Alek.

"Get her, and tell her we'll be in the surgery room. Then you might want to close early. Just trust me, okay?" I really didn't want to show the body to Christie. She was barely out of her teens.

"Uh, okay." She didn't like it, but she got up and ran down the hall to Dr. Lake's office.

I led the way to the surgery room. The smell of alcohol tinged with an undertone of old blood make my skin goosebump. I knew the vet pretty well, since Harper was always rescuing hurt animals a sideswipe away from roadkill and begging me to take them to the vet for her. She couldn't stomach the times there was nothing to be done but easing the little critters into death, so I got the fun task of hearing Dr. Lake say there was nothing to do but help them cross over.

Dr. Lake came in directly after us. She was a tiny wolf shifter, short enough she would have legally needed a booster seat in the state of California, with a wiry, compact energy about her. She halted and tipped her chin up, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air. If I didn't hang out with shifters practically twenty-four-seven, it would have been creepy, but you get used to shifters sniffing people to recognize them or learn their mood or whatever.

"Another of Harper's creatures?" she asked.

"Not exactly," I said. I took the bundle from Alek and set Rose on the stainless steel table, unfolding the blanket.

"That animal is dead," Dr. Lake said. "And has been stuffed. There's nothing I can do here."

"It's Rose Macnulty," I said softly. "We need to figure out how she died."

Dr. Lake's eyes widened and she took a half-step back, looking from Rose to me and finally to Alek. "Ah, Justice. This is a Council issue?"

"Shifter getting murdered is always a Council issue."

"Can you do an autopsy?" I asked. It wasn't really a question, since I bet she'd do whatever the big old Justice here told her to do, but no reason to ruffle more fur than Alek already was just by being himself.

Dr. Lake stepped up to the table and ran her hands expertly over Rose's body. She peeled back the fox's lips, felt along her belly, examined her paws. With a grunt she nodded.

"I have no idea how they did it, but I'll open her and see if I can find out from the inside. No seams, no bullet wounds. It's an expert job." She shook her head. "Let me glove up. Get her on the table proper; no point getting that quilt icky."

I lifted Rose up so Alek could pull the blanket out. Nausea swept through me again, along with an electric tingle along my skin.

And I knew, with lightning clarity, where I'd felt that before.

It wasn't just revulsion at the body, I was touching foreign magic. There are lots of kinds of magic and lots of ways to draw power. I drew my power from myself, from something like a well inside of myself. It's unique to me. Any other kind of power--be it from a witch's ritual drawing on ley lines or natural forces, or another sorcerer--feels alien and weird to me. I can't use it or understand it, only sense it. Like being a native English speaker and finding all the books in your house suddenly written in Chinese. You know it says something, but the hell if you could tell anyone what that was.

"Wait," I said. I closed my eyes, reaching for a thread of my own power. I gritted my teeth and ran my hands along Rose's side. The wrongness resolved into a more solid impression. Black lines, dark on dark behind my eyelids, wrapped all around her body just beneath the skin before terminating in a complex knot in her chest.

And below that, the faint bump-bump of a heartbeat.

"Shit," I said, stumbling backward. "Don't cut. She's not dead. She's got a heartbeat."

"What?" Alek and Dr. Lake asked at the same time.

"It's magic. She's not dead. She's frozen somehow. Like stasis." I shivered. Dead might have been better. I couldn't imagine being frozen, unable to move or speak. Cut off from my human form.

"Can you do something about it?" Alek asked me. I didn't like the speculative way he was looking at me.

"No," I said. The truth, more or less. "This is way above my pay grade," which was kind of a lie, but I hoped not enough of one that his apparent lie-detection abilities would notice. "It's not a kind of magic I can use. Whoever cast the spell has to undo it. If that's even possible." All that was the truth. Great universe, I hoped it was possible. If it wasn't, Rose would be trapped like this until the spell degraded enough to stop keeping her alive--and that could be years or even centuries, depending on how exactly this magic worked.

"So I find who did this and make them undo it before I kill them. Good." Alek turned toward the door.

"Hold up there, Rambo. I need a ride back to my store." Not that I was looking forward to telling Harper what we'd found. I didn't know if not-quite-dead was worse. We had no answers, just more questions.

"I will keep Rose here, if you want, and see if I can figure out a way to monitor her vitals," Dr. Lake said, talking to Alek as much as to me. "If anything changes, I'll call you, Jade."

The light stayed green on the way back through town and this time we didn't talk at all.

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# Chapter 4

Ezee, Levi, and Harper were waiting for us in my apartment over the store. I led Alek up the back steps. Three red-eyed faces greeted us as we came into my small living room. The apartment is a long, narrow one-bedroom unit, with a single bathroom. The living area is dominated by my purple velvet couch and a fifty-five-inch LED TV with about every console you can name set up under it. I mostly use my Xbox360, but some days nothing will do but to kill my thumbs playing Armada on my Sega Dreamcast.

A girl needs options. To me, video games are like shoes. But with more pixels and a plot.

Ezee and Levi had Harper, still bundled in Ciaran's red sweater, between them. As we came in, they each took one of her hands and turned their faces to us, expectant.

"So," I said with a weak smile. "You want the good news or the bad news?"

"Mom's dead. There is no good news. Unless on the way to the vet you ran over the guy responsible." Harper glared at me, her green eyes puffy and glittering with tears.

"Actually, she isn't dead. That's the good news. And kind of the bad news, too." I grimaced. That hadn't come out in the sympathetic, gentle way I'd rehearsed in my head.

"She's not dead? But I saw her. She was... how?" I could almost see the hope like will-o-the-wisp lights turning on in Harper's eyes. I just prayed it wasn't a false hope I was giving her. How much worse would this get if Alek couldn't find the magic user who did this and make him or her undo it?

"Magic," I said. "She's under some kind of spell holding her in her animal form and keeping her frozen like that."

"Why the hell would someone do that?" Levi said.

"Good fucking question." I shook my head and looked at Alek. He had come to loom beside me, standing too damn close for my comfort, but I wasn't about to inch away. It would have looked pretty obvious.

"I will ask when I find him," Alek said with a tiny smile that made me think about screaming rabbits and blood spraying on white walls. Not a nice smile, really.

"I don't care why," Harper yelled. "Just find him and make him undo it."

Ciaran knocked at the back door before entering the tense, now-quiet room. He was out of breath and excited. "I have the paperwork. Here." He held out a manila folder.

I took it and spread it open on the narrow black coffee table after clearing away the remotes and controllers. The photocopy of the ID said the guy who sold Rose was named Caleb Greer, age thirty-two, with an address in Boise, Idaho. Brown hair, brown eyes, five-foot-eight, one hundred and fifty pounds.

"He was thinner than that photo. If his ID hadn't put him at over thirty, I would have thought he was a college student," Ciaran said.

"He probably is," Ezee said. He leaned forward, looking at the paperwork upside-down. "I mean, how likely is it that some middle-aged dude from Boise drove all the way out here to sell a stuffed fox? It's more likely a fake or stolen ID."

"I have his signature on the sale, and his fingerprints, there, see? I do everything above board," Ciaran said. He folded his arms and pressed his lips into a line, muttering in Irish about idiot dogs.

"So, what, we just go start knocking on dorm room doors until Ciaran recognizes someone?" Levi asked.

"If that's what it takes," Harper said. The hope in her eyes had turned into anger.

I resisted making a comment about anger leading to hate and hate leading to the dark side, but the tension and level of predatory desire to kill was pretty palpable in the room. While it made a lot of sense in a "someone did something awful to someone I love" way, unleashing the hounds, so to speak, on the mostly normals population of Juniper College seemed like a pretty bad plan in actuality. For all we knew, some kid had found the be-spelled Rose on the side of the road with a "free" sign on her and figured they could score a little extra cash.

"There's a better way," I said, mentally kicking myself even as my mouth kept moving. I shouldn't do magic. I shouldn't get involved. I felt like Sarah in Labyrinth when she falls down into the chute full of hands and chooses to keep going down. Too late now.

"I can do a spell," I continued. "There's enough with the signature and fingerprint that I can probably design a tracking thingy. If he or she is within twenty miles, it'll point right at them." There, that was more or less the truth. I carefully didn't look at Alek, though I could feel him looking intently at me. He didn't trust me anyway, so fuck him.

Hmm. Fucking Alek.

My brain hung up on that idea for a moment and I had to ask Harper to repeat herself once I realized she'd asked me something.

"What do you need?"

Technically, I didn't need anything. But I wasn't about to go along. This was clearly Justice business. If the kid was involved, nothing I could do would stop the death sentence on his head for messing with shifters. Justices were judge, jury, and executioners. In most of the world outside the shifter-dense population of Wylde, shifters hid, maintaining a careful line between themselves and normals. Anyone stepping over the line risked humans finding out about the things that go bump in the night on a larger scale, and nobody wanted that. The Inquisition? The Nazis? Not just about persecuting humans. A lot of shifters, warlocks, and witches had gotten caught up in human madness over the centuries.

The Council of Nine and the system of Justices keeping peace and shifter law had come about sometime after the worst of the Inquisition, from what Ezee had told me. Compared to outright slaughter and experimentation, the inflexibility of shifter law was pretty understandable.

"A compass," I said. "I have the rest of what I need here."

"I will be right back," Ciaran said, turning and dashing back out my door.

He came back with a brass compass done up to look like an old-fashioned pocket watch.

"Perfect. Just give me a minute." I took the compass and the folder and went into my bedroom, locking the door behind me.

Deep breath. This wouldn't take a lot of magic. We'd still be safe. Wylde has so many ley lines, a full coven of witches, a couple thousand shifters, and probably a few other paranormals I didn't yet know about. One tiny spell wouldn't give me away. Probably.

Wolf materialized from thin air, like she does, and jumped up on my bed, watching me with her head cocked and ears perked. I couldn't tell if she approved or not.

I sank down onto my knees and put the compass on the floor on top of the thumbprint. Wrapping one hand around the large silver polyhedral die that hangs around my neck, I focused, bringing my magic up from the deep well inside.

This kind of magic isn't my specialty. In my old life, before I almost got killed and eaten, I was more of a fireball throwing, showy sorceress. Form a magic sword instantly out of ice that won't melt? No problem. Want to cause a localized earthquake or rain down acid? Again, I could do that, once upon a time. Samir and I used to train in an abandoned bunch of warehouses he'd bought up in Detroit, sometimes going out to lone islands in the Great Lakes to do the really spectacular stuff.

I'd grown up and honed my magic on Dungeons & Dragons manuals in the nineteen eighties, raised by an awesome bunch of programmers and gamers after my family kicked me out. Todd, Kayla, Sophie, and Ji-hoon had taken me in after I'd spent a hellish year on the streets of New York. They had been the closest thing to real family I'd ever had after my birth family kicked me out. Until Samir destroyed that, too.

Another deep breath. I let the past flow away from me and focused on the fingerprint, its ridges and whorls etched in black ink. There wasn't really a DnD spell precedent for what I wanted to do, but that was okay. Role playing games are just that, games. They aren't any more real than Godzilla or He-Man. I'd used the spells as a sort of channel when I was growing up, a way of learning how to focus and impose my will on the power that flowed naturally within me.

I focused on the fingerprint, then on the idea of the hand that had formed the signature. My power flared into my amulet and poured down into the compass. The needle twitched, then spun, then stopped, pointing not north but now to the northwest. Toward Juniper College.

I sealed the spell with another focusing of my will, visualizing a thread of power like a monofilament line from the d-twenty around my neck to the compass. It would hold until I let it go or it got too far away, keeping the compass connected to my power.

"Wish that kid luck," I muttered to Wolf as I rose and took the compass back out into the living room.

"Here." I handed the compass to Alek. "This will point you right to the owner of that fingerprint. And, uh, be careful. Whoever did that to Rose isn't a nice person."

"I am not a nice person," Alek said with another killer-inside-me smile. "And I have certain defenses from magic that most do not have."

I almost asked but managed to close my mouth before it got him even more suspicious of me.

"Find him and make him undo the spell. Promise me, Justice." Harper's hands were curled into white fists in her lap as she spat the words out. I couldn't actually tell if she'd asked him to promise her justice or if she was using his title. Maybe both.

Alek started to shake his head as he said "I will..." but I pinched the back of his thigh and twisted, hard, giving him my best don't-you-dare-crush-my-friend look.

"I will do my best," he amended, with only a slight twitch of a smile in reaction. Maybe he didn't completely hate me. Great.

He had really firm thighs. I shoved that thought away into the overflowing paper bag in my head labeled "inappropriate thoughts about Alek."

After he left, another awkward silence descended. Harper finally broke it by standing up. "Where's Mom?"

"With Dr. Lake," I said. "She wanted to keep her under observation, monitor her vitals. She'll call me if there is any change." I tapped my jean's pocket where my phone was jammed. Under observation and monitoring vitals sounded good, clinical and nice, like Rose was just in the hospital after an accident instead of locked magically into her fox body, paralyzed and helpless.

Okay. My thoughts really weren't on the helpful train today.

"I want to go home," Harper said. "But I don't know if I can face Max. Oh God." At the thought of her brother, her eyes started leaking again.

"We'll go with you," Levi said.

"Yeah, of course," Ezee and I agreed.

"Okay. But maybe we don't say anything. I don't know. I need to think." Harper took a deep breath and stood up.

"I'll be at my place, if you need me," Ciaran said, excusing himself.

"Thank you, Ciaran," I said, squeezing his arm as we all moved toward the door. "And Harper, we'll say or not say whatever you want. It's going to be okay."

I could have stabbed myself for saying that last part, but the look of hope she gave me made the lie worth it. Hell, for all I knew, maybe it wasn't a lie. Maybe the Justice was as badass as he thought and he'd kick in a door or drag the guy who did this back to Dr. Lake's, and we'd be having tea and cookies with Rose in her country-chic kitchen by moonrise.

After all, in a world full of shape shifters, witches, gods, and sorcerers, maybe miracles can happen.

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# Chapter 5

Dusk fell over us like a shroud as we drove out of the town proper and down the narrow two-lane road toward The Henhouse Bed and Breakfast which Harper and her family called home. I rode in the back of Levi's Honda Civic with Harper but we all drove in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, I guess.

The locals, like my friends in the car, call the River of No Return Wilderness "the Frank," after the prefix, since it's technically the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness. I resisted calling it that, but in bleak moments like this its name fit. No return. Whatever happened after tonight, after finding Rose and whatever dark magic was trapping her like that, nothing would be exactly the same here. We were friends, sure, but we'd never faced any real adversity together. We sat around a table a couple times a week and pretended we were mages and bards and barbarians fighting dragons and evil lich kings.

I stared out the window so that I wouldn't be staring creepily at Harper and watched as the sun disappeared in a bloody smear behind the black spikes of the fir and pine trees.

Yeah. My brain wasn't feeling morbid and hopeless at all.

"Do you think she's awake? Conscious, I mean. Like, could she hear me?" Harper said softly. Her face was still pressed to the window, her eyes staring out into the darkening trees.

I knew what she meant. I'd been worrying over the same questions. I had no real answer, though. Harper had asked me what I thought, so I decided that would allow another small lie. It's almost funny how we destroy things by inches.

"I think she's sleeping. Magic like that takes a ritual. I bet she was asleep and still is. Big, blond, and scary out there will find the bastard that did it and stop him. Then she'll wake up, like Sleeping Beauty." I smiled at her in what I hoped was a reassuring way.

"But without the rape and having a baby after one hundred years thing," Ezee said over the back of his seat.

"Oh God, what if he did things to her before the spell? Or after?" Harper started sobbing again.

"Not helping, dumbass." I leaned in and flicked Ezee's ear.

"Alek will find him," Levi said. "The Nine never fail to get some kind of justice."

"We should have gone with him," Harper said. "I should have."

"And what?" I said. "None of us have law enforcement backgrounds. None of us know shit about tracking down someone or how to deal with hostile magic." Wow, I was just full of lies tonight. Why quit when you're ahead, right? "We'd be in the way. Remember what you guys told me about the Justices? They are highly trained from, like, birth, and equipped to act as supernatural judge, jury, and executioner. I don't think any of us want to get in the way of that."

"I guess," Harper said, sitting up a little.

"We could always nerd the guy to death, I suppose," Levi said.

"Ooh, yeah, new torture technique. We'll make him watch nothing but Highlander II and Star Trek V!" Ezee twisted in his seat, reaching back to squeeze Harper's knee.

Harper giggled a little through her hiccupping sobs. "Anyone would give up their secrets to make that stop, huh?" Her smile was pretty weak-sauce, but at least she wasn't staring blankly out the window and letting her mind run all kinds of horror scenarios.

My phone started playing the Mega Man 2 theme, and I fumbled it out of my pocket. Ciaran.

"'Sup?"

"Two men, guns," Ciaran said quickly in Irish. In the background I heard someone, a male voice for sure, say something about speaking English and Ciaran say it was just a greeting. Then he continued, and it sounded from the echo like he had me on speakerphone. "Jade, there's a problem with that stuffed fox I sold you. Sorry about the late hour, but could you bring it by the shop as soon as possible?"

"Sure thing. I've got it with me. I can be there in thirty?" It would only take us maybe fifteen to get back into town if Levi stepped on it.

"Sounds good. Come in the front, I'll leave it open for you."

"Cool. See you soon."

I made sure the phone call was disconnexted and then growled at Levi. "Turn the car around. Two men with guns have Ciaran and are looking for Rose. We have to go back."

Levi hit the brakes and executed the quickest three-point turn I ever want to experience ever, or make that never, again. His car might look compact and reliable, but inside is a beast of an engine that probably isn't even street legal and we felt the full g-forces of it as he floored the gas and shot us back toward town.

"Call the sheriff?" Ezee asked.

"Not yet. We don't know what we're dealing with and I don't want to get Ciaran killed. Let me go in and see. If I'm not out in a few, you guys can call then. I'll leave my phone line open to you so you can hear."

"How come you get to go in?" Harper said. "If they want my mom, they'll have to go through me. I don't fear bullets." She looked ready to go furry and get her serial killer on.

"They are expecting me. Going psycho on them might feel good, but it won't really solve anything. Also, we don't know yet what we are dealing with. They might be human, in which case killing them is kind of murder and even our cops might get mad about it," I said. The local sheriff was an elected position, so of course she was a shifter, but I think the last time our town saw an actual murder was back in the era of buggies and gunslingers in saloons wearing ten gallon hats.

"Can you go faster?" Harper said.

"Maybe," Levi answered.

He could, it turns out. We got to Ciaran's store in less than fifteen minutes, slowing down to drive past it and not look like maniacs. The main street was almost abandoned after dark in our sleepy little down. Most people would be at the bars on the other end or over at the diner. All the shops were closed here and there was no foot traffic.

We pulled an emergency blanket out of the back of the Honda and I shook it out and then crumpled it into a bundle in my arms. They were expecting someone to bring something in, after all. I figured worst case I could use the blanket as a lame distraction.

"Okay. Harper, stay out here by the car and keep an eye on the front." She started to protest and I gave her my best pleading look. "Trust me? I need you out here watching my back."

When she finally nodded and her shoulders slumped, I continued with my plan. "Levi and Ezee, head around back. If I'm not out in ten or if I say anything about my grandmother over the phone, call Sheriff Lee. I don't suppose anyone thought to get Alek's number?" I sure hadn't. I touched my amulet. The spell was still active, the link thick and strong. Alek likely wasn't far away if he still had the compass.

Head shakes met that last question. "Okay. It doesn't matter. Don't get shot."

Easy for me to say, I thought as I walked into Ciaran's Curios. The store was dark except for a light in the back hallway from the open office door. The dimness only emphasized the odd shadows cast by various lamps, statues, cabinets, and other items. I'd never noticed this place was so creepy at night.

I'd never walked in here expecting armed men, either. Correlation is not causation, but I could make a pretty good case on this one.

I tried to quiet my random thoughts and come up with a real plan other than don't get shot. I thought about using magic to somehow subdue the men, but just upkeeping the tracking spell was making me more tired than I thought it would. A headache had viselike fingers around my temples.

Magic for a sorcerer is like a muscle; if you don't use it much, you won't completely lose it, but it will atrophy and not work the same later. I did exercise my power on weekends sometimes, lifting small rocks and holding them up in various patterns. Nothing big, nothing that would jiggle Samir's web of informants or sensors or however he tracked me, and bring him after me like a starving spider.

Maybe I could do something more coincidental, like more White Wolf mage than Dungeons & Dragons mage. Jam the guns. Knock a cabinet onto their heads.

Only, I had no idea how to jam a gun. Nor did I have a clue how much magic would get me noticed. The ley lines and supernatural population could only hide so much, especially from someone who knew my magic and what it looked and felt like.

So, I was down to just winging it. No magic. Maybe I should have gone to my place first and grabbed a knife. I recalled some saying about bringing a knife to a gunfight and it not being a good thing. Okay, we were down to hoping I could take out two men with only my wits and a scratchy wool blanket. Great plan.

"Ciaran? I've got the fox," I called out as I carefully wove my way through the shop. I didn't want to surprise anyone with a gun.

"In my office," Ciaran called out.

I saw a shadow move in the hallway beyond the office. It was way too big to be the leprechaun. One of the gunmen?

Then I caught a gleam of eyes, the way a cat's eyes pick up light and shine in the dark. Alek stepped just enough forward that I could make out his features but he hung back so that he was still hidden from anyone inside the office itself. He raised a finger to his lips, and then made a get away motion. I shook my head.

"Ciaran," I called out again. "It's really dark out here. Can you come turn on a light or something? I feel like I'm going to kill myself running into something and this fox is super bulky."

There was muttering from the office. I crept forward, trying to be stealthy and not knock over anything. I let the blanket slide down my body to the floor and kicked it under a table, ready to follow it if bullets started flying.

"Be right there," Ciaran yelled.

He emerged from the office, a taller, thinner man standing directly behind him. I assumed that guy had the gun pointed at Ciaran's back.

"Drop the gun and tell your friend not to do anything stupid." Alek's voice was calm and deep. And cold enough to send chills down my spine.

"Fuck, man," said the guy behind Ciaran. He twisted his head and saw Alek's huge form in the shadows, pointing a big handgun at his head. "Jimmy, don't do anything stupid."

"There's a guy here with a gun," someone, I assumed Jimmy, said from inside the office. "What do we do? What? No, don't. Don't do that. We're sorry. We can fix this. Shit!"

The guy in the hallway turned slightly toward the door. "What's he doing?"

Ciaran chose that moment to sprint forward and then duck aside, behind a large oriental cabinet. Panicking, the guy with the gun started shooting into the dark shop as he swung around toward Alek.

I dove for the floor as well as something hot hit my hip. I felt as much as heard my phone shatter, and then lightning pain shot through my side and down my leg. I crawled with zero dignity under the table.

From my agonizing but safe-ish position, I saw Alek jumped by another man, this one shorter and bulkier than the first. They grappled and the first guy ran right at me, though I wasn't sure he could see me. In a brilliantly thought-out move, I shoved the wadded-up blanket next to me out in front of him and he sprawled into the table, knocking down the universe knows what around us.

The pain in my leg nearly blacked out my vision but I grabbed at the guy. He knew what had been done to Rose. He was the key; I couldn't let Harper down just because of a stupid wound.

"No. You. Don't," I hissed.

He stopped fighting me so suddenly I actually lost my grip. For a moment he froze and then he ripped at his neck, pulling out a medallion on a chain. I couldn't make out the details in the dim light but nausea hit me and I felt the same kind of weird magic that had trapped Rose at work.

"No no no nononono." The man's voice became a litany as the medallion started to glow a sickly green.

In pain, bleeding, and out of options, I reached for my power almost on instinct, throwing my power into a giant silver circle around us both, trying to lock out the foreign magic. Whatever that thing was doing, it didn't seem good.

The other gunman was screaming, and I dimly heard Alek cursing. Then it stopped, the sickly green light winking out as though I'd imagined it. The man in front of me lay still, his chest slowly rising and falling, but for all appearances he wasn't conscious.

"Jade!" Harper's voice.

Ciaran threw on the lights and I winced, blinking rapidly to try to adjust. Harper came up, kicking the gun further from the man's hand. Boy, really, now that I had a look at him. I doubted he was over twenty-one.

"It's a trap," I said, waving at Harper to back off. "Get an axe."

"Trick, not trap. Geez." She poked him with her shoe.

Misquoting Army of Darkness. I really was hurt. I crawled forward, trying to keep my weight off my injured hip. I felt the bullet inside me, my body reacting to the unknown object and trying to heal it out. I needed to get out of here before I did fully heal or there would be some truly uncomfortable questions.

But I wanted the boy's medallion. I yanked it off his neck as I pretended to feel for a pulse and slid it into my bra as I curled my body to keep the bleeding side out of Harper's vision.

I failed.

"Did you get shot? You're bleeding." Harper yanked off her teeshirt and bent over me, trying to press it to my hip.

"My phone broke when I dove under the table," I said, taking her shirt and covering the bloody patch as best I could. I didn't want to look yet. If it looked anything like it felt, my side was a disaster. "Just cuts. I'll be fine."

"We called Sheriff Lee, she's on her way," Ezee said. "Bloody hell, did you get shot?"

I had to get out there. Like, now.

"No, just cuts. I'm going to my place to clean up. This guy needs a medic or something. I don't know what happened." I tried to stand and regretted my life.

"This one is dead. I'm not sure how." Alek's voice.

Dead? Oh, that was bad. It was getting harder to think. I decided to worry about one thing at a time. Step one was figuring out how to walk out of here, up the stairs to my apartment, and if I could make it to the bathtub before I fainted from the pain. Be a lot easier to clean blood out of the bathroom than my living room carpet. I'd never get that security deposit back. Which was okay, since I owed it to myself, but still. I was a mean landlord.

"Harper, go with Jade. The less people messed up in this, the better, no?" Ciaran said.

"I've got to stay, since I called the sheriff," Levi said.

"And I do also, since she'll never believe only one of us was here," Ezee added.

"I've got her," Alek said. He moved with insane speed to my side and then somehow I was in his arms. "Don't protest," he whispered in Russian, his breath warm on my hair. "Clearly you don't want them to know you've been shot, so shut up and let me carry you."

Since the Zerg queen of white-hot pain and all her little pain-filled broodlings were currently setting up a summer home in my hip, I decided to shut up and let him carry me.

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# Chapter 6

Harper tried to follow us into my bathroom, but I shut the door in her face, muttering something about too many cooks in the kitchen. I hoped I made some kind of sense, but I was in too much pain and panic to care.

I'd used my magic--like a lot of magic. Maybe too much. My head certainly thought I had used way too much. I was out of practice, and I felt like a former athlete who'd spent a couple years on the bench suddenly trying to beat Usain Bolt in the hundred-meter dash.

Plus the more passive side effects of not being human were taking a toll. My body was shoving shards of cell phone and what felt like a million pieces of bullet out of my hip, with what looked like a million gallons of blood.

Alek set me down as gently as he could in my bathtub and then pulled out a knife.

I flinched and held up my hands, but he just sighed and reached for my pants.

"I need to cut those away, take a look."

"Harper," I whispered, then switched to Russian. "She can hear us."

A weird warmth slid over the room, and I watched as the walls took on a slightly silvery sheen.

"No one outside this room can hear anything now," he said.

"Guess being a Justice comes with bonus features."

"First we take care of your wound. Then we'll talk."

I wasn't sure which part of that I looked forward to less. He cut my jeans away and it wasn't anything like the fantasies I hadn't let myself have about him cutting my clothes off. I was too busy trying to seal my teeth to each other with my jaw muscles to tell him that, thank the universe.

With the wound washed off--which, let me tell you was a peachy experience I never want to repeat--it didn't look so bad. Kind of like a steak after you take out your aggression on it with a hammer. And bonus, I now knew what my hipbone looked like and I had a nice collection of metal fragments to show the grandkids. My phone seemed to have eaten the worst of the bullet, and it was super FUBAR.

I lay back in the tub once we got the wound clean, focusing on breathing and not passing out.

"The bleeding has stopped," Alek said. Helpful guy.

"Yeah. Give it a little while. I'll heal." I wished he would shut up and go away.

"You are no hedge witch."

"You are amazing at pointing out obvious things," I said, opening my eyes. "How did you know I'd understand Russian?"

"Call it a hunch."

He leaned against my bathroom counter, looking entirely out of place in the small room. I turned my head, choosing to look at the Dragon Ball Z poster I had on the bathroom door instead of into those speculating, piercing blue eyes.

"What happened back there? What kind of magic was that? And how did you save that boy?"

"That's way too many questions for my brain to handle right now," I said. All questions I didn't really want to answer. Some I didn't even have the answer to, anyway. Like what kind of magic this was. Human magic, I was pretty sure, so that meant ritual most likely. But it wasn't like just anybody could use a ritual any more than a kid could open up the Dungeons & Dragons Player's Guide and cast Magic Missile. Magic was everywhere, in everything, but it was like sunlight or carbon molecules. If you don't have the tools to use it and the ability somehow to even tap in, there's no way you can make it work just by trying.

To work a ritual, you'd need knowledge, time, a power source you could access, the right ingredients and foci, combined with a strong enough will to bind it all together. It wasn't those kids, not working alone. Jimmy, the dead one, he'd been on the phone with someone. Someone who had tried to kill both boys using their medallions.

"You are thinking very hard for someone who pretends to know nothing," Alek said, interrupting my half-conscious train of thought.

"I don't know anything, not really. It's all speculation."

Cat-quick, he bent over me and slid his large, warm hand into my shirt. When I pictured him groping my breasts, it wasn't exactly like this. He pulled the medallion out of my bra and dangled it over me. I made out a pattern of circles on its stained black surface and it looked to be molded from clay.

"You pictured me groping your breasts?" he asked, and he had that smirk I'd seen a million years ago this afternoon, before everything went to hell on the handbasket express.

Clearly, I'd spoken aloud. "Blood loss talking," I said. I swiped at the medallion. "Give that back."

"Tell me what it is," he said, standing up out of my reach.

"I don't know." I gave him a smile to show that hey, I could tell the truth sometimes.

"But you can find out." That wasn't even a question. No fair.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe. Not tonight. I'm kind of in heal mode here. Why don't you go away? I'm rescinding your invitation."

"I am not a vampire." He cocked his head, those ice-chip eyes of his narrowing as he looked me over. "You can't order me out."

"Vampires don't exist," I muttered. I blushed and wondered if I had the blood left in my body for it. I was lying in a bathtub with half my pants missing and only a scrap of black panties covering my girl bits. I wished I'd worn nicer underwear. Or shaved in the last two days. He was a shifter, though, so maybe he preferred his women furry.

Ho-kay. That was definitely the blood loss talking.

I looked down at my hip. The wounds were mostly closed, looking a lot more like a bad abrasion than a bunch of stitch-worthy cuts. Time to get out of the bathtub and find if I had any Band-Aids.

"Still here?" I said. "Help me up."

He pulled me out of the tub as though I were no bigger than a kitten. I lost the scrap of panty but managed to yank a towel over myself as I leaned heavily on the bathroom counter.

"Okay, I need to clean up here, and you really need to leave. Maybe that kid will wake up and tell you what's going on."

He caught my chin in his hand and tilted my head toward him, leaning in close. He smelled like vanilla and sun-kissed hay. "I will come back tomorrow. And you will tell the truth, Jade Crow." All trace of smirk was gone from his face.

"Fuck you," I said, jerking my head away. Mistake, that. Red and black dots swam over my eyes and the headache vise tightened another notch.

"I thought you had revoked my invitation," he said, and just like a freakin' Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, he was smirking again.

"Do they train you to be this annoying at Justice Academy, or does it come naturally?" I said as I turned carefully around, deliberately not looking in the mirror, and pulled open the medicine cabinet. I did have Band-Aids. Score.

"It runs in my family." He set the medallion down on the counter and pulled open the door. The silvery shield he'd cast on the room dissolved. "I'll be back," he said over his shoulder.

Harper lurked near the door and ducked into the bathroom as soon as Alek left.

"He managed not to make that line sound ironic at all, wow," she said. "What were you guys doing in here?"

"Staring contest," I said. "And I don't think he was actually trying to quote The Terminator. You going to sleep over?"

"That okay?" She sounded so young and vulnerable. It was easy to forget sometimes that she was nearly twenty years younger than I was. I might look like I'm in my mid-twenties, but I'm a lot closer to fifty than thirty.

"Of course," I said. "I don't really want to be alone, you know?"

Apparently I wasn't done lying after all.

* * *

I DIDN'T WANT TO GET up when my alarm blared to life, but the smell of waffles and bacon summoned me. I'd slept fitfully with weird dreams. The final dream ended with the sound of my alarm and the feel of Samir's hands around my throat as he whispered he would be here soon.

For a moment I wondered who was making bacon, but remembered that Harper had slept on my couch. At least she was earning her keep. I sat up too quickly and my hip pinged me with a reminder that I'd been shot the night before. I stumbled to the bathroom with a muttered good morning to Harper and peeled up the Band-Aids.

There was a pretty amazing green, yellow, and purple bruise, but the cuts were all closed. A gaping wound would close within minutes. A bruise? That would stick around for days. Maybe it was my body's way of telling me I should really avoid taking damage.

I pulled on clothes, shared a somewhat awkward and quiet breakfast with Harper, and then went down to open my shop. Harper took her laptop and said she was going to go over to Dr. Lake's and sit with her mother, then she planned to go home and talk to her brother Max about what was happening.

After the craziness of the day before, a quiet day in my shop seemed eerie. I kept waiting for something horrible to happen, but the hours went by without anyone ending up dead or frozen, without any other hot strangers with guns barging in.

Harper called the landline in the shop around four to tell me she was heading to the B&B to talk to Max. I felt weirdly isolated without my cell phone. I ordered a replacement online, but I wouldn't have it until the following Monday.

I had no word from Alek. Ciaran dropped by to say he'd solved everything with the cops, at least for the moment, and that the second kid was in a coma at the hospital. The sheriff was going to write it up as a robbery gone wrong. Nobody had any explanation for how Jimmy had died. It appeared his heart had stopped, just like that. I didn't envy Sheriff Lee her job explaining it to his parents or the admins at the college.

Ezee called the store as well, sometime after when I'd given up on doing inventory and was distracting myself by painting orc miniatures. He said he had recognized one of the kids from school and was going to ask around, see whom they might have associated with. I told him to be careful and asked if he'd seen or heard from the Justice. He hadn't.

The medallion off the kid in the coma was upstairs. As the day faded, I thought about it more and more, trying to anticipate the questions Alek might have and how to answer them in a way that would make sense but not give away more about myself than I already had.

No good. I dropped a mini back onto the newspaper and gritted my teeth.

Thoughts of Samir flooded in. Had even the relatively small amounts of magic I'd used yesterday been too much? Was he even now on his way here to finally kill me? The tracking spell wouldn't register, I didn't think. Way too much ambient magic in this area for that to stand out. But the circle of protection I'd thrown up to fend off whatever killing ritual the shadowy man behind Rose's paralyzing was performing--that wasn't exactly minor magic. I mean, in the scale of things for me, it was. Or it would have been, once upon a time when I was in practice and in shape, magically speaking.

I looked around my shop. Pwned Comics and Games. It was home, the kind of place my teenage self had dreamed about all those years ago after my second family opened my eyes to the world of all that is nerd. I liked my life here. I didn't want things to change. I didn't want to have to run again.

Maybe I was still safe. No more magic, though. Not even my stone-floating exercises, at least not for a while. Whatever happened with Rose and the ritual mage who was behind all this was Alek's problem to handle. He was the one trained for this shit. I could provide emotional support to my friends, but I had to stop being involved.

I could stay for now. Keep my life here. Decision made, I relaxed a little.

Which was when, of course, the universe kicked me in the ass again.

Levi and Harper came through the front door in a rush. I knew it was trouble just from the energy they projected, before I even made out their upset faces and heard a peep from them.

"Ezee is missing," Levi said.

"What do you mean, missing?" I asked. My heart took up residence in my throat.

"He was supposed to meet me at work after his last class got out. He didn't show and he isn't answering either his cell or his office phone."

"Maybe he's at the library? Emergency student conference?" I tried to ignore my painful sense of foreboding.

"Did you talk to him today?" Harper asked.

Shit. "Shit," I said. "I did. He said he knew one of the perps from last night and was going to ask around, see who else might be connected to the guy."

"Shit is right," Levi muttered. "We're going over to Juniper to look for him. Come on."

How could I refuse that? He was my friend. This felt an awful lot like involvement though.

"Where's the Justice?" I asked.

"I think he went to the hospital to see if that guy had woken up yet," Harper said. "He said something about it when he came to check on Mom earlier."

Which meant Alek was at least forty-five minutes away in another town. Wylde wasn't large enough to have a full hospital; we just had the emergency clinic and a couple doctor's offices.

"Okay, let me lock up," I said. What else could I do?

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# Chapter 7

Juniper College is a private liberal arts university known for turning out a lot of serious students who go on to get PhDs and then work in low-level service jobs for the rest of their lives trying to pay off massive student loans. Okay, so maybe not always that last part, but it was one of those elite small schools full of people who seemed more in love with learning than with practical life skills. I'd teased Ezee about it a lot, but in good fun.

I mean, I'd been raised by a bunch of professors and gone to a similar school. Once upon a time I had thought I could be happy in academia for the rest of my life. Before Samir and my wild years as a sorceress-in-training, plotting to make the world my bitch.

The campus was just outside Wylde proper and butted up against the border of the River of No Return Wilderness. Ezee's office was in the oldest building on campus, a beautiful five-story timber and river-stone mansion that sat like a jewel in the middle of a grove of old growth Douglas Fir trees.

The sun was low in the sky when we arrived, the campus quiet in the spring chill. Here and there students walked in packs, talking to each other or with heads buried in their phones, and no one gave us much of a glance.

Ezee's office was on the fourth floor. Levi had a key and let us in when knocking clearly showed his brother wasn't in residence.

Books filled one wall on shelves bending a little under their weight. Two overstuffed leather chairs with brass upholstery tacks decorating them in knotwork patters on the edges were positioned by the desk in a way that invited one in for a cozy chat over a cup of tea about the mysteries of the universe, or, given Ezee's area of expertise, a lively talk about American history and treatment of native peoples.

His desk was orderly, his laptop sitting in sleep mode and plugged into the spike bar on one side. A pile of papers sat waiting to be graded or handed back. There was a pink pen, uncapped, lying on the open area of the desk, as though Ezee had just set it down and was about to return to whatever he'd been writing. Even his desk chair was rotated toward the door, as though he'd only stepped out for a moment, and the Armani aftershave he used still hung in the air.

"Maybe he's in the bathroom? Or we could check the library," I said.

"It feels like he's here. Somehow." Levi shook his head and sniffed the air. "I think he's close. I can't tell. It's like something is blocking my connection to him."

The twins might be fraternal, but shifter twins were an almost unheard of phenomenon. It wasn't a surprise that they were bonded in a magical way. We often joked that if you pinched one, the other would flinch. Or at least glare at you, if it was Levi. Flinching wasn't manly enough for him.

"Do you know his computer password?" Harper asked.

"Is the Pope Catholic?"

"Okay, yeah, stupid question."

Levi sat at the desk and unlocked the laptop. "Nothing immediate that I can see. Let me check his calendar. He writes down everything."

"Can I help you?" A man's voice from right behind me made me jump. Nausea twisted in my gut and I took a step back into the office as I turned and looked the guy over.

He was about my height, maybe five eight, pudgy, close to forty, with thinning brown hair and glasses that exaggerated the bulge of his blue eyes. He wore a brown sweater and a pair of faded khakis and looked utterly unassuming. Yet he set off my creep alert instantly. Maybe it was the nausea. Maybe it was the events of the last day.

"Hi, we're looking for Professor Chapowits," I said. Despite my no-magic vow, I summoned a little of my power and tried to detect if this guy had any magic on him. Nothing. Damn. Maybe I was paranoid.

"He's not here," the man said. "How did you get into his office?" He seemed weirdly nervous, his eyes darting from me, to Harper, to Levi and the computer.

"I'm his brother," Levi said, swinging the chair around. "You are?"

"I'm Bernie uh, Barnes. I work here. That's my office." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Ezekiel is gone for the day. You shouldn't be going through his things."

"He wouldn't have left his laptop, and he'd be answering his phone," Levi said. "Did you see him? What did he say?"

"I just saw him leave a little while ago. Maybe he was getting coffee. He likes to get coffee at the student cafe. You should try there." Bernie Barnes, whose name sounded like a bad Stan Lee villain, smiled weakly at us, nodding as though he'd thought of something brilliant.

I really didn't like this guy. He seemed desperate to convince us that Ezee wasn't here and everything was fine. I studied him more with my magic enhanced vision. It wasn't that I was getting nothing, I realized. I was seeing not just an absence of magic but an actual null void. He should have registered as a human, with the little ticks and flurries of ambient power that flowed around all life forms. But to my magic-enhanced vision, it was like he wasn't there at all.

"Why don't you come with us," I said. "Show us where it is."

"Okay," Bernie said, surprising me. "Let me lock up my office." He turned and walked down the hall.

"That guy seem weird to you?" Harper asked.

"Hella weird," Levi said.

I stepped out of the office and saw Bernie disappearing not into one of the offices in the hall but through the stairwell doors.

"Shit, he's running," I said.

We bolted after him, Harper and Levi leaving me in their dust as we raced for the stairs. Bernie Barnes flew down those steps ahead of them, outpacing even shifter speed with his lead. Of course, even with super speed, they could only charge down four flights of stairs so quickly.

Make that five flights. Bernie headed for the basement and there we lost him.

The bottom-floor stairway opened into a cramped hall with three doors leading off. No sign of Bernie. The hum of a furnace room greeted me as I slid to a stop beside Harper.

"Which door?" Harper said. She sniffed the air. "I can't smell him. Just dampness."

The air was humid and clammy. I assumed the door with the vents in it was to the mechanical room, so that left two others. Levi pulled open one and revealed a janitorial closet. Not that way. The other door opened to a set of iron stairs that led even further down. We listened at the top of those steps but heard nothing from below over the noise from the old furnace.

"I think that might lead to the steam tunnels. I vote that way." Harper started down the steps.

"Unless he's hiding in the mechanical room waiting for us to go away. Maybe we should split up," Levi said.

"Because splitting the party always leads to win, right?" I said. "Oh, wait, no, it usually leads to death."

"This isn't a game," Levi hissed at me. "My brother could be down there. That guy knows something. He could be the evil behind all this."

"That guy?" Harper said. "But he's so chubby and... nerdy."

"Oh right, so evil can't look like a dopey professor? Do you even read comic books?"

"You trying to accuse me of being a fake nerd girl? Seriously?"

"Hey, you two, stop it." I stepped between them. They were both irritated, their shoulders thrown back, heads forward, posturing like they wanted a fight. Sure, Harper and Levi arguing wasn't unusual but they didn't generally do it in a way that looked like they were about to shift and tear each other apart.

Levi's lips peeled back and his eyes went from dark brown to golden as he gathered his power. He was about to shift.

That was when I sensed the trap. Magic, the same shadowy magic that was binding Rose, coiled around the room like a snake waiting to strike. Waiting for the two shifters to reach into that other world, where their animal selves waited and shift. I had no idea what the trap would do to them. I doubted it would freeze them like Rose--it would take a lot more power than I felt in this room to do something that complicated--but I'd put money on at least knocking them out. It was a pretty hefty spell gathering here.

"Stop," I yelled at Levi as Harper growled behind me and Levi tensed to spring.

The trap sprung as he went from man to wolverine in less then a heartbeat. I threw as much power as I could yank up from within myself into another silver circle around all three of us and threw myself into Levi's furry body.

Shadowy power swirled around my circle and then dissipated with a discordant chime that rang inside my head as I held onto the image of a silver protecting circle even as I tried to hold back a wolverine almost as big as I was. Levi's claws ripped into my back and then he was a man again, holding me instead of me holding him.

"Shit. Jade. Shit. I'm so sorry." Levi shook in my arms as he pulled away and then reached out again, his hands bloody.

"It's okay. It was a trap," I managed to say.

"Jade. Your back," Harper said. She knelt behind me and reached for the shreds of my shirt.

"It's not so bad," I said, though it felt pretty unfun. The pain was not the white-hot stab of the bullet wound the night before but a more twisting ache. I'd already used too much magic warding off and diffusing the trap. What was a little more? I called on more power and it came even easier than the day before, my sorceress skills apparently not as rusty as I'd thought. I sealed myself off from the pain, pushing power at the wounds and imagining I was a cleric casting a cure moderate wounds spell.

"Shit," Harper said. "How did you do that?"

"You aren't a hedge witch," Levi said softly, staring at me with a mix of awe and fear on his face.

"No. I'll explain later," I said. I wouldn't. I had to leave Wylde, like, yesterday. It wasn't safe here anymore.

But first I'd go down into those steam tunnels with them and see if we could find Ezee. If there were more traps, well, what was a little extra magic? Samir wouldn't be here in the next hour.

I hoped.

"Come on. Let's go see what's down those steps," I said, getting to my feet.

Levi unzipped his hoodie and handed it to me. I pulled it on over my ruined shirt and felt like crying. My friends were good people. I was going to miss them like crazy. But I'd rather miss them than get them killed.

"Gamers in steam tunnels. This always ends well," I said, trying to smile.

Neither of them smiled back.

The steps led down into a tight corridor. The clamminess increased, and as we moved carefully forward, the air took on the faint scent of decay.

The corridor branched. Levi sniffed and motioned to the right. Even I could tell the smell of dead things was stronger that way. We didn't speak. My head started pounding, and it was difficult to breathe as the stench escalated.

The tunnel terminated in a round room that had probably held more mechanical devices for moving warm air around the place fifty or a hundred years ago. Now it just held a room out of a B-movie horror flick.

A huge pentagram was drawn on the floor in what looked like brownish paint but was probably dried blood. On a metal shelf to one side was an assortment of dried herbs, a couple ritual daggers straight out of a Kit Rae catalog complete with gem skulls and extraneous spiked bits, and a few books about magic. The books were bunk, new-age and totally harmless. Yet somehow this guy and his flunkies had managed to raise a lot of power. On the other side of the pentagram was a desk with a few papers strewn across it and beyond that another door.

"Oh God," Harper moaned. She'd walked over to the desk and stood with her arms wrapped protectively around herself.

I moved to where I could see past her and the desk and found the source of the dead animal smell.

Two wolves were crouched there, both frozen like Rose, snarls on their faces. They were far too large to be real wolves, I realized. They had been shifters. One was rotted away, bones clearly sticking out in yellowed contrast to the grey fur. Its eyes were gone, only dark, gunky sockets remained.

The other wolf was in slightly better shape. Its body was emaciated, looking like a creature out of a Humane Society commercial but even worse. Patches of its fur had come off, and I could count its ribs and just about every other bone in its body. Its dark brown eyes were still there, staring up at us.

"I think Ezee was here," Levi whispered, coming up beside Harper and I. "I can faintly smell him."

"They are dead, right? Not like Mom," Harper said. I wasn't sure she was talking to me, but I put my hand gently on her shoulder anyway.

"That smell certainly says so," I said. I looked down at the desk. "Hey, is that a map?" Maybe we'd finally caught a break here.

"Yeah. That's a map of the Frank near the Wylde river region here." Levi bent over the map, tracing the lines. "Guess he got out in too much of a hurry to take it. Wonder what this writing is."

I studied the writing. "Sanskrit?" I guessed. "It's notes about the full moon hitting zenith and some kind of conjunction with Jupiter. Those lines there that look random? Those are ley lines, I think. He's mapped out a node of power there. That can't be good."

"How many languages do you speak?" Levi was staring at me again.

"All of them."

"No, seriously," he said.

See? Even when I tell the truth, no one believes me. What's the point?

"Is Mom going to end up like that?" Harper said. Her eyes were locked on the wolves.

"No, Harper, geez. Don't even think like that. We've uncovered a huge lead for Alek, right?" I gave her shoulder a little shake.

"The full moon is tonight," Levi said.

"We have to find Alek," I said. "Come on, that guy is long gone and I don't want us lost down here. We know where he will be. Bring the map and stuff."

"Are you sure they are dead?" Harper said, refusing to be pulled away as Levi gathered up the papers on the desk.

Oh for fuck's sake. I swallowed the words and walked around the desk, breathing only through my mouth as my eyes watered under the assault of the bodies' acrid smell. I bent and put my hand on the head of the wolf that was less rotted out and summoned up my magic again.

The same twisting dark bonds that had locked Rose up were present in the wolf. Same pattern, same flow toward an intricate knot I could sense but not unravel.

Same faint heartbeat beneath it.

I stumbled back too quickly and ended up on my ass against the wall. I knew what Bernie Barnes was up to. I knew where all his power was coming from. The emaciated bodies filled in the final puzzle piece.

It shouldn't have been possible, but somehow he had found a way to paralyze shifters and then cannibalize their innate power for his own spells.

"He's not dead, is he? He's like Mom. That's what Mom is gonna be. No, no," Harper cried out, and started to come around the desk.

"Get her out of here, Levi," I said, shoving myself to my feet. "I'll meet you guys at the car. Go!"

Levi's eyes met mine and he nodded gravely, understanding what I meant to do. He grabbed Harper's arm and yanked her toward the door we'd come in. "Come on, kid. We need to get out of here."

Tears streaming down her face, she looked at me and then nodded bleakly.

I waited until they were through the door and out of sight before I walked over to the shelf and picked up one of the daggers. I wanted to cuss Alek and his stupid fucking visions right out, but it wasn't him who had done this. His vision was about to come true, in a way, but it was my choice. I'm good at lying and at running, but I try not to lie to myself too much. It's a bad habit.

I stood over the wolf, my hand shaking as I held the dagger. I knew I should drive it into the wolf's heart. Which would make me a killer.

Warmth spread through me as a furry head butted into my side, rocking me on my feet. Wolf, my guardian, materialized beside me and nudged my arm again. I looked at her through blurred vision. The tears I'd been trying to shed in the last two days were here finally, stinging as they ran down my cheeks.

"Okay," I whispered, "Message received."

I knelt and drove the dagger into the wolf's chest.

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# Chapter 8

We didn't have to track Alek down. He was waiting for us outside the game shop when we arrived after a silent and tense car ride.

"We know who it is."

"He has Ezee."

"He has my brother."

All three of us spoke on top of each other, and Alek held up a hand.

"One at a time, and maybe not out here?" He looked at me and frowned. "I smell blood."

"I'm fine," I said. I pulled out my keys, bumping my bruised hip as I did so. Another painful reminder that I wasn't fine. Nothing was. Again I felt irrational anger at Alek for coming into my world and wrecking everything. Two days ago everything had been normal. Now, my life was ruined. Again.

Inside the shop, Levi and I quickly explained what had happened at the school. I pushed the miniatures to the side and Levi laid out the map we'd found. Harper sat heavily in my chair behind the desk and booted up my computer.

"Think he actually works there? We can find out who he really is on the faculty page, I think," she said. Her face was too calm, her eyes puffy but clear. She had the hollow look of someone who had suffered too much pain too quickly and burned down to an empty core of rage.

I knew that feeling. I knew that look. Intimately. I was halfway there myself. The other half? Sheer terror.

"I'm going upstairs to get a new shirt," I said.

Alek followed me. I wasn't really surprised.

"If we are going to talk," I said, "Then you better do that silence-ward thingy you did last night." Fuck. Only last night I'd been bleeding in my bathtub. Two nights ago I'd been plotting how to sucker my players into their latest adventure and rolling up stats on a Lich Lord.

Silvery magic slipped over the walls of my bedroom. I pulled out a batman tee-shirt and pulled off the bloody hoodie and my torn up shirt. I kept my back to Alek and he waited until I was clothed again before speaking.

"This Bernie Barnes, he's a sorcerer like you?" he asked.

So, he had figured out what I was. Guess that wasn't really a surprise.

"No. He's using rituals, which I guess makes him a warlock. The magic isn't inside him; he's stealing it. I think that's what the ley-line map and his notes are about." I sat heavily on my bed and looked down at my hands. There was dried blood under my nails. Awesome. Tears threatened again. Twenty-plus years without crying and now I was about to do it twice in a day. More awesome.

"Stealing power from shifters," Alek prompted. "Like a sorcerer."

"Stop saying that. You're wrong. We can't steal power, not like that." I glared at him. "I have power because I was born with it. It's like this well inside me. A witch or warlock or whatever you call a human magic user has only the ability to use power, not the actual power itself inside them. They have to do special rituals or tap power sources like ley lines, bodies of water, or plots of land, Gods, that kind of thing, to actually work magic. Shifters are different. You guys are one-trick ponies. Well, you might not be." I stopped for a steadying breath and waved my hand at my shimmering walls. "But most shifters just have that one connection to their animal. You guys are magic, instead of using it. And it isn't a magic that is accessible to anyone else. If I ate your heart, nothing would happen but a bad stomach ache."

"You eat hearts? I thought that was legend." He ran a hand through his hair. Some fell over his forehead and I wanted to get up and go to him, brush it away. Lean into his vanilla and musk warmth and pretend he was just a hot guy in my bedroom and that I wasn't sitting here on borrowed time while the world went to ruin around me.

"I don't," I said. "But I could. If, say, I ate the heart of this Bernie guy, I'd have his knowledge, his ability to use the kind of power he's wielding." I saw Alek's expression at that and realized I really shouldn't have used this situation as an example.  "Anyway, that's a sorcerer thing. Bernie can't do that. I think--and again, I'm making educated but pretty crazy guesses with the stuff we already know--he's not using shifter powers so much as using their life force as a source. He's doing it with shifters probably for a couple reasons. One, no one is going to be that alarmed if they come across a guy with a bunch of stuffed animals lying around. Two, you guys have a lot of life source. What makes you hard to kill is what makes you perfect as a sort of magical battery for this guy."

Now that I was saying it all aloud it made even more sense than it had in my head as I ran through my ideas on the drive back to my shop.

"The full moon, the ley-line node, and a fresh, healthy shifter to power whatever he's doing out there tonight... Well, put it together and you've got really bad news. He might be able to tap into the node from there and create some kind of permanent conduit. After that, and considering how he views your kind as walking batteries, you'll have a serious problem."

"Yes," Alek said. "But we can stop him tonight, before the moon rises. Make him undo what he has done. And then I'll kill him."

"Wait, what's this 'we', white man?" I said. "I am not going with you. And don't you dare drag Levi and Harper along either. They nearly got caught in one of this guy's traps today. You have training, experience. They don't. Right now this guy is pretty much just a human. You should be able to handle that." Though we had no idea how many minions he had left. Two were out of commission. Were there more? I shoved the thought into the not my problem file.

"Why not come with me? You have power and you can help stop him--do your protection thing and tell me if he's undoing his magic."

"No. I'm leaving town before I get us all killed." He'd been right when he told me the night before that I would tell him the truth. He already knew what I was. What did it matter if he knew the rest? "I'm here in Wylde because I thought the ley lines and the abundance of shifters and other magic users would hide me. But it was only going to work as long as I didn't use my own magic. All those horror stories you hear about sorcerers? They aren't really about the rest of us, few as we are. They are about one man and he's probably on his way here right now to destroy me and anyone I care about."

"Then I will fight him with you, in exchange for your help on this current matter." Alek looked skeptical, and his shrug was overly casual.

I laughed, the sound raw and ugly. I could have left it at that; he didn't need to understand, after all. I didn't need to change his mind. But I wanted him to know the truth--it was weirdly important to me that he see I was right, that I couldn't stay, how badly I had to run. It wasn't only terror making me go; it was the only way anyone would survive.

"Wolf, show him," I said softly, looking over at where my guardian was flopped on the floor by my dresser. Alek gave me a strange look, which was fair, since as far as he could see I was talking to an empty patch of carpet.

Then he gasped and his hand slid to his gun as Wolf chose to become visible. She was all black, the size of a pony, with a wolf's head and ears, a body like a tiger's, giant paws with retractable claws like a lynx's, and the long, thick tail of a snow leopard. Her eyes were the black of a perfect night sky with no moon, their depths endless and full of tiny stars.

"Undying," he murmured, and for a moment I thought he might bow or something. "She is with you?" He looked at me with something like awe on his face.

Wolf was a spirit guardian, what some called the Undying. The legend went that they were the guards of the beings that had become the human's gods. I don't really know about that, since Wolf doesn't talk to me and certainly doesn't share any secrets of the universe with me.

"I guess so. My cousins dropped me down a mine shaft as a bad joke when I was four. I was hurt and terrified, but then Wolf showed up. She stopped the pain and carried me out. Been with me ever since." I stood up and went to her. "But that isn't what I wanted you to see." I touched her belly where a stark white line of scar tissue broke up the perfect darkness of her fur.

"Samir, the sorcerer after me, he did that to her last time I ran from him."

"He scarred an Undying?" Alek gave a low whistle.

"He's been gathering power and eating the hearts of any rivals since back when a guy named Jesus told the meek they'd inherit the earth," I said. "Now do you see? You want me to help you stop the magical equivalent of a drunk driver while I'm telling you I need to get the hell out of here before I bring down a world-ending meteor on our heads."

Wolf butted me with her head and then disappeared. No idea what she meant by that gesture, as usual. I chose to ignore the feeling of unhappiness I got from it.

"So you will keep running from him." Alek's tone made it clear that wasn't a question. "Until when?" That was probably rhetorical.

I ignored his tone. "Until I'm strong enough to fight him."

"And you grow stronger while you run away?" Alek said in a tone I was starting to really hate.

"I don't know. He's evil, Alek, and he hates me with an obsessive rage. He hunted me down after I failed to kill him the first time, used my family to lure me out. He would have killed all of us if I hadn't run." Tears sprang to my eyes and I curled my hands into fists. "He killed them. Because of me."

Technically, they'd killed themselves after he'd captured and tortured them and then hooked them up to a bomb. I could still hear Ji-hoon's last words telling me not to come, telling me to flee as far and as fast as I could. Could hear the sound of the bomb as the four of them decided they would rather give their lives by setting the device off than let Samir take me as well.

"You tried to kill him?"

"Dammit. Yes. I found out he wasn't really my lover or my friend. He was using me, fattening up my magic by training me and helping me be more powerful so he could make a tastier meal of me later. So yeah, I tried to kill him. I failed, okay? Twice. And now, this is my life. I run away so that I can live. So that my friends here can live."

"I understand," he said. His voice had gone cold and quiet. "I will go stop this warlock myself."

He turned and walked to the door, throwing it open as he dropped his soundproofing ward. Then he hesitated and looked back at me.

"You survive," he said. "Not live. You are not living, Jade Crow."

"Fuck you," I yelled after him. I didn't need his judgment. Anger would have been better than the disappointment in his face. Better than those words, words so close to the ones my own heart whispered to me in the dead hours of the night sometimes.

* * *

I STUMBLED INTO THE bathroom and saw the medallion sitting on the counter where I'd apparently forgotten it the night before. I shoved it into a drawer. I turned the water on as hot as I could stand and scrubbed at my hands until no more blood stained them. Then I splashed water on my face until I could look into the mirror and pretend I didn't look like a mess.

Levi and Harper were still in the shop, alone. I let out my breath with a huff of relief. At least Alek had made them stay here.

"That guy told us the truth," Levi said. "His name really is Bernard Barnes and he's a professor of Religious Studies at Juniper."

"Well, I guess that's good," I said. My brain was already inventorying the place, trying to decide what I would take with me and what I would leave. I'd have to leave most of it.

"He said you weren't going to help," Harper said. She came around from behind the counter and stood, hands on her hips, looking at me with accusing green eyes.

"I'd get in the way," I said.

"That's what he said about us." Harper shook her head.

"He's right, Harper. He's a Justice. They are like super-shifters, right? That's what you guys told me. Your Council of Nine sent him here to fix things. So let him do his job."

"She's right," Levi said, his voice rough but soft. "Let's go, Harper."

I was glad to have support from his quarter, but it surprised me. I squinted at him. "Where are you going?"

"To see Mom at Dr. Lake's. Max is with her. If that's okay with you?" She said the last part with an exaggerated sneer.

Fuck. My last conversation with my best friend was going to be a fight. Totally awesomesauce. Not.

"Yeah, of course," I said. I went to her and tried to give her a hug.

She stepped back. "See you later," she said. Levi was already half out the door.

"Bye, guys," I whispered as the door chimes rang.

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# Chapter 9

How do you leave a home? If the third time was supposed to be the charm, one would think I'd have this down by now.

I locked up my shop and went back upstairs. A couple pairs of jeans, the few teeshirts I hadn't bled on and destroyed in the last couple days, socks, underclothes, my Pikachu footie pajamas. I didn't take any of my posters or figurines, but I did pack my dice bag. I knew wherever I went, I could probably find gamers. We are legion, after all.

I did my dishes and vacuumed all the floors. I was walking out on my lease, so I figured the least I could do was clean up the place a bit. I looked around. This was my life. And now it was over. Again.

I walked down into the shop and flicked on a light. My orc miniatures sat on the counter, primed and ready for paint to bring them to life. I could almost hear the echo of my friends' laughter from the back room where the game table stood empty, could smell the traces of a hundred pizza deliveries and spilled soda pop. The concrete floors were scuffed around the counter where Harper's combat boots always left marks when she stood there for hours on end chatting away with me while playing Hearthstone on her laptop.

I walked behind the counter and took a single framed picture off the wall. It was the only thing I still had from my last real home, twenty years ago.

It was just a pen sketch. Four figures done up comic-book style and a small Korean signature in red ink at the bottom. Ji-hoon, one of my surrogate parents, had been an illustrator for Marvel back in the Comics Bronze Age of the late seventies and eighties. He'd done a family portrait for me as a high school graduation present.

There was Kayla with her usual side ponytail and giant smile. Sophie with her 1980s punk band Mohawk and one hand flipping off the artist. Todd with his hair over his forehead, his oversized glasses, and his favorite Pi teeshirt on. Ji-hoon with his carefully cut black hair, and slight stature that he always exaggerated in self-portraits. And an awkward girl named Jessica Carter with waist-length black hair, big cheekbones, and a huge glowing D20 pendant around her neck.

That had been me. I'd been Jade Crow when I was born. Then Jessica Carter to my second family. Jade Crow again to my third.

I didn't know who I would be next. I just wanted to be myself, whoever that was. But I'd chosen the wrong boyfriend in college, and any normal life after that was game over for me. Alek had been right about that. I had to be in survival mode, always. I'd forgotten that truth these last few years, making a home here in Wylde.

I'd been stupid.

"And this, kids, is why we can't have nice things," I said to the picture before tucking it into my duffle bag.

I looked around again. Dammit. I didn't want to leave. Maybe my car wouldn't start and I'd be stuck. Maybe Samir had given up on me. The last time he'd gotten anywhere near me that I knew of was over a decade ago. Maybe he wasn't still looking for my magical signature, waiting to trap me. Maybe he was dead.

Fat fucking chance.

I had to leave. Tonight. Putting it off would make leaving tougher. My friends were pissed at me. I was pissed at me. Would using more magic to help Alek have been so awful?

I wasn't sure. I didn't trust what I might do if faced with a choice between saving Rose and Ezee and letting them die.

Alek had said his vision showed me standing at a crossroads between shifters dying and living. I'd killed one shifter, a man whose name I might never know. It didn't matter it that it was a mercy killing. I didn't want to kill anyone.

Lies. I wanted to kill Samir. Sometimes I dreamed terrible and explicit revenge fantasies when I couldn't sleep on the worst nights. I wanted to rain hell upon him in the worst way. And yet. He had a couple thousand years of practice on me and only in my deepest nightmares did I even speculate how many sorcerers and human mages he'd eaten over the millennia. There was no way I'd ever be strong enough to face him.

And you grow stronger while you run away? Alek's words ran through my mind.

I hadn't grown stronger. The magic I had used in the last two days felt pretty weak to me. My power was still there, but I'd grown out of shape, out of practice. I was getting weaker.

"All the more reason you can't stay," I said aloud to the accusing silence. Maybe I was a coward, but I'd be an alive coward. And my friends would be safe. I was doing the right thing.

I sighed and wondered whom I was trying to convince, standing here arguing with myself in my head about a decision that only had one good answer where everyone got to go on living.

Survive. You are not living, Jade Crow. Alek's words in my head again.

Footsteps raced up the street outside, distracting me from my stupid inner turmoil, and I was already turning toward the door when Max, Harper's little brother, ran into it and started yelling my name.

I unlocked the door and Max nearly fell into my arms as he burst through, talking rapidly.

"Woah there, buddy. Slow down. Who took Rose?" I tried to parse his rushed sentences.

"Harper and Levi," he said. "They came by a while ago, said I should go get some coffee. I went out and when I got back nobody was there. They took Mom. I thought I should run to you cause your phone just goes to voicemail and no one is picking up and I don't know where they are."

"I do," I muttered, thinking hard. Levi had definitely given in too easily. "Idiot."

"Me?"

"No, not you. Me. I should have known they'd go after Alek. They're going to try to fight the guy who did that to your mom and force him to undo it."

"Good," Max said.

"What? No. Not good." They were going to go get in the way at best, and at worst get Alek killed if he was distracted trying to protect them. They'd get everyone killed, or enslaved and paralyzed, and universe knew what else. Fucking toast on a stick.

I had to stop them. Or save them. I couldn't just leave now.

Besides, I really did want to fight something. Bernard Barnes wasn't Samir, but he was a start.

Maybe this was the universe's way of telling me it was time to stop running.

"All right, Universe," I said, glaring up at the ceiling. "Message received."

"What are you going to do?" Max said as he followed me up the steps and into my apartment.

"I know sort of where they were going, but we don't have the map. So I have to cast a spell on this medallion I took off one of the evil minions so we can track the person who made it, who I bet is the guy your sister and Levi went after, and so we can stop him from killing everyone before the moon hits zenith."

"Cool," Max said.

Oh, to be fifteen again.

The medallion was still in the bathroom drawer. I looked it over, finding little imperfections and dents in the clay that I hoped meant it was handmade. The stain on it reminded me of dried blood, and I tried not to think about that too hard as I held it in both hands and called on my magic.

It was a variation of the spell I'd done for Alek, only I needed no compass this time. The medallion would act as my guide. I felt it pulling northwest.

"You have your permit, right?" I asked Max as we descended the stairs to my car. The moon was already peaking up over the buildings.

"Yeah?"

"Good." I tossed him my keys. "I need to focus on this spell. You're driving. Try not to kill us."

For the record, my car started up just fine.

* * *

"PULL OVER HERE," I told Max after about half an hour of driving on the narrow highway along the border of the River of No Return Wilderness. "This is where I have to go on foot."

"The moon is over the trees," he said as we got out of the car. "How far is it? How long do we have?"

I almost said, "Who is this 'we,' white man," but I'd used that line once today and I figured there was some kind of cosmic limit.

"Me. I'm going. You are staying here with my car and making sure it doesn't get stolen."

"Stolen. Right." His shoulders slumped.

"I mean it, Max. Please?" I softened my tone and gave him my best desperate female gaze.

"Okay," he muttered.

I followed the medallion's pull into the trees, shoving my way through the undergrowth. It was goddamned dark in here. I used more magic, feeding it into my talisman until the D20 glowed enough that I could see a few feet ahead. The ferns and weeds grew fewer as I moved into the more mature forest away from the road, but I was still moving too slowly. My lungs hurt and my leg muscles burned as I half stumbled, half ran through the dark woods.

This wasn't working. At this rate, I'd get there about dawn if they were really deep into the wilderness. There might have been an access road or old logging path that provided a better way, but my tracking spell wasn't Google Maps. It could only tell me direction, not the best route by car.

How long had it been since Alek and company stormed out of my store? Two hours? Three? Maybe they'd won and were on their way back to rub in my face how I'd missed all the action.

"Stop talking yourself out of doing shit," I said aloud as I stopped moving for a moment and leaned against a tree. I wasn't sure about lovely, but the woods were dark and deep. Robert Frost had gotten that part right. I guess two of three ain't bad. Wind rustled in the branches high over my head as I gasped in the cool, damp air.

Wolf materialized beside me and cocked her head at me.

"You going to help?" I asked her, not expecting an answer.

She bent low and twisted her head toward her back.

"Guess that's a yes," I said, smiling at her. "Thank you." I jumped up onto her back, digging my free hand into her thick, warm fur and clinging with my sore legs. I hadn't ridden on Wolf's back since she'd dragged us both bleeding and half dead out of the burning rubble where my family had chosen death and where I'd made my second and most disastrous stand against Samir.

This ride was a lot more fun. She sprang forward, gliding just over the ground in large, smooth bounds. I kept my grip on her fur and on the medallion, holding the tracking spell as best I could, but she seemed to know where to go. We soared through the woods, covering miles in a rush. I finally gave up on the spell and used that hand to grip my braid, keeping my head down as branches whipped by and threatened to tear off all my hair. Long hair can be a bitch.

After an eternity that wasn't long enough, Wolf slowed and dropped into a crouch. As my ears adjusted to the sudden lack of movement and wind, I heard chanting coming from up ahead. I blinked tears from my eyes and peered into the darkness. There seemed to be more light in front of us than a full moon on a clear night could account for.

Wolf crept forward until she reached the edge of a giant clearing where the trees stopped abruptly and the land sloped downward. In the moonlight I saw a field at the bottom of the hill. Tiki torches were set in a loose ring, providing enough light to make out what was going on.

There were no triumphant friends or even a raging battle. As far as I could tell, my side had already pretty much lost whatever fight had happened.

Within the ring of light were two circles drawn with what I guessed was loose chalk. The smaller circle held a huge white tiger. Alek, I guessed. He was caught within a holding spell, I assumed, since he should have been able to just step out of the thing but instead was turning and growling as though he were caught in an iron cage.

The second, larger circle contained Bernie Barnes in a ridiculous black hooded robe with silver runes sewn onto it. He knelt over a reddish-brown dog. No, not a dog. A coyote. Ezee. Barnes was chanting in Sanskrit, the words much less relevant than the twisting shadow lines of power swirling like ghosts above him.

For a moment I didn't see Harper or Levi. Maybe Max had been wrong. I scanned the ground inside the ring of torches, and two dark shapes on the edge caught my eye. A fox and a wolverine, red and fawn fur bright against the dark grass. I couldn't tell from here if they were alive, but they definitely weren't conscious.

Rage swelled in me, white hot, and with it came more of my magic. I fed my frustration into it, and gathered power in my hands.

"All right, Wolf," I whispered to my companion, "the plan is we charge down there and wreck that motherfucker's night."

I couldn't kill him, since we needed him to undo his spells, but I could make him hurt. Make him regret ever even thinking about using magic. I could show him what a real goddamn mage could do.

Wolf charged. We burst down the hill and into the ring of torches, and I brought my hands up, aiming balls of force right at Bernie's hooded head.

I totally would have saved the night if the evil minion I hadn't spotted had waited just another few seconds.

But he didn't.

Instead he shot me in the back.

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# Chapter 10

The shot was loud. The bullet ripped through me and the pain wiped my grip on my magic. That whole thing with the bullet in the hip? A flesh wound compared to the tearing pain that spiked through my chest. I think I stopped breathing.

I tumbled off Wolf's back and stopped my fall with my face. My arms and legs didn't seem to want to respond. I didn't think a bullet could kill a sorceress, but this one felt like it was giving an A-plus effort.

The pain turned from lightning strikes to a deep, terrifying chill. I heard the chanting continue, and beside me Wolf growled. She might look scary as fuck, but she can't actually do anything to a human. Or stop a bullet.

My eyes didn't seem to want to open, either. The grass was wet and cool on my cheek. Maybe I'd just stay here. It smelled good. Clean. Nothing like blood or dying animals. I don't like blood. It's so sticky.

"I got her!" a man's voice called out near me.

Wolf licked my back, her tongue molten hot, and I screamed. The pain faded back enough that I could think again, and when I moved my hands to get them underneath me and pry my face off the dirt, they sluggishly obeyed.

I raised my head, spitting out blood and dirt. My mouth was gritty but at least my eyes were working now and I seemed to be able to breathe again. A young man in a black robe stood about ten feet from me, pointing a gun and grinning.

I reached for my magic, and this time I didn't try to really control the flow of it. I tore open the dams on my power and let it fill me to the brim. The pain gave up, turning off like a switch had been flipped. I knew somewhere in my subconscious that I was going to really regret this tomorrow, but I wanted to live until tomorrow.

I wrapped one hand around my talisman and struggled to my knees. I thrust my magic down into my left arm and used it to extend my fist, slapping the gun out of the evil minion's hand. He yelled in surprise, but I didn't stop there. I swung my arm back, using the same force to punch him in the face.

He went down and stayed down. Guess no one had ever told him not to bring a gun to a mage fight.

I laughed, though the sound came out as more of a hiccupping cough. The chanting grew quicker, more frantic. I twisted and looked at Bernie. The moonlight shone on the huge silver dagger in his hands as he raised it over Ezee's body. He was twenty feet away from me at least. I tried to rise and my vision swam with red and black dots.

Tiger-Alek roared, drawing my gaze to him. He was closer. I remembered how quickly he could move. He just needed out of that circle.

That, I could do.

I let go of my talisman and slammed both fists into the ground, channeling the raging tide of my magic into the surface of the earth. I visualized it charging just under the roots of the grass like a tunneling Arrakis sandworm. The grass rippled and the earth buckled in a straight line from my hands to the circle trapping Alek.

When the ripple hit the circle, I yanked my fists up and threw them wide in a breaking motion.

The circle flew apart, dark shards of power shooting into the air and chalk exploding in a white cloud. Tiger-Alek sprang free and took two great leaping bounds before he crashed through the circle surrounding Bernie.

"Don't kill him!" I yelled. My magical tide was receding. I was definitely hitting a limit. I pushed myself to my feet.

Tiger-Alek slammed into Bernie, knocking him to the side. Then he was just Alek again. He grabbed the chubby warlock by his robe and twisted his wrist in a crazy Bruce Lee kind of move until Bernie screamed and dropped the knife. Even stumbling forward and still fifteen feet away, I heard Bernie's arm break.

"Is the spell broken?" Alek called to me.

I looked around. No more shadows flew around the broken circle, and though I could still sense Bernie's weird, nauseating magic, it wasn't strong anymore.

"I think so," I said. "Harper? Levi?"

"Alive. I can hear them breathing."

Super senses must be nice. I sagged with relief.

"Good. So, Bernie Barnes, we meet again." I looked down at the whimpering man. He looked so pathetic that I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"You don't understand," he whined. "You don't know what you've done. I was so close."

"I. Don't. Fucking. Care," I said. "Save the Bond villain explanation for whatever god greets you in hell. Unless, of course, you want to live."

There was zero way he was going to live. Shifter justice isn't very nice. But he didn't need to know that yet.

"Yes," he said, his bug-like blue eyes filled with desperation.

"All you have to do is undo your spells, the ones that suck power from my friends. Very simple." I smiled at him.

From his reaction, it wasn't a very pleasant smile.

"I, uh," he stuttered, and then looked up at Alek and then back at me. "I can't."

"You worked the spell. How?"

"I found an old book. Bought it on eBay. Most of it was gibberish, but then some of the spells worked. But I couldn't get enough power, not from people. They kept dying, you see. Then I discovered one of them." He looked back up at Alek. "Werepeople. The book described using magical creatures as vessels."

"Where is this book?" And what fucking idiot warlock had written down such dangerous spells? Rage trickled back through me, giving me a second wind, and I glared down at the shaking man.

"I burnt it. I didn't want my disciples to steal it. Jimmy and Collin were always lifting things, trying to find ways to gain power like I did. Then they sold that damn fox for weed money. This is their fault!"

"Oh yeah, your problem was that you hired bad help. Sure." I looked at Alek. His eyes were flame and ice in the flickering torchlight.

"He's telling the truth," Alek said softly.

"So you can't undo your spells? You really don't know how?"

"No, I'm telling you. The book didn't tell me that. Why would I want to? Before now, I mean. Those two," he said, motioning toward Harper and Levi, "they aren't tapped. They are just unconscious. They'll wake up. See? It's only that one."

"Not just him," I said. "What about the fox? What about those wolves under your office?"

"I can't do anything about it now. Don't let that thing kill me. I won't do it again. I'm sorry," Bernie said, his voice rising into a high screech.

I sank to my knees and reached out for Ezee's body beside me, sliding my hand into his soft brown fur. Shadow bonds wrapped around him in the same twisting pattern they did on Rose. I found his heartbeat, faint but there.

"This is the crossroads," I whispered, looking up at Alek. "This is what you saw."

He just stared down at me, not moving, his face giving nothing away. I knew somehow that he would let me decide. That if I said the word, he'd become the Justice once more and execute the sentence of death on Bernie Barnes.

That was one path, one road leading away from the junction I now metaphorically stood at. Down that path, Bernie died. Rose and Ezee also died. Slowly and horribly, or else they would have to be put down by friends. By me, or maybe Alek. I wasn't going to ask Harper or Levi to do it.

On that path, they died.

There was another path.

"No, Bernie," I said, the words falling like stones from my mouth. "You won't do it again." I summoned my magic, fighting the pounding exhaustion that threatened to stem the flow.

Then I plunged my hand, cloaked in raw power, into Bernie's chest and ripped out his heart.

I didn't let myself think about what I was doing. I just acted, shoving the bleeding hunk of muscle into my mouth and biting down hard. I didn't know if I had to eat the whole thing or not. I hoped not. It was hot and tough, like trying to chew a raw steak. I ripped off the biggest piece I could and swallowed it without chewing more than once, half choking, and I fought to not immediately vomit it back up.

Shadowy power exploded in my chest as I swallowed and a flood of images and impressions overloaded my mind. Ugly, jock-type boys gathered around me, taunting me for my glasses, my weird name. Learning Sanskrit. Stabbing a shadowy knife into a screaming man's chest. Cinnamon rolls. Shadow power welling inside me as young men sat at my feet, eager to learn. I think I passed out as Bernie's life and mine collided.

Then the sensory overload stopped, and just like that I was awake. My head was clear and this strange new knowledge was there, as though I'd downloaded a new file to the desktop of my brain.

I reached for Ezee, the shadow bonds inside him clear as lines on a map to me now. I knew what they were for, how they leeched his life force and transmuted it into an energy I now knew how to use.

I was relieved that the very idea of this still nauseated the fuck out of me.

I unraveled the bonds. I didn't need a book to understand how this magic worked. Now that I could touch it, control it, my sorceress abilities took over and bent it to my will. I snapped the bonds, unwinding the knot around his heart.

He came alive with a yelp and sprang up. Then he shifted, turning instantly from coyote back to a man.

"Jade," he said, and then looked past me and ran for his twin's inert form.

I didn't take it personally. He could thank me later. All I wanted to do now was pass out and sleep for maybe a couple million years. The rush of new power was fading, leaving me hollow. The pain in my chest came back with an insistent throb and spots danced in my vision again. Not enough spots, though, to keep me from turning and seeing Bernie's dead body lying in a black heap on the bloody grass. I felt nothing but a faint sadness for the man he could have been if he'd chosen another path.

I decided I could process later. It was definitely past time to be unconscious. On cue, Alek lifted me into his impossibly strong arms.

"Max," I said. "He's out there, at the highway. Someone should call him."

"Shh," he murmured. "I'll handle it from here."

He was warm, so warm. My skin felt rimed with ice in comparison. I nuzzled my head into his shoulder, pressing my bruised nose to his chest.

"You smell good," I said.

And then, because the Universe can sometimes be a merciful bitch, I passed the fuck out.

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# Chapter 11

It took me three days before I could do more than stumble to the bathroom and sip orange juice. I managed to pull up enough power at some point after I woke up the first day to free Rose from Bernie's spell. Doing so knocked me out again right afterwards.

I don't know what Alek said to the evil minion who'd shot me. I decided I wouldn't ask. He'd shot me, after all. I also had no idea what happened to Bernie's body, but I was willing to bet it would never be found. The boy in the coma woke up after I killed Bernie and fled town. Without the book and without Bernie to teach them, I figured he was probably harmless now.

Unfortunately, the spell that had bound Rose and Ezee didn't put them to sleep. They'd both been awake and aware the entire time. Rose told us how she'd been approached by two young men who had said they were lost while hiking and how they'd lured her into one of Bernie's magical traps. The boy in the coma had stolen her from Bernie and sold her to Ciaran after he and Bernie argued about how they weren't learning useful magic yet.

While I was sleeping off my magical hangover and healing from a shot in the chest, Ezee had told Levi, Max, Rose, and Harper a pretty sensational account of my daring rescue. Harper and Levi were convinced I had a dire wolf familiar who could turn invisible at will now. I didn't correct them.

He left out the part where I nommed down on a man's heart. I was grateful for that. I still didn't know how I felt about it.

When I mercy-killed the wolf in Bernie's lair, I had felt so much pain and regret and revulsion for what I had to do. My heart had felt like it was going to crawl out of my chest, and I wanted to scrub my hands clean of blood like Lady Macbeth every time I thought about him. It had been merciful. The right thing to do. I still felt awful and sick about it. Bernie's memories hadn't even provided names for his victims. He hadn't cared enough to learn them.

But when I thought about Bernie, about thrusting my power into his chest and the hot, chewy taste of his heart between my teeth, I felt nothing. Empty. And I knew I would make the same choice again if I had to. I could run the scene through my mind a hundred times and I knew I would always choose his death and my friend's lives. Always.

After three days, I made Max drive me home in my car. Levi followed us and took him back to the B&B. I wanted to be alone. To process. The twins and Harper told me they understood, but I could see a million questions in their eyes. Questions I'd have to find answers for eventually if I was going to stick around.

My duffle bag was still sitting on the floor of my shop. Waiting for me to run. I picked it up and took it into my apartment. I dropped it on the coffee table and slumped onto my couch.

Stay? Or go?

Things weren't different. Samir was still going to come for me. I wasn't ready. I was more powerful than I had been a week ago, thanks to Bernie's donation, but I was magically flabby. I couldn't even put a fight half as good as the one I'd given him twenty years before. Not yet.

Someone tapped lightly on my door. I hadn't heard footsteps, so I knew instantly who it was. One giant blond pain in the ass coming right up.

"It's open," I called out. I actually wanted to talk to Alek. He'd been in and out of the B&B over the weekend, but we'd never had a chance to be alone.

He closed the door behind him and smiled at me before detouring into my kitchen and setting down a bag on the counter. Garlic and soy sauce wafted over to me. It smelled like heaven.

"Is that Chinese I smell?" I asked, even though the bag that read Lee's Magic Kitchen on the front was kind of a dead giveaway. "You are a god among men."

"That's a much nicer greeting than you gave me the first time we met," he said. He came over and sat down on the couch beside me, close enough that his thigh touched mine. I didn't move away.

"Yeah, well, you weren't exactly nice either. I believe you called me a murderer." I frowned as I said it. I hadn't been one that day. I was definitely one now.

He studied me for a moment and then looked at my duffle bag. "Are you still leaving?"

"I don't know," I said. "I'm tired of running. And as much as it really, really kills me to admit you were right... well... you were right."

"What's that? I'm sorry, I think I dozed off for a moment." He was smirking again.

"My ex is still going to come for me," I said, ignoring his teasing. "I'm not ready."

He shrugged. "So get ready."

"It's not that simple. I'll have to start using my magic. A lot. Training. I don't even know where to begin. I should probably learn to use a gun, or how to fight, or maybe kung fu. I'm not cut out for this, and I probably don't have enough time before he shows up. He could be here tomorrow. Or in a year. I don't know. It's not simple," I repeated.

"Yes," he said, flipping to serious mode. "It is. I have been assigned to this region. The Nine want a Justice around here for a while. I can help you, if you'll let me."

"Even knowing what I am? Seeing what I did?" I bit my lower lip and held my breath. This was the conversation I wanted to have, but I dreaded it anyway.

"Two weeks ago, I was sent a dream by the Nine. In that dream I saw a beautiful woman with hair like smoke and eyes full of fire. A giant crow soared above her and on one side of her was a pile of corpses shrouded in shadows as far as my eye could see. On the other side there was a sea of woodland creatures who laughed and danced in a sunny meadow."

"I think the humans have psychotherapy that can help with that," I said, trying to diffuse the awkwardness I felt at his intense recounting.

"Hush," he said. "That woman was you, Jade Crow. But she was not you, also. That night, in the circle beneath the full moon, I saw you choose the sunlight, choose life. That is a strength I am happy to encourage. A woman I want to know."

Tears burned in my eyes. I was going to have to magically cauterize my tear ducts or something at this rate if I kept crying all the time.

"But I killed him," I said, curling my hands into fists in my lap. "And I don't feel bad about it. At all. I'd do it again. I want to do it again. To Samir. I want to rip his heart out and destroy him forever."

"Good." Alek wrapped his hands around mine and gently pried my fingers open, rubbing his thumbs over my palms. "Some people need killing. Not everyone deserves life. This is something they taught me at Justice Academy."

I squinted at him. "Wait, there's really a Justice Academy?"

He laughed, the sound deep and beautiful and clean. "No."

"Fucker," I muttered.

Then he kissed me. His lips were firm against mine and liquid desire raced from my mouth straight into my lady bits. I moaned as his tongue slid into my mouth and crawled into his lap as his hands wrapped around my back and tangled in my hair. After what felt like much too short a time, he pulled away. Looking into his eyes I saw only a warm summer-sky shade of blue--none of the glacial ice I'd always compared them to.

"The food will get cold," he murmured. "Do you care?"

"Yes," I said as my stomach growled in a very unsexy manner. "To be continued, okay?"

"If you are staying," he said, and I knew he meant more than just here, in this moment.

"Yes," I said. I could almost say it without feeling terrified.

"I like when you tell the truth," he said.

"I'm a work in progress." I pried myself off his lap. "Now we're gonna eat. And then you, mister, are going to play a video game with me."

"Oh?" He stood up and pulled me back against him, nuzzling my hair.

I could definitely get used to that. "Yep. I can't date a non-gamer. It's just not done. So we're going to have to shoot some bandits and save the Borderlands."

"I've never played a video game," he said.

"Don't worry," I teased. "I'll be gentle."

He bent down and bit my earlobe before whispering in Russian, "I won't."

His words turned my legs into Gumby imitations, but I managed to stagger away from him toward the kitchen, ducking my head so my hair fell in a curtain and covered my blushing face. I might have brown skin, but I was sure I was scarlet at that moment. This thing between Alek and I, whatever this was, it was new to me. I hadn't dated in years, choosing to keep my relationships in Wylde strictly friendship-based. After all, I really hadn't shown great judgment in choosing boyfriends before.

But here I was, about to share a meal with a sexy tiger shifter who knew what I was, knew the dangers I posed, and was still here. In my home. Not running.

I knew then that Alek was right, damn him. I was done just surviving. It was time to live.

* * *

Annie Bellet is the USA Today bestselling author of the Gryphonpike Chronicles and the Twenty-Sided Sorceress series, and her short stories have appeared in over two dozen magazines and anthologies. Find all her books on her website at <http://anniebellet.com/> Or sign up to be notified of new releases here: <http://tinyurl.com/anniebellet>

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# Getting Wilde (Immortal Vegas, Book 1)

by Jenn Stark

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# Chapter One

The Devil was in the details. Again.

I leaned against the sticky countertop at Le Stube and glared down at the faded Tarot cards, the best Henri could scrounge up on short notice. The Devil trump looked particularly foul in this deck: all leering grin, fat belly, and clawed feet. Worse, it was the third time in as many days he'd shown up in my reading.

This time, he'd brought along some friends. I'd turned up the Tower, Death, and the Magician card in quick succession. Heavy hitters of the Tarot who had no business being in my business, at least not tonight.

Tonight's transaction, while unpleasant, wasn't supposed to be complicated. It wouldn't be complicated, I'd decided. I'd had enough of complicated for one evening.

Le Stube's front door opened. I sensed Henri peering past me with his sorrowful bartender eyes--just as I caught a whiff of the guy coming in. I sat up a little, blinking rapidly. Dude was pungent. Even by Parisian standards.

I tapped the Prince of Pents card lying in the middle of all the Major Arcana cards. It was covered by the Five of Wands. Since pentacles equaled money, I was pretty sure this newcomer was my contact: some low-level knuckle dragger muling cash for his king, the buyer who'd commissioned this deal, here to relieve me of the artifact I had snugged up against my right kidney. Unfortunately, I was also pretty sure said contact was spoiling for a fight. Which might become an issue, since neither prince nor king was going to get his trinket tonight, if the payoff wasn't right.

Not my problem, though. I wasn't the one who'd lied.

"Un autre?" Henri sighed. Like most bartenders in the City of Light, Henri was a master of the resigned sigh.

I swept the cards into a stack, pocketing them as I nodded to him. It wasn't the prettiest deck, but it was trying, at least. I owed it a one-way ticket out of Paris. Henri plucked my glass from the counter, making a big production of concocting something way too involved to be my drink.

He set the mess down in front of me and scowled, gloomy concern evident in every line of his thin, hunched body. Which was more than I could say for the guy shuffling up to the bar, who stank of sour cheese and bad karma, and maybe...peanut butter? Didn't want to think too much about that.

I barely avoided a wince as he sat down. "You 'ave it?"

"You didn't tell me about the competition," I said, picking up my glass. "The price has gone up."

"You do 'ave it." My contact leaned toward me, his gun nudging into my side. Henri was applying his bar towel diligently to nonexistent dust at the far end of the bar. As if nothing that happened here would bother him, as long as I kept it tidy.

I could do tidy. The cards and their crazy were not the boss of me.

"If you have the money, we have a deal," I said, Miss Congeniality all the way. "Just at double our original price. What's more, I suspect you do have the money, honey, because you knew what I was walking into. Unlike me, for the record. Which, frankly, wasn't very neighborly of you."

His face didn't change expression. "You agreed to the terms."

I shook my head. With the mule this close, we could talk freely without being overheard. If only I could manage it without breathing. "No. I agreed to lift a minor, plate-sized relic off a clueless museum intern. You missed the bit where said flunky was also being targeted by the Swiss Guard, who, by the way, apparently don't wear pajamas when they're not at the Vatican. You also missed the part where the Swiss Guard had become ninjas. All that's a little out of my pay grade." I took a sip of my drink, wincing at the tang as I set the glass down again. Horseradish. Nice. If I had to use it on this guy, it was going to sting like a bitch.

"But you 'ave it." Clearly the guy thought he could get what he wanted simply by boring me to death. I considered my options. He was powerfully built, with a thick jaw and a boxer's nose--but his curled upper lip shone with sweat, his beady eyes looked just a teensy bit feral, and his cheeks were flushed. Something wasn't right here. He was too nervous, too intent.

"The transaction was compromised." I spread my hands in a "what can you do?" gesture. "I wasn't given full information. With full information, I never would have taken the job. But, I can be reasonable. Which means your new price is merely double. So go talk to your boss, get the extra cash, and then we'll have something to discuss."

"No." Again with the gun. Harder this time. Sharper. "You must give it to me now." The man practically vibrated with concentration, and my Spidey sense went taut. This definitely was too much reaction for the relic in question. We weren't talking the Ark of the Covenant here, no matter how much I was going to charge the guy.

I reclaimed my glass of horseradish whiskey and took in Henri. He remained at the far end of the bar, well out of the way of any untoward blood spatter. Very efficient, our Henri.

"Take it easy, my friend," I said, as casual as all hell. "We're just having a conversation." It wouldn't be long now, I thought, watching his nostrils flare. The golden seal of Ceres suddenly weighed a hundred pounds in its slender pouch against my body.

It was a pretty thing, really: a flat gold disk the size of a dessert plate, imprinted on one side with an image of the Roman goddess of fertility and grain. On the flip side, a half-dozen thick, raised, symmetrical ridges lined its surface at odd angles.

Not the most spectacular artifact I'd ever been asked to locate, but not the most mundane either. And with the help of the cards, I'd tracked it down easily enough.

Then again, I probably should have asked a few more questions before I headed out this evening. A third-century BC seal featuring a corn-festooned pagan goddess shouldn't have been entrusted to your average intern for a late-night museum transfer. And the guy had been really young too. Too young, too clueless.

Which might have caused me to stop and reconsider what I was doing, if I hadn't been so distracted by the ninja shadows of death who'd swarmed the Metro platform the moment I'd made the grab. I'd immediately thought the Swiss Guard had come to swipe the relic out from under me, but why? What had I seen to tip my mind that way?

And why would the Swiss Guard give a crap about such a minor artifact?

"Give it to me," my contact hissed, officially signaling the arrival of the next stage of our negotiation process: brute force. Then he lunged at me.

I moved just as fast. With a sharp, cutting jerk, I splashed the horseradish whiskey into the guy's eyes, then shattered the glass against the bar as his hands went to his face, his scream a guttural bellow. Henri was right beside me, ripping the man's gun away as I shoved my contact flat against the bar, the cut edge of the glass tight against his collarbone, pressing into his thick, sweaty neck.

"And now the price is triple." I glared at his clenched-shut eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks. "You want to pay, you know where to find me. You don't want to pay, I got plenty others who will."

"You wouldn't," he sputtered. He tried to open his eyes, but that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. "You were 'ired to--"

"You bet your crusty baguette I would. Tell your boss that if he's got the money, then he'll get the package. Otherwise, no deal." I stepped back as Henri and Le Stube's bouncer moved in. Henri whipped a spotless white towel off his shoulder to help my contact get cleaned up, while his muscle stood ready to hold the guy tight until I got out of there.

No wonder I liked this place so much.

Stepping into the warm, muggy night, I strode toward the Luxembourg Gardens without too much hurry, the popular tourist destination still illuminated despite the fact that it was nearing midnight. I angled my way through a dozen or so manicured plots, waiting for a tail to materialize. None did that I could see, so I changed course. I had that creepy crawly feeling of being followed, but there was nothing for it. I had more work to do.

Besides, all was not lost tonight. Not yet, anyway. Chances were good that the king of pents would cough up the money for his relic. Even at triple his original cost, it was probably a steal, if my contact's panic and the interest of the freaking Swiss Guard was any indication.

But, if the deal blew up, so be it. It wouldn't be the first time I'd been left holding the proverbial bag; it wouldn't be the last.

And I hadn't been lying back at Le Stube. The magical antiquities black market had been heating up for the past couple of years. If there were already two parties gunning for this chunk of gold--my buyer and, apparently, the pope--then someone else with money to burn was probably sniffing around too.

That cheered me up.

I left the Luxembourg Gardens and skirted the Odeon, turning onto the Rue de Tournon as I let my stride lengthen. Paris was drying out from a recent drizzle, and everything smelled like spring.

Father Jerome would be waiting for me, and though I'd wanted to be able to give him more cash tonight, I was not arriving empty-handed. It would be enough, I thought. It had to be enough.

I turned onto the Boulevard Saint-Germaine and scanned the long, wide street. As usual, the neighborhood was hopping, but that didn't concern me so much. As I approached the church, however, something about the tone and tenor of the large crowd milling around struck me as odd.

Specifically, that there was a tone and tenor.

Rollicking music blasted out from several venues, the partiers unusually raucous, while jazz, booze, and pot all hung heavy in the air. I finally caught sight of a large banner flapping in the evening breeze that explained all the crazy: Festival Jazz a Saint-Germaine-des-Pres!

Ah, Paris. City of Festivals.

I slipped into the throng, drifting toward the arched entryway to the church. With this many people, I could have been a gorilla in a tutu and no one would have noticed me. The main church entrance was locked at this hour, but, as expected, the side door opened easily into the cool quiet of the ancient church.

I'd barely stepped through before the bolt slid home, then the short, cloaked old priest was at my side. "Bienvenue, Sara." As always, his quiet greeting was as comforting as warm bread. "Is everything all right?" Though a native Parisian, Father Jerome's English was flawless, his words sounding richer and somehow more intelligent in his thick French accent.

I shrugged. "I had to cut short tonight's negotiations." We walked toward the nave of the church, where colorful frescoes gleamed in the gentle light of dim sconces, and I let myself relax a notch or two. Here in this sacred space, there was solace to be had. Even if just for a little while.

As we paused in front of the altar, where the light was highest, I reached into the left side of my jacket and pulled out the thick money pouch. I handed it to Jerome. "I'd wanted there to be more. The list grows longer."

"It will always be long." The priest's words were a quiet absolution I'd not realized I needed. He reached for the pouch but didn't take it from me immediately. Instead, his soft, papery hands enveloped mine, and he stared up at me. "You are tired, Sara. The need will always outstrip those who serve, and we cannot lose you too."

"You won't lose me." I pressed the money into his palms and turned away. "It's thirty thousand. That won't go very far." It will hopefully be many times more than that, soon. But I couldn't promise that to Father Jerome. I was done with promises I couldn't keep.

"It will go as far as it must." It was always this way with him--Father Jerome was careful, calm, and sure, even as he took risks that would have terrified a man half his age. Risks to protect the youngest and most defenseless members of the psychic community, whose very innocence made them coveted commodities on the arcane black market.

Standing in the half-light of the nave, he weighed the package in his hands. "We must make choices, though. The boy in Chartres shows promise--and with promise comes danger. He and his family currently live outside the village in relative safety, but small pilgrimages have begun to bring them food and gifts."

I grimaced. "What did he do?"

"The village's crops had failed two years running. A month ago, he blessed the soil in which they grew." Jerome chuckled. "Which ordinarily would have bought us more time, except the villagers have already gathered their first harvest, and it is barely spring."

A proven ability to hurry along the growing season? That wasn't good. "Then he's the priority. Chartres draws too much attention anyway with its ley line configuration. Someone will notice what's going on there. The family should be moved before there's trouble." I squinted at Jerome. "Only child?" He nodded. Single children were the norm in families like this. "Who else?"

"Two other families remain on the watch list," he said. "In Turin and San Sebastian. Those are established cities, with friends close at hand, and the children are young. So far, whispers of their abilities have been kept to close relatives. The chateau in Bencançon has received five more families in the last week, however, and yet another orphan. So whatever is not needed for the boy in Chartres will go there. And the search continues for others. " He sighed. "The young healer in Linz has not been recovered. The twin girls from Kavala, it has been nearly a month without word. The same with the child from Berlin. Fifteen remain at large, and those are merely the ones we know. "

"Pierre-Charles?" I couldn't keep the hope out of my voice, but I knew the answer before the old priest shook his head.

"He...was found in Nimes. His heart and eyes removed."

I glanced away, knowing the image would haunt me anyway, along with too many others. Pierre-Charles had been a blond, blue-eyed boy of fourteen, his features angelically perfect. But he had not been taken for his fair skin or sweet face.

He had been taken for what he saw.

Visions of holy fire and retribution, of a scourge of wings that would sweep the earth clean of its filth and degradation. Visions he'd been stupid enough to share with his fellow students at some backward Toulouse boarding school. Word had gotten out too fast for us to intervene. By the time we'd reached Toulouse, Pierre-Charles was gone.

Magic was a bloody business these days. True members of the Connected community had value as tools, yes. But also as donors for rituals. Their eyes, their organs, their limbs could all give power to a dark practitioner, or so it was said. And children with such abilities were considered to be especially precious.

It was always the children who paid.

"Bounty hunters?" I turned back to Father Jerome. "Or scared locals?"

"Hunters, we believe. The body was dumped outside the city, the surgery precise." He shifted in the half-light. "The dark Connected grow bold."

I nodded. "Something's bothering them."

I'd met Father Jerome on my second assignment, more than five years ago. He was an acknowledged expert in Roman antiquities. More importantly, he'd actually once seen the trinket I'd been commissioned to find on that particular job.

We'd worked well together, then Jerome had hired me to liberate some second-rate reliquary from a cesspool of dark magic. Back then, I didn't know how deep the underworld had become. Back then, I'd just been on the run, willing to hire out to everyone and anyone with money to spend and artifacts to find.

But I'd been lucky. Father Jerome had proven to be an able instructor.

I'd found other such instructors along the way. And with instruction had come awareness, then knowledge, then understanding. And, sure, the occasional betrayal. Eventually, I'd learned about the black market bounty hunters who were being paid top dollar to deliver not simply artifacts but real-live people as well, gifted psychics who could be used as arcane sacrifices--the younger and more untrained the better.

I tried to keep out of it, not get involved. I knew better than to make connections I couldn't easily walk away from. After that crisp, sunny morning in Memphis ten years ago, when my whole world had gone up in a rush of fire and smoke and pain, I needed to stay as far off the grid as possible.

But I couldn't help myself in the end. Not when children were going missing.

Some things never changed.

"I should have more for you soon." A new thought struck me. Maybe Father Jerome would know what the big deal was about my current relic, why it'd suddenly been elevated to Rome's Most Wanted list. The old priest was an expert on antiquities, and I had a vague recollection that Saint-Germaine-des-Pres had been erected on a Roman shrine of some kind. I reached into my jacket. "Actually," I began--

"A moment, Miss Wilde." The sensually familiar voice riffled through my mind, setting me on edge. "I would rather you not do that."

"Yes?" Jerome frowned at me as I stiffened. "What is it, Sara?"

Dammit, Armaeus. "Just...Give me a minute."

I turned and strode down the long central corridor of the church, the world falling silent around me.

Then, as shockingly white light flashed through the soaring stained glass windows, the sky rained down with fire.

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# Chapter Two

"Sara, it's only the fireworks! They're harmless!"

Father Jerome's words didn't slow me down. The lightshow outside was definitely fireworks, yes.

But harmless?

Not exactly.

With a shiver of premonition icing my skin, I exited the building and plunged back into the milling crowd of jazz fans before turning around to stare up at the sky along with everyone else. The night exploded once again, this time in an electric shower of blues and reds and greens. Starkly outlined against the night sky, the main tower of Saint-Germaine-Des-Pres was silhouetted by a burst of falling fire.

It looked identical to the Tower card I'd drawn at Le Stube not thirty minutes earlier.

Of course, I'd also drawn the Magician, the Devil, and Death in that reading. And now, here was the Magician standing not two feet from me, smelling of fire and heavy spices, of books and mystery and wonders untold, a genie uncorked from his bottle.

Man, he always smelled good. It was one of his finest attributes.

"What are you doing in Paris?" I asked, my gaze still pinned on the sky.

"I could ask you the same thing, but..." Armaeus Bertrand's richly intoned words lingered in the air, leaving no doubt that he'd been following me this whole time. Asshat. I should have known better than to hook up with a guy who'd been around longer than the Arc de Triomphe.

Nevertheless, it was time for a refresher course on boundaries. "This isn't your job, Armaeus."

"I've taken an unexpected interest."

"Then I hope you've taken out an unexpected loan. Because if not, we're done here." I turned to him, praying that the newest talisman I'd purchased to blunt his effect on me would do its job.

Not even close.

Half-French, half-Egyptian, Armaeus Bertrand was a sleekly muscled male of rare and exceptional beauty. A male what, exactly, I still wasn't quite sure. He stood well over six feet, though I didn't think of him as tall so much as...overwhelming. Rich, ebony hair hung in thick waves to his shoulders, and his face was starkly beautiful, all bronzed skin and elegant eyebrows and sculpted cheekbones that angled down to that lushly sensual mouth.

For tonight's rendezvous, he'd paired a clearly expensive black suit with a royal blue silk shirt, open at the neck to reveal another swath of rich caramel skin. Everything about the man screamed money, power, and danger.

Most especially danger.

Now his pale gold eyes were more than a little amused as he watched me struggle to focus again. I randomly found two brain cells that remained firing and linked them together, rekindling my ability for speech. "So what kind of interest do you have in my relic?"

"An intensely...personal interest." He spread his hands, his French blood ensuring that his merest shrug sparked carnal desires. Images suddenly scored through my mind: Armaeus naked and predatory, all that magnificent strength and intensity focused solely on me, his fingers sparking fire on my skin, his gaze locked on mine, his mouth--

I blinked rapidly, realizing that all the oxygen had somehow been sucked out of my lungs.

Which was, admittedly, making it tough to breathe.

"Quit that," I grated out, taking a sharp step back. Annoyed, I worked the hematite bracelet from my right wrist and let it fall to the cobblestones. Yet another charm that had failed the test.

Armaeus chuckled softly. "It is pointless to ward yourself against me, Miss Wilde. You will tire of this game long before I do."

"So you keep saying." I straightened, willing myself not to touch the one trinket that had worked against this man, an ornate knot on a long silver chain I'd purchased after consulting a carnie-level Connected on the south side of the Vegas Strip.

The Tyet had cost me half a year's wages, but it had been worth it. Sadly, Nikki the Seer had warned me straight up that the amulet's purpose was specifically to prevent actual sex. I didn't want to think about all the crazy that left up for grabs, especially not with someone old enough to have survived the plague.

"Cut to the chase, Armaeus," I said instead. "I've got work to do. What is this 'personal' interest? And how much are you willing to pay?"

His golden eyes regarded me steadily. "The seal is intact?"

"Of course it's intact." I didn't ask how he knew about the seal. I didn't need to. To the rest of the world, Armaeus Bertrand was a reclusive Vegas-based hotelier and casino owner. To me, and to other Connected who were, well, connected, he was the Magician. As in the Original Alchemist, the Trickster of the Tarot, the Cobbler...and the leader of the Arcana Council that was--quite naturally, I suppose--currently based in Las Vegas, Nevada. Keeping the world safe for all things magical.

I'd never heard of Armaeus Bertrand before he'd hired me for my first job with the Council about a year ago, after an epic night in Rio de Janeiro surrounding a highly coveted fertility idol. A new client materializing out of thin air hadn't fazed me so much at the time. I was used to anonymous players hitting the scene. And while my little knot of carnie psychics and magical artifact finders was chatty, we couldn't keep up with every flush nut job who trolled the circuit jonesing for some lost amulet or sacred tome.

So to me, Armaeus Bertrand had been no different, at least at first. And after the dust had cleared in Rio, he'd commissioned me to track down a dubious-sounding "Atlantean bowl" owned by an even more dubious-sounding Sicilian.

I'd found the bowl, of course, though it'd looked no more Atlantean than I did. The next day, a pile of cash had shown up in my account...along with Armaeus Bertrand's personal invitation to take on a second job.

At that point, of course, I had tried to do a background check on the guy. Sadly, my Google Fu was not strong. After I'd hit a few dozen sites listing the man's Vegas creds but no photos, no rap sheet, and no Facebook page, I'd gotten distracted by a before-and-after article on celebrity plastic surgery gone terribly wrong. And that was that. My usual sources had nothing on the guy, and my unusual sources weren't talking.

Either way, the man and his Council paid very well. Two jobs had led to three. Three to four.

Armaeus had insinuated himself into my dreams and more than his share of hallucinations from our very first contact, which had been a little intrusive, but it had its upsides. Eventually, he'd wanted more, I hadn't, and we'd adopted a grudging detente.

Unfortunately, he was a persistent pain in the ass. After my third job for the Council, he'd begun insisting I meet with him in person. By the fifth, he'd gotten me to show up in Vegas for longer than thirty minutes at a time.

By the seventh assignment, after a night of too much absinthe and too little sleep, I'd taken him to bed. Totally better than a gold pen, I'd thought at the time.

Fool me once.

Since then, Nikki's Tyet had kept my virtue intact, and for whatever reason, the Magician hadn't been super successful at crawling around in my mind. We could talk, but he couldn't compel me--usually.

But now Armaeus was here...and he wanted the seal?

I considered that. My contact back at Le Stube wasn't exactly going to be announcing his Mensa candidacy anytime soon, but he had figured out that I'd scored his Roman party favor. How pissed off would the king of pents be to find out I'd not merely flummoxed his flunky, but I'd pawned off said artifact not thirty minutes later?

Then again, I'd stated my new price, and Monkey-Boy hadn't been willing to pay. So how was this my fault?

"Is there a problem?" Armaeus hadn't seen fit to disappear into a puff of smoke during my mental gymnastics, but his attention wasn't solely on me, but on whatever was over my right shoulder. "Other than the fact that you are being followed?"

I scowled at the men I'd also just noticed--dark uniforms, black berets. Not these guys again.

"How'd you even see them? The guys I'm looking at are directly behind you. And what is up with the Swiss Guard tonight, anyway? Since when does the pope care this much about pagan gold?"

"Those men are not quite the Swiss Guard, Miss Wilde."

"I beg to differ," I differed, my gaze trained on the stylish soldiers of death. "Maybe you didn't see them? Tall, dark, enthusiastic? Snappy berets?" It certainly was the Swiss Guard.

True, they were all sporting black ninja gear, and their berets looked more special forces than ceremonial snap caps, but even at fifteen feet, I could see one of them had a papal seal tattoo right behind his ear: crossed keys, mantle, rope, pope hat. Vatican City all the way. That must have been what'd tipped me off when I'd seen them the first time, in the Paris Metro station--right before I'd swiped the golden seal from the museum courier, then nearly took my own life running along the tracks. Totally the same guys. Swiss Guard.

I glanced smugly at Armaeus, in case he'd missed my obvious smackdown. He stared back at me and shook his head. Some people just couldn't concede the point.

"I did note the presence of those men, yes. They are not your initial concern, however."

Then, without warning, Armaeus pulled me up against his body, hard. My pulse jacked, my sight dimmed, and everything froze up in shocked and shivering pleasure--except my mouth.

Naturally.

"Hey!" I hissed. "What are you--"

"Shh." Armaeus's whisper was right at my ear. "In addition to your not-quite Swiss Guard, the men to whom I am referring entered the crowd a few moments after you. They have since been joined by a fourth gentleman. They lost you when you entered the church, then regrouped once you stepped outside again. One of them has a newly-bandaged neck. Yes." Armaeus noted my flinch. "I suspected that was your doing. Give me the seal, Miss Wilde."

"But how'd they find me?" Without answering, Armaeus abruptly turned deeper into the crowd, towing me along with him. Then, with a movement so fast I had no hope of stopping it, he reached into my jacket and slid the Ceres seal free.

Something inside me deflated a little, as I realized I'd been violated without even getting dinner first. Pungent or not, my prince of pents back at Le Stube had been on the hook for at least eighty thousand euros for this little snatch and pitch. I really, really hated to see that money go. "You're paying for that, you know. And for the record, it's gotten really expensive."

"Keep moving." Without breaking stride, Armaeus opened the velvet bag and withdrew the heavy gold disk, slipping it into an interior pocket of his own jacket. He then tucked the seal's pouch into the pack of an oblivious passing tourist. I saw the young man plow energetically into the crowd, and didn't miss how half the Swiss Guards' heads swiveled to watch him go. The pouch had been bugged? By the Guard? How did that make any sense?

Armaeus steered me off the square, but it was too late. The crush of tourists rapidly dwindled, and I could hear the boots of multiple men striding into the street behind us. Even if the Swiss had LoJacked the pouch, the prince of pents and his buddies were following us by sight alone. My brain bumped back online. "Hey," I protested. "Hang on a second. Those guys might actually be here to make good on this job. I need to talk with them."

"They are not interested in talking, Miss Wilde. Or in paying you."

Irritation flared, and I stopped short. "You don't know what you're talking about. And that money is import--shit!"

A sudden flare of semiautomatic rifle fire peppered the brick wall over our shoulders as Armaeus ducked low and pulled me into a side street that was little more than an alley, but at least it was heading in the right direction: away from the crazy men with guns.

"Three streets over," Armaeus said, his words unrushed over the clatter of my thrift-store boots and his million-dollar loafers. "A driver will transport us to safety." Behind us, I again detected the dulcet tones of my contact as he snarled something in French. Armaeus glanced back, his teeth glinting white as he grinned. Then I heard my contact's cry of confusion.

It was the last sound he ever made.

A second round of gunfire punctuated the night, the sound of the silenced weapons like the breathy popping of balloons, overtaken by the shouts of pain and the crunch of bodies falling to the ground. The Swiss Guard flowed into the street behind us, and Armaeus yanked me close. Every one of my nerve endings flared like a neon sign at his touch, but I knew better than to resist this time. The man could move. And sure enough, with each of his strides now, the pavement shot beneath us like a rushing torrent.

The Swiss Guards' angry Italian dwindled into the distance, and the buildings around us blurred. Trapped in that strange cocoon of movement, however, my mind refocused my cards. It always came back to the cards, and the cards had predicted Death. Sure enough, Death was all around me, shimmering in the night.

The cards had been right on the money, in fact--first the exploding Tower, then the Magician, then Death. All of them appearing in rapid succession, each more alarming than the last. The only card left was--the Devil.

What did the Devil card mean this night? More lies, more deceit? Or was its appearance simply a marker, a warning that I was about to head into the underbelly of society, down the well-trod rabbit hole of crime, prostitution, drugs, and death?

Maybe. Or maybe I'd soon be enjoying Devil's Food cake.

I voted for Option B.

Armaeus turned again, and he finally let me go, our racing footsteps slowing to a fast trot. I blew out a sharp breath, and forced myself to focus. No streetlamps cut the gloom of this dark street, but Armaeus had definitely relaxed.

Squinting into the darkness, I saw why.

A low, sleek limousine purred ahead of us in the shadows, double-parked on the street. Without speaking, Armaeus guided me to the car, but given that the danger was past, all the familiar panic alarms were going off inside me. Dealing with the Magician was hard enough when I could maintain my own personal space. Being stuck in the tight confines of a limousine with the guy was something else again. I honestly didn't know how far I could push my Tyet, and I wasn't in the mood to figure that out tonight.

"You know, I can pretty much disappear on my own," I said, taking a step back. "Just wire me the money for the seal as usual, and we're solid."

Armaeus scowled at me. "I have presented distractions to the men who follow you, not barriers, Miss Wilde. Get in the car."

"No, really, I'm good. Besides, they're not after me anymore. You've got what they want. So I head left, you head right, and all's well with the world. Easy peasy."

But Armaeus wasn't looking at me. He turned toward the darkened Parisian street behind us as if he could pierce the stone buildings, measuring the footfalls of our pursuers, gauging their beating hearts. Then he flicked his gaze back to me, and his golden eyes sent a chill right through my bones. "Oh no," I said, backing up. "No, no, no. Do not even think about it."

"Nma," the Magician whispered.

Blackness flowed around me and swallowed me whole.

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# Chapter Three

"Miss Wilde."

Armaeus's words seemed to emanate from somewhere inside me, followed immediately by my brain's residual protest of DANGER! But it was all so far away, so insignificant, especially when all I wanted to do was curl up under the heavy blanket and sleep under the warm, softly muted amber lights.

Wait. Amber?

My world swerved precariously in a way that normal sleeping worlds do not move, and I shot upright, thrusting the sumptuously thick flannel blanket off me as I tried to lurch to my feet--only to practically bisect myself on a safety belt. I sucked in a deep breath and wrenched the thing off as I got my bearings, confirming what my sense of vertigo had already suggested. "Where the hell are we? Where are we going?"

Armaeus scowled at me. "To a friend's."

I scowled right back. "I didn't think you had friends."

"You would do well to know me better."

"I'll take my chances on that." I squinted out the tinted windows, watching the lights flicker by. We definitely weren't in downtown Paris anymore. The homes in this area were larger and spaced significantly far apart, and there were no blocklike housing communities. Probably right at the edge of Île-de-France, where the suburbs began to give way to charming cottages and overblown estates. "How long was I out?"

Armaeus didn't answer me at first. A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I glanced back at him. He sat across from me on a thickly padded leather seat, his legs crossed, his manner contemplative. A glint of silver hung from a chain in his hand. I froze.

"A Tyet," he mused. "It has been some time since I've seen one crafted so finely. Where did Nikki Dawes acquire it, do you know?"

I ignored the question. I also wasn't going to beg for my amulet. If anything, Armaeus's interest in it certainly confirmed its value to me. Now if I could just get the damn thing surgically implanted into my skin, I'd be fine. I sat back in my seat and scowled at him. "You want to keep working together, then you do not play mind tricks on me again, you got it? I have my limits, and you've definitely crossed them."

A faint gleam of amusement flared in the Magician's golden eyes. "I merely needed to get you to safety."

"Then you merely needed to insist. Or knock me out. But you don't cheat."

Armaeus's brows lifted in two graceful arcs. "Your outrage is misplaced, Miss Wilde. I have no interest in harming you. Most would not have noticed the projection." He nodded to me as if I should be proud of myself, like the horse that's figured out the purpose of the bit a second after the bridle has been strapped on.

"Not helping." I glared into his beautiful face, gratified to hold on to my fury, if only to distract myself from the way my fingertips kept twitching at the edges of my sleeves, as if taking off my clothes would be the most natural thing in the world for me to do next. My gaze slid to the Tyet swinging from Armaeus's fingers.

How much was my lack of control around him the result of me no longer wearing the amulet? And how much of it was just a simple lack of control?

Toss-up.

Armaeus smirked, demonstrating that he was still skulking around in my brain.

Asshat, I thought very clearly.

Unlike whatever pyrotechnics he'd thrown at my prince of pents and his goons, however, what Armaeus had used on me was not a magic spell, though it'd felt like it. The greatest of the Connected had utilized heightened vocal projection throughout antiquity, a manner of speaking that required both intense training and extreme force of intention, so that the words delivered with the chosen vibration practically resonated within the listener's bones. In the hands of a master, even stones and sea could be displaced.

But while I'd heard of abilities to compel at the level of Armaeus's, I'd never experienced it firsthand. From everything I had read, no one had in almost a thousand years.

Bully for him.

"You want to tell me what happened back at the church?" I asked, to keep my focus off my glittering pendant. Then my mind caught up with my words. Oh no. The church. I looked around the limo, locating my jacket next to Armaeus. "What did you do with my phone? I need to call Father Jerome."

Armaeus caught the Tyet in the palm of his hand, tucking it into his jacket pocket. Apparently, he was done teasing me with it for the moment. "Father Jerome is unharmed. I have people watching him and the church. Those who are searching for the seal know he doesn't have it, however. They know you wouldn't have fled with such a prize inside, not with no one but a priest to protect it." His brows lifted in mock censure. "I could have warned you to stay out of the church altogether, and you would never have placed him in danger."

"Uh-huh. And to what do I owe your sudden burst of solicitude? Last we spoke, you weren't exactly part of my fan club."

"You didn't deliver the statue in the manner we discussed." Armaeus's face clouded over, and he straightened, his mood souring. Good. For the first time since I'd regained consciousness, the constriction in my chest eased and my pulse edged away from jackrabbit. "That caused me a great deal of trouble."

"Take it up with the union." Still, I had to be sure. "Is anyone hanging around the church I should worry about? Father Jerome made it home okay?"

"I have a guard assigned to him for the rest of the week. The priest won't be harmed." He grimaced. "It's not smart for you to work so obviously with him, however. Without protection, he could easily be taken when he travels to Chartres."

I narrowed my eyes. "Chartres is none of your business."

"You are my business, Miss Wilde, which makes your ill-advised attempts at playing crusader my business as well. If Father Jerome were to end up missing like one of the children you're so eager to protect, you would be of no use to me at all."

He had a point. I shrugged. "So?"

"So, I have dispatched a team to meet him and the young family you've identified in Chartres, to get them to a safe location."

"Awfully nice of you. You must need me pretty bad to put yourself out like that."

He didn't bother answering that one either, and I blew out a breath and stretched my legs, my scuffed boots jarringly out of place in the lush limo. "Okay, next topic. Why all the interest in this seal I grabbed tonight? From what I heard, it's been floating around Europe for the better part of the last three centuries in private but not particularly inspired collections, before the Louvre picked it up. And they haven't exactly been treating it special. What changed?"

"You said it yourself back at that unfortunate bar, Miss Wilde. The black market of magical artifacts is heating up. What was formerly of little interest now has a greater cachet."

"Which is fine, except that little Roman Frisbee you have in your pocket has no business being treasure of the year. The seals of Ceres were never coveted artifacts, and you know it. They couldn't enter a Roman temple without tripping over one."

He inclined his head to agree with that. "Perhaps the one you liberated was special?"

"Doubtful." I shook my head, though the idea of hiding a valuable artifact amidst a pile of worthless trinkets was exactly the kind of subterfuge the Romans would have enjoyed. "Because here's the thing. The Louvre assigned it to an infant to carry across the city. If that seal was actually worth something, the museum would have had stricter transport protocols in place. And for those keeping score, there were two parties after the thing. My client and the Swiss Guard, or whoever they were. Who somehow managed to bug the pouch." A bug which I'd missed in my careful inspection, so that was some Grade-A tech. "Why?"

Armaeus shot back a question of his own. "Why did your client say he wanted the seal? Or do you continue to insist on not asking even the most reasonable questions before you take on a job?"

Another sore point with us. "I ask the pertinent questions. Like what and for how much. I don't worry myself with the why, at least not through any official channels."

"And what did your unofficial channels say?"

His words were offhand, but his manner had sharpened ever so slightly. As the Magician, Armaeus didn't usually have to interrogate someone. He could simply rifle through their thoughts. With me, however, he could only go so far. I'd somehow thrown up barriers without realizing it. Which was a total bonus ninety-five percent of the time.

In this case, though, I didn't care enough to keep the information from him. "My client's family wanted it for leverage, is what I'd heard. Obviously, since they asked specifically for me, I figured there was some arcane connection, but I figured it was the typical goddess-veneration stuff. Lot of that going around these days."

"And you don't think that anymore?"

"Gee, I don't know. I've been playing hot potato with it for the past five hours, and now we're racing away toward your secret lair in the woods." I rolled my eyes. It's a particular skill of mine. "You say those ninjas weren't the Swiss Guard, but I think you're wrong. One of them definitely had the papal seal tatted on his neck, so they had something to do with the man upstairs."

Armaeus appeared unimpressed with my ocular gymnastics. "Your assumption about their provenance was not an unreasonable one," he said. "And not far off the mark. But I will leave that discussion for later this evening. The arrival of their squadron on scene is interesting, but not any more than your client's interest in the seal." His jaw twitched. "Who was it?"

I sensed the pressure of his touch against my mind, my own lips thinned. So he wasn't fooling around on this question. Once again, however, I didn't want to find out how good my blocks were, not for something so basic. "The Mercault family. Specifically the patriarch, Jean-Claude."

Armaeus leaned back in his seat. Not to be outdone, I leaned forward. "And for the record, the Council had better have restitution in mind, or you can kiss any further work from me good-bye. I could have gotten eighty thousand euros for that little hunk of gold, especially with the ninjas in the hunt."

He nodded. "That amount will be delivered to Father Jerome at Saint-Germaine-Des-Pres upon his return from Chartres. If"--he raised a finger as I perked up--"you take on a new assignment immediately. And reconsider my offer to permanently relocate to Las Vegas."

I hesitated, sensing a tidal wave of crazy coming my way. I was developing a sixth sense for it. There was no way I was going to dignify Armaeus's Vegas offer with a response, but the first part... "A new assignment doing what? And for how much?"

"Back to the pertinent questions, I see. You should take better care. If I hadn't been there tonight, you would have been trapped."

I resisted rolling my eyes a second time, but it was a close thing. "In case you haven't noticed, I was doing this for quite a few years before you showed up. I expect to be doing it for quite a few years after our little arrangement has ceased to provide any value." Which was going to be sooner rather than later, if he didn't back off. "You want to keep me on retainer, you're going to have to put up a lot more cash than what you have been."

He lifted a long, lazy brow. "That's all it would take, Miss Wilde? Money?"

"It'd be a heck of a start."

"And with the money, you think you might have reached the young boy in Toulouse more quickly, I suspect?" His words dripped mockery, and I stiffened.

"You...knew about him? You knew about him and you didn't do anything to stop it?"

"If you took even the slightest amount of time to understand the Council's work--"

"Don't talk to me about your work, Armaeus. You've got more money than God. You apparently also know everything that's going on in the world, because it's not like the killers advertised the fact that they abducted an innocent little boy and gutted him for spare parts. How could you know that was happening and sit back and let it happen? What is wrong with you and your precious Council?"

The car abruptly slowed, swerving around a bend into a path flooded with bright lights. I barely caught a glimpse of enormous stone lions on either side of the drive as we plunged into a richer shade of darkness. Armaeus dismissed my concern with a flick of his fingers.

"Your crusade, laudable though it may be, is not the crusade of the Arcanans."

"Well, it should be! Kids are out there dying every day, which you apparently know with your all-seeing Eye of Sauron. All to give some shit-kicking dark priest a new spleen to stir into his cauldron. The whole underworld is going batshit crazy these days. Everyone is hyped up--everyone is stressed. And finally your holier-than-God Council is choosing to take an interest, and all you care about is ridiculous gold seals and idols and trinkets? Why don't you start worrying about the people who are collecting these trinkets, Armaeus? That's where the real trouble lies."

Beside me, Armaeus's teeth glinted in the shadows.

"In that, I couldn't agree with you more, Miss Wilde."

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# Chapter Four

We swept up the driveway into a deep thicket of trees. Within a minute or so, however, I could see lights ahead. A lot of lights. "You're taking me to Disney World?"

Armaeus didn't respond. Rounding the last turn, the road opened onto a palatial estate that was lit from bedrock to rooftop. Beside me, the Magician eyed the house with a curious mix of emotions flitting across his face. Sadness. Regret. Pride. Affection.

Not for the first time, I wished I could crawl around inside his head. So much easier than the painful uncertainty of conversation. People could lie. Armaeus was about to, I knew before asking the question. "Um, who lives here, exactly?"

He drew his fingers together, steepling them in front of his nose. It was a movement that for anyone else would denote prayer, a petition to the heavens. But Armaeus was the heavens--and the earth. He prayed to no god that I knew of.

A second later, he drew his hands away, and I blinked. His face was completely devoid of any expression except pleasant affability. Gone were the deep lines of tension that had bracketed his mouth. Gone was the stern cast to his brow, the hard set of his jaw. In its place was the unlined, carefree face of a handsome man in his thirties who'd apparently just returned from a six-month vacation in Fiji.

"Whoa. That is so much better than Botox."

"Try to mind your manners while we're here. If it helps, imagine that you have taken on the identity of someone who is polite. Even charming."

"That'll cost extra."

"I have no doubt."

The car slowed, but before it came to a full stop, the front doors of the immense mansion swung open. An actual liveried butler stepped out along with an equally outfitted housekeeper, much more chatelaine than French maid, both of them completely ruining the Downton Abbey effect by beaming like they were little kids.

Bustling out between them was a tiny old woman wrapped in a shawl, her white hair glistening in the floodlights. Beside her strode a remarkably gorgeous man. He was tall, well built, with piercing eyes that stared out from a burnished bronze face, and lustrous black hair that edged past his collar. He was seriously stunning. And, more to the point, he could have been Armaeus's little brother.

I straightened. "Um..."

"Your manners."

With that, Armaeus's door was opened, and he stepped easily out of the car, then turned to hand me out. For the first time tonight, I was excruciatingly aware of my beat-up leather jacket, my three-day-straight leggings, my battered boots. Armaeus's hand twitched with annoyance, so I took it a little harder than necessary, practically ripping his fingers off as I hauled myself out of the car.

"Mon seigneur." A man I hadn't noticed was flanking the car now, but before he could fully get the words out, the old woman exclaimed with sheer delight. She dashed down the steps like she was eight, not eighty.

Armaeus turned as she flew into his arms, and he lifted her up and swirled her around. "Grand-pere!" she squealed, laughing like a child.

I tried manfully not to faint. Grand-pere?

"You are Miss Wilde?" I turned to see the gorgeous man from the top of the stairs looming over me. On close inspection, he wasn't exactly Armaeus's doppelganger, but I made sure my perusal was very thorough, just to be certain.

Nope, he was shorter. And more slender.

More human too, with his watchful dark eyes appraising me, containing none of the otherworldly glitter that made Armaeus's eyes so unsettling. He nodded at whatever he saw on my face, which I seriously hoped wasn't naked lust, but it was probably a close thing. "I am Dante Bertrand, and it is my distinct pleasure to welcome you to Le Sri. Please forgive the bright lights. We do not often have the chance to entertain guests."

"Of course." I suppose the whole point of naming your house gave you permission not to invite people over. He placed a hand on my arm, which apparently set off an electrical pulse in Armaeus. He glanced over from the elderly woman, his gaze leaping from Dante to me.

"Mais, Grand-pere! Elle est--" The old woman blinked rapidly, then beamed more brightly. "Of course, you are American, yes? How terrible of me to speak so in front of you. My name is Claire Bertrand." Though she was technically speaking English, her tongue turned every word into a trill, and I found myself trying to translate. She reached out both hands to me, and I obligingly put my hands in hers.

"I'm Sara. Nice to meet you."

"Mais, bien sur!" As she gripped me with her delicate fingers, no thrill of awareness skittered along my palms, and I frowned. There hadn't been with Dante either. But there could be no doubt of the family connection here, given the last name and the resemblance.

The old woman chattered on, and I forced myself to concentrate. "You are hungry? Tired? How long can you stay? Please do not tell me you are leaving yet this night."

I caught the unguarded look of open affection on Armaeus's face as he watched his...granddaughter. Surely that couldn't be right. So far in our relationship, Armaeus's deep dark past had not fallen into the category of pertinent questions for me. Clearly, I was missing out.

Armaeus must have sensed my gaze, because his expression cleared. "Miss Wilde can spare only a few hours with us, regrettably. She'll be leaving at first light."

"You are terrible," the old woman clucked, saying the word with its proper French inflection. "But come in, come in. We have food and wine, and much to talk about from what I understand, yes?"

We climbed up the broad front stair to the chateau, moving into a wood-paneled foyer and on down a sweeping hallway. I half expected mail-bedecked knights to be standing at attention on either side of us, but there were only rather boring oil paintings framed in gold. Yawn.

After traversing roughly the length of a football field, we gathered in a room that looked like a set from Game of Thrones. Tapestries on the walls, a fire blazing in an enormous granite hearth. I was fully prepared to have an animal skin thrown over my shoulders, but instead I was led to a large, leather-stuffed chair. The servants bustled around us, setting up trays of food and drink, as Armaeus and his, um, granddaughter talked in hushed tones.

I took the opportunity to study the woman. She was tiny, with fine bones and large, clear eyes. She also had a fierce spirit about her that was currently being channeled into adoration, but I had no doubt that all her emotions were felt with equal intensity.

"You have questions." Dante had settled into a chair opposite me, his tone conversational but still managing to convey intimacy.

I felt another frisson of attention from Armaeus, but he had his own Frenchwoman to fry. I focused on Dante. "I assume you're family. Kind of a messed-up family at that."

He lifted a brow. "Armaeus is never one to share information that is not required, but I suspect you will get all the answers you require soon. He brought you here, which demonstrates his trust in you, no?"

"Right. You going to tell me the story, or do I have to guess?"

"My family history is not the reason why we're here." From across the room, Armaeus's words drew everyone to attention. The chateau's waitstaff turned to file out of the room, and I stared around curiously, because that's what I do. The moment the large door was shut, Armaeus moved to the wall and pressed a panel. The tapestry lifted, revealing a large flat-screen monitor, and I grinned despite myself.

I loved rich people. They always had the nicest toys.

Beside me, Dante had turned as well, and Claire straightened in her chair expectantly, her face no longer wreathed in smiles, but watchful and intent. "What happened in the city?" she asked. "Dante would tell me nothing."

Armaeus's fingers flew over a small tablet apparently connected to the monitor. A line of code appeared on the screen, then winked out. "The information trail in Paris has validated our suspicions," he said. "We've successfully drawn out SANCTUS to show their hand. They are active in the city and have infiltrated the families. Their intelligence network tipped them off about the interest in the seal, and they were confident enough to attempt to take it in public."

"Wait, what?" I looked at him. "You're telling me the holy ninjas were tracking the Mercaults, not me?" I felt vaguely insulted.

"The Mercaults!" Claire drew her lips back in derision, a gargoyle with amazing hair. "They are filth."

I didn't dispute this. The Mercaults were filth who paid, however, and they didn't traffic in stolen kids. That made them okay by me. Still, something didn't add up. "I was at that Metro station alone. No one from the family there. Unless the Swiss Guard thought I was part of the family, in which case they're stupid." I shook my head. "And the papal office has hung around for an awfully long time to be that stupid."

Beside me, Dante snorted, but Armaeus held up a hand. "Despite your continued assertions, the men you saw this evening are not working for the Holy See. Not directly."

I opened my mouth to speak, but Armaeus turned to the screen. He hit a button on a little remote, and a map of Europe flared to life, glowing stark green against a black background. The major cities of each country glowed as green dots as well.

Overlaying many of those green dots were amber triangles--the largest of which was positioned directly over Rome. "They are agents of a quasi-military entity known as SANCTUS, a shadow cabal within the Vatican. Their director is rumored to be Cardinal Rene Ventre, one of the pope's closest confidants and a compatriot of the inspector general of Vatican security."

"Friends in high places," I murmured.

"Nevertheless, SANCTUS is not an official division of the Swiss Guard or of the Vatican corps. The pope can plausibly maintain complete deniability of their existence, as the office has maintained deniability of shadow security forces throughout its history. We first began tracking the organization's efforts in 1935, but their initial attention remained rather exclusively fixated on following the activities of Hitler and his compatriots, as the Nazis collected religious artifacts to add to the power of the Third Reich. SANCTUS's activity waned in the following decades but increased again at the turn of the century as interest in new age mysticism and ancient faiths experienced a renaissance. In the past decade, under the auspices of Cardinal Ventre, they have expanded operations dramatically. We have been monitoring talk for some time of their growing infiltration of the Connected community, especially as a new core mission has crystallized in recent months. For the moment, they appear to be dedicated to the cause of reclaiming false icons."

"False icons?" I frowned at him. "False to whom?"

"That appears to be a question adjudicated by Cardinal Ventre. To accomplish their mission, the agents of SANCTUS have been quietly gathering religious artifacts they believe to be critical to their cause. Some of the items they have acquired recently are...quite rare. And quite specific."

"And they're doing what with all these toys? Adding them to the papal collection?" The Catholic Church's treasure trove of artifacts was probably the largest assemblage of religious icons in the world, by several times over. "Seems a little grabby."

Armaeus shook his head. "No. While the Vatican continues its interest in preserving and cataloging all icons of ancient and pagan religions as symbols of man's imperfect faith, SANCTUS prescribes a far harsher approach. They seek to eradicate anything that is not of their god. They fear the power of such icons to sway a populace far too easily convinced by mystical prophecy or magical portents." He turned to me. "It appears the seal of Ceres would be included in that description."

"Uh-huh. And why would that be, do you suppose?"

Claire turned, her curiosity plain. "Did the Mercaults tell you nothing of the significance of the artifact?"

Dante also watched me as I considered the question. I was a big fan of a girl never spilling secrets, but the Mercaults hadn't warned me that Vatican ninjas were on my tail. Not very nice. "They said that they wanted it as leverage. Apparently they thought this particular seal was some sort of key. They didn't know to what, but they thought maybe that would become obvious once they had a chance to examine it."

"And did you have a chance to examine it?"

"Sure." I shrugged. "It definitely has energy, but not a lot of it. And it's not been boosted. I don't know how SANCTUS could've tracked it, honestly, unless they had a tip on the delivery boy. I couldn't find a bug."

"SANCTUS was summoned to the Louvre to take possession of the seal. They arrived several hours too late."

"To take possession..." I frowned. "But that makes no sense. If SANCTUS was on its way, why did the Louvre send the seal anywhere?" When his expression didn't change, I narrowed my eyes. "I thought you were big on not influencing events, O Great and Powerful Oz. Whose brain did you crawl inside to convince them to send that trinket across the city?"

"That's not important."

"Uh-huh. Kind of walking that 'no intervention' line a little close, wouldn't you say?"

Claire gasped, and Dante edged back in his seat a little bit. Wusses.

The Magician's next words were clipped. "The seal is vital to our interests, and by painting a target on it, we not only recovered it without drawing suspicion, we gained key information about the reach of the SANCTUS operatives. The news that the seal was a critical artifact only leaked in the last thirty-six hours."

"Painted a target." I considered that. "A target you knew I was going in after. That seems a little convenient. Were you the one who recommended me to Mercault too?"

"As you said, you were already in the city."

"Which you damned well knew." I was angrier than I should have been, but I didn't want to focus too much on why. I knew the Magician's stock-in-trade was manipulating people. He paid me a lot to put up with that. But the price was going up by the second. "So now you know that SANCTUS is willing to be drawn out with unverified information, to make mistakes. What about the reverse? You really don't think they suspect you're the one pulling their chain? And that it's you personally, or the Council?"

My words seemed to strike a chord in Claire. She turned to Armaeus with worried eyes. "You must be more careful, Grand-pere," she said, her lilting voice a shade more resolute. "What we have learned about SANCTUS is not promising. They are amassing artifacts, but we have but limited understanding of what they are doing with them. They say they are destroying them..."

"They're not destroying them." Dante stood and went to the screen. "They plan to use them. As bait or as bribes, whatever works more quickly." As he passed his hand over several countries, their shading turned from black to various shades of blue--the pale ice of Ireland to the almost midnight black of Turkey and Armenia. "The activities of SANCTUS are concentrated in Eastern Europe, but they are spreading through the continent like a sickness. They have smaller operations in the New World, but those are growing."

I looked at him sharply, then at Armaeus. New World? Was Dante just being French, or was he drinking the same breakfast shakes the Council was? How old were these people?

Armaeus didn't notice my attention. He leaned forward, frowning at the map. "This information has changed since last we spoke."

"Significantly," Dante agreed. "Activity has been stepping up for a while, but it's spiked in the last few months. And there have been more public sightings of uniformed men giving the impression of Vatican authority outside of Vatican City. Places like Budapest, Ankara."

"Any violence?"

He shrugged. "None that ever shows up on official channels. The traffic of artifacts continues unabated. If anything, it has also stepped up. We're in the middle of an antiquities grab, it would seem, without the usual World War to serve as backdrop."

"Okay, well--not to put too fine a point on it, but so what?" I asked. The severity of my question seemed to catch them off guard, but I pushed on. "You said SANCTUS has been around since the 1930s, right? They've scaled up and eased back their operations several times since then. What's to say they won't ease off this time once they've collected enough toys?"

Armaeus shook his head. "Because artifacts are not all they're interested in this time around."

A chill chased up my spine as Dante hit another button at the base of the screen. In each of the nation states, small person-esque figures appeared, like bathroom symbols for "male" and "female." The darker the country, the more symbols filled it.

I blew out a low whistle. "SANCTUS is behind the missing Connected? They've kidnapped all those people? But why?"

"Not kidnapped, Miss Wilde," Dante said, frowning at the map. "Killed. They're committing genocide."

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# Chapter Five

"What?" I was on my feet now, moving toward the map. All those people. They marched across the page in silent testimony. "They're all Connected?" I shook my head, not needing an answer to my own questions. Of course they were all Connected, and of course they were being killed by religious nut jobs. It was almost too perfect. "The community hides in the shadows. They spend their entire lives trying not to be noticed. To prove that there's a trend of harassment, you have to admit that you're a member of a persecuted group, and this is not a club anyone's interested in advertising."

"It gets worse." Claire waved a hand from her chair, and the map dissolved again. How many remotes did these people own?

Still, the next screen was clearly the point of this little demonstration. The male/female figures were joined by smaller figures, unmistakably children. Once again, the countries in Eastern Europe were the hardest hit, but surprisingly, they were followed by India and China--countries that had had relatively low adult casualties on the previous map.

"Children? That doesn't make sense. They aren't trained. Half of them don't yet realize they have gifts, let alone know how to use them. They'd be useless to SANCTUS."

"SANCTUS is honing its technique," Claire said, her focus on the screen. "The adults seemed like the reasonable place to start, but their loss was not felt so strongly. With the children being targeted, the game changes, and changes swiftly." Her glance shifted to me. "Half the atrocities suffered by the community in the past several months were authorized by SANCTUS. At least half."

I stared at her. "You're kidding me." All this time, I'd thought the uptick in child abductions was the result of the ignorant or the darkest of the dark practitioners. But even I had not been able to reconcile the incredible number of children taken, their bodies mangled and destroyed. "But their--what in God's name could SANCTUS want with body parts?"

"We've no information on that." Armaeus's voice remained, as always, unperturbed. "The abductions and deaths of the children could be swift, with the bodies left out to be scavenged, so as not to draw suspicion. Or they could be utilizing the children in the same sort of arcane experiments that the dark Connected are engaged in, to see if there is any truth to their claims. We simply don't know."

"But why leave any evidence at all? If SANCTUS is determined to eradicate magic in the world, you'd think they'd operate as quietly as possible. That doesn't include hanging out your trophies for your cronies to admire. No. There has to be something more."

"You're right, of course," Claire said. "The abduction of children serves a dual purpose. When the shock and outrage over the abduction of adults waned, naturally they needed to increase their impact. They found an unexpected benefit to their new strategy, as members of the Connected began to try rescuing the children."

My lips curled back at her words. "Bait," I said flatly, recalling Dante's earlier use of the term. "They're using the bodies of the stolen kids as bait, too. Every new abduction, every new death, draws out either someone willing to use the spoils, or, equally tantalizing, someone trying to stop the killing. They get both ends of the spectrum."

"And play them against each other along the way." Dante nodded. "SANCTUS doesn't care who kills whom. The fewer Connected, the easier their job will ultimately be. And once they infiltrated the community with information about potential children hitting the black market, they merely needed to watch who acted with intentions of exploitation and who with intentions of altruism, to adjust and refine their influence."

Fury roiled through me at my colossal miscalculation. How long had I been pouring money into the search and rescue of children? Three years? Five? It blurred together as I stared at the body count on the map. All the while, every one of my coordinated rescues, every infusion of money--it was like a big arrow pointing "Connected here." And I'd been standing there with a can of red paint, leading SANCTUS where they needed to go. I felt sick. "The boy," I managed. I glared at Armaeus's profile. "The boy in Toulouse. Was he one of SANCTUS's kills?"

"We have no way of knowing that."

"Then why are you showing me this?" Anger replaced violation with swift heat. "You let me walk into the middle of SANCTUS's little trap today not once but twice before stepping in, and then you bring me here for a game of map the dead kids? To what end?"

Armaeus eyed me coldly. "So that you will understand the stakes. This conflict goes beyond your little mercenary client runs for gold and ancient idols. When I suggest that you keep me apprised of your whereabouts, there's a reason for it. And when I suggest that my need for you on certain assignments is paramount, it would be wise for you to accept the job."

"Oh, right. Because you've suddenly become interested in the plight of the unfortunate Connected all of a sudden. You in your little cabin in the woods." I looked at Claire, who sat frozen in her chair. So much for politesse. "You are his family, right? Or what's left of it? Do you guys do anything other than compile slide shows?"

"Miss Wilde."

"How long?" I demanded, turning on Armaeus. "How long have you been involved with the Connected, because I sure as hell haven't seen you at any of the networking lunches. And if you're this knowledgeable about what's going down with these SANCTUS whack jobs, then why hasn't that information filtered down to the people who are in the trenches, the ones trying to save lives?" I stabbed a finger at the glittering map. "Even if it's a lost cause?"

"You have no right to talk to us that way!" Claire gasped. "We have been involved in the fight since the Fourth Crusade, and--"

"Claire, c'est assez." Armaeus's lifted a quelling hand. "Do not let her draw you out. She is overwrought."

"I'm way beyond overwrought. I'm well down the track to pissed." I glared at Dante, my anger ratcheting up a notch. "How many of you are there? And why aren't you doing more? Or do you buy into the same pacifistic rhetoric that Mr. Big here likes to favor?" I scowled at him, swiveling my gaze between him and Armaeus. "And why do you two look so damned much alike? You've got to be related, but how directly?"

"You honor me." Dante's grin was sardonic. "But alas, no. Le seigneur's direct bloodline ended with him. We are but--"

"That is enough." Armaeus passed a weary hand over his face. "Miss Wilde, I brought you here because of the intelligence that my family has compiled--without my direct order or intervention, I would add, as that is counter to my oath as a member of the Council. They can provide you with pictures of the organization's top operatives, a listing of names and likely locations, areas of influences and families most likely to already be infiltrated. You can do with that information whatever you need."

"Oh." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Well, why didn't you say so?"

"Because I thought you would allow them the courtesy of showing you themselves. Forgive me for the oversight."

"Hey, I've had a really bad day." Grudgingly, I turned to Dante and Claire. Dante still smiled at me. The old woman, not so much. "I apologize for my terrible manners. It's a constant failing."

Dante nodded and turned back to the map. "As le seigneur indicates, we have much we can show you about SANCTUS," he said. "You understand, we cannot send you this information electronically? You will have to memorize it."

"You all run out of minutes on your data plan or something?"

"Under no circumstances can this information be tracked back to my family, Miss Wilde." The Magician's tone brooked no argument. "If it ever is, I will lay that crime at your feet."

"Oh, give me a break," I muttered, squinting at the map, which was filling with images of surprisingly old men in dark robes. SANCTUS's leadership, I presumed. "Fine. Hit me."

It was over an hour later that Dante finally wound down, and by then I was swimming. I had a pretty good memory for faces and names, but the information the family had gathered was massive. And the overriding truth all the pictures carried was this: SANCTUS was well beyond some kind of nut job splinter group in the Vatican. These guys were well organized and well funded. Someone was bankrolling the war on magic. And if it wasn't the pope...

"Thank you," I said, realizing that Dante had stopped talking. "I will try to get this information into the ears of the right people who can do the most good."

"We would be very grateful." He glanced at Claire, who regarded me haughtily. She sniffed as I looked at her, and I fought the uncharitable desire to strangle her in her sleep. So I'd been a little testy. It'd been a long day!

Armaeus stirred from where he had been standing at the hearth. He'd been pointedly silent throughout the long speech, almost disassociated, as if he wasn't actually in this room, allowing members of his family to give me information that he, via some sort of pinkie-swear ceremony with the Council, had promised not to pursue. He also thanked Dante and helped his grandmother/granddaughter/whatever the hell she was to her feet. Without acknowledging me, he turned to the door with Claire on his arm. Her spirits, not surprisingly, now appeared fully restored. Armaeus could do that to a girl.

"Dante, if you can show Miss Wilde to the guest suite," Armaeus said. "We can continue our discussion there."

"Or, you know, I could just be on my way," I said brightly. Armaeus didn't honor that with a response, and Dante moved dutifully to my side.

"Claire does not sleep easily," he said. "If you would like to rest while you wait, you will find the guest accommodations most comfortable. We have prepared our finest set of rooms for you."

Finally, things were looking up.

The walk to the guest suites of the mansion was long enough to make me wish I'd packed a lunch. But with Armaeus distracted by his precious petite-fille who wasn't really his granddaughter at all, I figured this was the optimal time to strike. Unless he reached out and strangled his own family member, Dante should be safe. Or safe enough.

"So, the Fourth Crusade?" I asked as Dante stood aside to let me enter the guest room through the large doorway that looked like it had been carved out of a single block of wood. Show-offs. "Not really a great time to take up the banner for all things magical."

Dante laughed. It was a rich and rolling sound, and I realized I'd never heard the Magician laugh. In fact, the open affection with which he'd gazed at Claire was the closest he'd come to seeming like a human as opposed to some sort of demigod.

That wasn't entirely true, of course. I'd seen him in my dreams and in a few scattered hallucinations, which had generally occurred at the worst possible time for me. And I'd seen him once in his own bed. He'd definitely not appeared stoic then.

We walked into the spacious sitting room. I could see another door, closed, and assumed it led to an equally palatial bedchamber. This room was fancy enough, with its thick carpet over rough stone floors, its tapestry-hung walls--and the imposing chest that stood against the far wall, lined with crystal decanters and gleaming metal tankards. Apparently, the guests of Le Sri were heavy drinkers. Good to know.

Dante's words finally penetrated my brain. He was answering my question. "It is the lore of the family, but I am not surprised he has not told you. We do not often have the chance to share our tales with outsiders."

"And why is he letting you do so now?"

"I suspect so that he does not have to tell you himself."

I snorted. "Probably." Curiosity warred with irritation inside me. I should just wait and make Armaeus tell me, but I could be an old woman by the time he got around to it. Unless...

I smiled winningly at Dante; he looked more than willing to be won. "Tell me more about you, instead."

I could almost hear the warning bell sound, somewhere deep in the house. It was clear and light, but apparently on a frequency that wasn't audible to family members. Instead, Dante looked bemused. "Myself? There is nothing to tell."

"Oh, come on. Do you live full time in this maus--mansion? You and Claire."

"No, not at all. I live in Paris with my family. I only work at the mansion--Grand-mere as well--when we have work for le seigneur. Otherwise we both have our own homes, and the house is given over to other guests."

"Other guests?" The warning bell came more crisply now, urgent. Closer. "You mean, what, like victims of SANCTUS?"

"Mon Dieu, non," Dante said, his face aghast. His surprise grated on me more than it should have, and of course he kept talking. "Le seigneur is adamant on that score. There must be no direct connection of aid or assault among the public. That is not within the purview of the Council, and he has worked too long for them to do anything that would run counter to his position there."

"Then who?"

"Members of the other families, Mademoiselle Wilde. Other Council members as the need arises, but mostly the families."

I frowned. "You mean families like the Mercaults?"

"Miss Wilde." Armaeus sounded more irritated this time. It made my heart happy.

Dante shook his head. "Bien sur, non. I mean the families of the Arcana Council. Each member has his or her trusted emissaries, who must travel in secret. We simply provide that secrecy as it is needed, the same that is provided to us whenever our need is great."

"Ah...emissaries." I tried to keep my eyes from flaring, my voice neutral, but this--I'd never heard of this. It was one thing to have a knot of half-baked demigods running around Las Vegas, declaring themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy. But an entire network of non-Connected relatives? "And how does that play with the non-fraternization-with-ordinary-people policy, exactly? That's got to be one hell of a loophole."

"The families have been a part of the process for thousands of years, perhaps before such rules were made," Dante said, supremely unconcerned. "And there certainly have been compensations." He gestured to the building that surrounded us, a veritable castle in the shadows. "When le seigneur committed himself to service, he was a foot soldier, and our family impoverished. Now he is arguably--"

Armaeus chose that moment to stride into the sitting room, his face dark with annoyance. "Thank you, Dante. You have been most hospitable."

"Of course, mon seigneur." Dante bowed, the gesture one of fierce pride more than servitude, then nodded to me. Without another word, he departed the guest suite, shutting the door definitively behind him.

"You never fail to surprise me, Miss Wilde."

"Twenty-two families?" I stared at him. "You mean to tell me there are twenty-two families like this one in service to the Council, and I didn't know they existed? Families whose entire job it is to help a sister out? You don't think I could have used that help down in Sierra Leone? Or that holding tank in Dubai?" I curled my lip in derision. "And don't even get me started about Budapest. Surely one of the Council Members had some extended roots of the family tree curled around that place. And you didn't breathe a word."

"You were quite convincing in your desire to express your independence."

"From you, yes. From normal people? Totally different story. Twenty-two families. I've probably tripped over a few of them without realizing it. And they never reached out, though I was openly working for you people." I tried to tamp down my outrage, but it was growing like a living thing inside me. Everything was suddenly too big, too awful. Why did it matter that there were families dedicated to assisting the Council? Why did anything with the Council matter at all?

Armaeus shrugged, apparently unfazed by how close I was to a meltdown. "We do not have the full Council intact, not anymore," he said. "And not everyone has a family, Miss Wilde. But if you are finished with your outrage, we have much to discuss. Starting with your next assignment."

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# Chapter Six

"You've got to be kidding me. You really think I have any interest in working for you right now, after learning all this? I have to get to Father Jerome, warn him. Hell, warn all of them about these crazy SANCTUS people. I don't see you guys putting out a bulletin anytime soon."

"Then I propose you think a little more broadly."

"Do you now?" I really hated it when Armaeus became sanctimonious.

He nodded. "Our interests are not mutually exclusive in this case. As it happens, the greatest amount of assistance you can provide Father Jerome and your compatriots is to assist me in recovering a particular lost item."

"Yeah, somehow I don't think--"

Armaeus continued as if I hadn't said a word. "One of SANCTUS's recent acquisitions is an item of great personal value to me, and necessary for the Council's continued work," he said. "I need you to recover it."

That did catch my attention. The members of the Council were collectors in their own right, and they were as avaricious as any client I'd ever had. But what the Arcana Council bought, it tended to keep. So far, I'd met the Magician, the Fool, and the High Priestess of their merry little band, though there were rumors of other Council members lurking in their hallowed halls. None of the ones I'd met, however, seemed too likely to give up their toys without a fight. "SANCTUS stole something from you? And you let them?"

"Not exactly. But the result is the same. The item is a very old gold-wrought box, a reliquary no larger than the size of your hand. It is unadorned except for the inscription on its seal, which is Aramaic and not important for your purposes. It will be heavy for its size and can grow heavier or lighter as you carry it. But it will not be unmanageable."

I nodded. The longer I was in this business, the less surprised I was by anything I learned. "Why turn to me?" I asked. "Why not tap one of these amazing family members you guys have apparently got scattered around the globe?"

"Understand this, and clearly." Armaeus's words were clipped with irritation, and I'm not going to lie: that made me feel good. "The families of Council members who are involved in our work do so at enormous personal risk, because they do not, in the main, possess any innate magical ability. The fact that one of their number rose to service in the Council does not at all mean that any of the remaining family members could do the same."

"Okay, fine. Then why didn't you go after this little box yourself?"

"My initial attempts to retrieve the reliquary have met with...failure," Armaeus said with a rare display of candor. "I had hoped not to involve you in this particular mission, but your presence in Paris made it an easy decision. It's time that we increased your work with the Council, and this is an ideal opportunity to do so."

"Increase, huh?" That sounded promising. Lying, backstabbing asshats or not, the Council paid well. "So where is this little box? Here in Paris, or are you sending me somewhere more charming?"

"Rome," Armaeus said. "The relic has been temporarily stored in a holding cell for purification. I am given to understand that it will be moved again shortly, however, which makes its retrieval tonight necessary. It's located in the necropolis beneath Vatican City."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." I held up a hand. "The necropolis. Under Vatican City. As in the home of those whack jobs back in Paris--"

"Your compensation will be the full amount for the seal of Ceres you were demanding from Monsieur Mercault, and more." His golden eyes were flat. "You will also cease any arrangement with the Mercault family, until we have identified who within their walls is providing information to SANCTUS."

"Or I could go tell Mercault he has a snitch and let him sniff it out." I tilted my head, considering my options, while Armaeus gave a disgusted snort.

If magic was a two-sided coin, Jean-Claude Mercault was on the dark side of the toss, one of the grittier adherents of the practices of the occult, rumored to specialize in unique drug concoctions that assisted with demonic possession. He wasn't yet involved with the trafficking of psychics, so he did have some standards, but still. He was one nasty customer. Which begged the question: "You mind telling me what this 'leverage' is that Mercault thought he had in getting the seal of Ceres? What's so special about that thing, anyway?"

Armaeus's mask of cool civility had slipped back into place. "In addition to the amount you intended to extort from Mercault, I will provide you with another fifty thousand euros. Payable to you--or directly to Father Jerome, as you wish."

I thinned my lips, suddenly catching on. I was good at what I did, and I was used to being paid well. But fifty thousand dollars for a few hours' work was not my standard day rate. It wasn't even my night rate. "What's the catch?"

Armaeus lifted a haughty brow. "There is no catch, Miss Wilde. If you take the job and return the reliquary to me within the next twenty-four hours, you will be paid handsomely. It is generous compensation for work quickly rendered, and, if I am not mistaken, timely payment is of the essence to you. I can have the money transferred to your account immediately upon delivery." His smile turned a shade more predatory. "In addition, I have information on two of the young psychics you are seeking."

A cold prickle iced my nerves, and I narrowed my eyes at him. "What information? And which two?"

Armaeus waved a lazy hand. "There is reason to believe two teenaged females of exceptional abilities have recently been transported to Las Vegas. Sisters, if my information is correct, from the Greek city of Kavala, who have been purchased as--"

"Sisters!" I straightened, my mind instantly ping-ponging back to my discussion with Father Jerome about the two girls who'd been taken weeks ago. "From Kavala. Where are they now, specifically? Who has them?" The rest of his words registered, and I frowned. "If they're in Vegas, why haven't you done anything about it?"

"The Council's role is not to dictate how magic is used." Armaeus shrugged. "Merely that it remains in balance. Where there is light, there must also be dark."

Anger flared within me. Not this again. "That's what you call balance? Those girls were abducted, Armaeus. If they've been in Las Vegas for any length of time, they could already be dead. Or worse. You know that."

"Then it would appear you have urgent business in the city after all, Miss Wilde. And, additionally, the need for the funds and transportation I can provide you." The Magician's gaze flicked to mine, and I read nothing but calculation in them. "I will give you the young women's location and assist your efforts to extract them, once you've delivered my reliquary intact. And I will pay you well to help with their relocation. Do we have an agreement?"

I bit my tongue, pretending to consider the matter. Armaeus was certainly playing to all my weaknesses: greed, speed, and need. In the final analysis, I figured he'd get the better end of the deal, but still: my end was looking pretty good.

And, of course, the money wasn't the most important part of this transaction anymore. If the Kavala twins were in Vegas, they wouldn't last long. The practitioners of dark magic were not known for their restraint. The fact that the girls had been alive upon delivery to the city meant they weren't just being harvested for some low-level ritual, at least, but that was cold comfort. They'd be used as tools somehow. Vessels or conduits, their psychic gifts strained beyond endurance, their minds and bodies eventually broken in the process. If I wanted to get to Vegas fast enough to make a difference, I had to accept the Magician's offer.

"Fine," I said, nodding to him. I held out my hand. "Now give me back my Tyet."

Armaeus tossed the silver amulet to me. I caught it easily, feeling its cold reassurance in my hand. He hadn't switched it out for another piece. The necklace was definitely mine, and it felt the same as it ever did. I slipped it over my neck.

"All right," I said. "What else do I need to know about this little job of yours?"

The Magician's expression grew a bit darker, right along with the ambient lighting. I glanced around as the lamps dimmed in the room, and my fingers twitched, my heart rate picking up.

"Knock it out, Armaeus. What else do I need to know?"

"You have all the information you need about the assignment in Rome." Had Armaeus gotten closer? He felt closer. "But since you've replaced the Tyet, I confess there is something I have a burning need to know. Namely, whether or not that amulet can truly perform the task for which you purchased it."

"It's doing fine." I stepped back, knowing I needed to put distance between myself and Armaeus. It was warm in the sitting room now--too warm. Too close. The Tyet amulet lay against my chest like an oasis of ice, but around it, my skin was fairly blazing. "Did you do something to it?" I crossed to the bar and picked up a bottle of single malt scotch. Splashing some of it into a glass, I didn't miss the fact that my hands were shaking.

Armaeus didn't either.

I didn't hear him move, but a breath later, he was at my back, his arms reaching around me. He took the bottle from my right hand and steadied my left on the glass, encasing me in a cage of sensual heat. His mouth grazed my neck as he leaned forward to pour the scotch, the scent of fire and cinnamon drifting around me, heightening every one of my senses. "Miss Wilde," he murmured. "What precisely were you told the amulet could do?"

He let go, and I held the glass in both palms, willing it to stay steady as I raised it to my lips. Unfortunately, as the scorch of alcohol hit my tongue, Armaeus's hands lifted up to rest on either side of my waist, pressing beneath my open jacket to the thin material of my shirt, his heat searing through the fabric. "Because it does not appear to stop me from doing this--" He slid his hands up the sides of my torso until his fingers drifted along the curve of my breasts. "Or this," he breathed, bending his head down to draw his lips along my ear, the movement instantly reducing my brain cells to a quivering pulp.

"Armaeus," I said warningly. Or at least I'd intended it as a warning. The soft sigh that came out of me sounded distressingly like an invitation, even to my ears.

"I think I like this amulet of yours," the Magician said, the words vibrating against my neck. "I wonder if it will let me do...this."

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# Chapter Seven

Armaeus's body surrounded me suddenly, his hands reaching forward to take the full weight of my breasts in his palms. His whispered words were so quiet that only my subconscious heard them, and instantly the scene shifted in a slight but critically important way.

Namely, we were still in the sitting room, still standing in front of the large chest with its glittering crystal decanters, and Armaeus was still pressed up against me, his mouth at my neck, his fingers playing over my shivering skin.

Only now we were naked.

I glanced down, horrified and fascinated at once to see Armaeus's bronzed fingers flat against the swell of my breasts, with nothing but the glinting silver Tyet remaining to adorn my skin. In some distant part of my brain, I knew all this was an illusion...

But it was a very effective illusion.

The Magician's breath was hot, urgent, and his lips trailed in its wake, scorching a line of kisses over my completely bare shoulder.

"Armaeus." The word was half entreaty, half order, and his chuckle sent vibrations chasing down my arms.

"You can stop me at any time," he murmured. He tightened his fingers into my soft skin, and they trembled against me. That more than anything else--the idea that Armaeus was somehow affected by touching me, was somehow as frantic as I was every time our bodies connected, skin against skin--made my knees buckle slightly, the fraying edge of my control tearing further.

I closed my eyes against the sheer sensual assault. I couldn't let myself give in to the swirl of doubts and need, the want that bubbled up inside me. My world worked because I stayed separate. Nobody got hurt, nobody died. I'd fallen in love once before, stopped paying attention as much as I should have, and that had ended with explosions and death. I was never going back to that girl, lost and alone, walking away from everything she'd ever known. I just--couldn't.

Sagging forward however, I suddenly didn't mind that my display of weakness turned Armaeus's chuckle into a dark laugh. Tugging me away from the bar, he didn't stop until my back was up against the nearest wall. He pulled my hands high, flat against the cold surface, then leaned down close to me, his golden eyes searching mine with an intensity that called to something deep inside me. An intensity that beckoned to me so forcefully, it was almost a physical pain. It demanded what I couldn't--wouldn't give.

Not yet. Not now.

"Armaeus--" I said again, but my words ended on a gasp as he pressed his body against mine, setting my blood on fire. The muscled planes of his legs braced themselves against my thighs with an achingly familiar intensity, as if we'd been born to this act. I tried to twist away from the contact, my actions feeble as need swamped me again and again, but Armaeus held me tight.

"I can feel your heat," he murmured, and his words once again didn't so much as brush against my ears as resonate inside my mind.

"We can't do this," I moaned. He'd been there, dammit. The first time we'd tried to make love. He'd been lying right next to me when I'd blacked out before we even got to the interesting part of what, arguably, should have been the most incredible sexual experience of this lifetime or any other. And then my brain had deleted everything about that evening so forcefully from my memories that I could still almost hear that door slamming shut, warning me to stay away.

Armaeus didn't seem to care about any of that. He didn't ease the insane torment his body was wreaking on me even slightly. Instead, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine, the movement so needed, so perfect that I couldn't fight the whimper.

"We can do this, if you want it." And the fire grew higher within me as he kissed me, hard and sure. Somewhere in the dim recesses of my brain, I realized that his hands were moving down my body, ripping something open as if he was undressing me, before he pressed my arms high above my head again. Though I'd already felt naked under the influence of his illusion, this was something different, something more. Now I really was exposed.

"Armaeus." I flared back toward reality with a burst of cognition, partially breaking free of the spell he'd wrapped around me. Which was good, because that was about all that was wrapped around me anymore, my pants and boots now tossed to the side, my jacket gone, nothing but my tank and amulet on my body. I should have been shocked, and yet...

"I...I do want this," I confessed, lifting my hands, placing them flat against his chest. "But how--?"

"Stop thinking, Sara. Just feel," Armaeus said. He stretched his body along the length of mine again, his fingers entwined in mine, his heavy arms flush against my forearms, my shoulders. He flattened himself against me, lifting me up with the force of his hips and chest, until I hung suspended against the wall, my breasts to his chest, my legs falling naturally around his hips. My eyes almost crossed at the intimate contact, but he held steady, staring into my face, his own expression racked with torment and wonder and--

With a guttural growl, he stepped back from me, and oxygen rushed back into my lungs as I fell forward, my collapse stopped harshly by the clamps on my wrists. In front of me, Armaeus had dropped to his knees, and I realized my entire body was trembling violently as he grasped my hips, his lips drifting against my thigh. Panic shot through me with violent strength--both panic that he would keep going and panic that he would stop. My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears that it almost unhinged my brain from the explosions of sensation at my thighs, my belly, while Armaeus held me hard, his lips plundering my body as if he sought to brand me with his mouth, to claim me for all time.

And...there went my knees again.

"Ahhh, what are you doing?" I swayed forward as Armaeus's harsh chuckle floated up around us.

"Research." As he spoke, he dragged his mouth against me, drifting ever closer to the vee between my legs as I fought against the restraints holding me high. "The Tyet is strong, and yet, I suspect it is..." His words broke off then, and he shuddered out a ragged breath before he could continue. "Quite specific. It cannot bar you from me, if you truly want me."

His lips finally reached the most sensitive point on my body, and something gave way within me, something hot and primal that ached for Armaeus on the level of blood and bone. Was this what I had experienced before, a need so strong, so devastating, that my mind had discarded the memory of it rather than force my modern, mortal sensibilities to deal with the fallout?

I didn't know, and I was long past caring. As the wet heat of Armaeus's tongue slid out to meet my own surging reaction, I couldn't think, couldn't breathe. I threw my head back and cried out, sagging against the wall as Armaeus sent whorls of fresh panic and desire surging through me, my body shuddering against him as his fingers suddenly replaced his mouth to send me skittering out of control in an entirely different direction.

While my attention fractured, unsure where to focus, Armaeus kissed a northward arcing curve up over my belly, his body swaying into mine as he stood again. Then his free hand lifted to push my tank top out of the way of my straining, desperate breasts.

"Very specific," he murmured, words that meant nothing to me at this point as he caressed my left breast with a long, lingering kiss, taking the nipple between his teeth. All the while, his fingers stroked deep within me, curving and twisting, taking me fast and hard down the path to my release. I'd almost lost myself to the play of his hand again when he sucked the tip of my breast into his mouth, hard.

I rammed right up against the edge of orgasm, every nerve in my body ripped tight with tension. Then the pressure fell away, and I blinked my eyes open, barely able to focus, only to find that Armaeus's face was right before mine, his eyes shimmering with an unearthly intensity. His fingers twitched again, and their renewed insistence twisted me into a knot as primal and complex as the one hanging around my neck.

"Please," I managed brokenly, though I didn't know what I was asking of him. Did I want him to stop? To keep going? To rip off the amulet and--

No. A force so deep in me it seemed etched into my bones shot out, matching my carnal desire with its own desperate demands. Stay away! Go back! You can't--

And then something, just--shattered.

I didn't so much fall over the edge as crash off it, tumbling into Armaeus's arms, my body sprawling over his, all legs and arms and half-muffled screams. He caught me easily, crushing me in his grasp as if by strength alone he could keep my skin intact. I came apart anyway, my lungs heaving, my heart thundering, and a new and unholy need swamped me so hard that I nearly blacked out, just like last time. Armaeus murmured something to me in a foreign language that very well could have been English at that point, but all I could do was gasp and shake my head violently, tears of rage and panic threatening to surge forth.

"Make it stop," I groaned, realizing dimly that I was pounding his chest. "I can't do this."

"Of course. You needed only--"

"Stop talking!" I shoved him away as I felt the slender silver pendant shift on my chest, heat exploding from the amulet. I stumbled backward across the floor, landing on my ass near the pile of my discarded clothes. I snatched them up, then stumbled a few more feet away for good measure.

"Don't touch me," I practically snarled, the demand unreasonable even to me, given that he was now halfway across the room.

Armaeus nodded, but his eyes looked almost...inhuman now. Lit with a fire I had never seen before, at least not that I could remember.

"This sucks," I bit out, wrenching my clothes on, reholstering my gun, pulling on my jacket as I patted pockets, sleeves, collar, reassuring myself that everything was still there. "This absolutely sucks."

"We could try it again if you were unsatisfied--"

"Ha. Thanks, no. I'm good." I drew in a long, staggering breath. I'd held firm. I'd stayed awake the whole time, anyway. That was definitely progress.

So why did I feel like crap?

Looking as if he'd done nothing but poured himself a drink, Armaeus leaned against the solid wooden chest, watching me with interest, but no longer the kind of interest that inspired such terrifying, blinding need inside me. Waddya know. Even more progress.

I straightened under his regard. "Was that why I blacked out the first time before we even...got this far?" I asked. "Why I lost my memories? It was all just--too much?"

The Magician shrugged, but he could not hide his own fascination with the question. "I can assure you, I do not know." His lips quirked into a dangerous smile. "Yet."

"Not going to happen." I shoved my hair back over my neck, resecuring my ponytail, no longer caring how he watched my every movement, no longer caring about anything except how glad I was that the Tyet had worked in the end, just as Nikki Dawes had said it would. I remembered everything that had happened between Armaeus and me this time, even if I couldn't understand it. Even if I didn't ever want to feel that horrible sense of panic, of urgency, that drive to have sex with Armaeus that was so strong it couldn't be right. This wasn't lust. It sure as hell wasn't love. It was a need that I couldn't merely classify as carnal, and it had come so close to burning through my defenses that I still could barely breathe.

What was wrong with me?

Armaeus, seeing the torrent of emotions no doubt plainly chasing their way across my face, took a step toward me, and I all but hissed, holding out a hand to stop him in his tracks.

"Has this ever happened to you...before?"

We'd never spoken about the first time we'd almost made love. As soon as Armaeus had realized that I'd truly lost all recall, he'd gotten very quiet and very intrigued and had just...watched me. Like he was staring at me now, in fact. I'd gotten out of his bedroom so fast, my feet had barely hit his insanely expensive marble floor. I'd found Nikki and her Tyet the next day. And the Tyet had held this night, after all. No matter what I'd asked of Armaeus, no matter how much I'd desired him, I hadn't given in to that unfathomable need.

Not completely. Not yet.

"Miss Wilde--"

I waved off his response. "Never mind," I said heavily, willing myself to put everything that didn't matter aside so I could focus on what did.

The job mattered. Only the job. That and putting one step in front of the other, walking and walking and walking until you knew no one was behind you. You knew no one was looking. You knew that no one cared.

So you couldn't hurt them.

I squared my shoulders. "Okay--what do I need to find this little gold box of yours? You have a map or something, or am I just going in with the cards?"

Armaeus looked as if he was going to say something else, then he nodded. "I suspect the cards will be helpful, particularly in this search. And you will also be needing this."

I frowned as he reached into his jacket, which still appeared perfectly pressed, and drew out the slender gold disk. "The seal of Ceres? So it does actually have a purpose?"

He shrugged. "The relic is not a necessary tool. Nevertheless, as it has graciously made itself available to us, we may as well take advantage of it." Armaeus's gave me the disk. "Beneath all of Rome lies the Mundus Cereris, or world of Ceres. It is a shallow vault of passageways that extends beneath the city, used by the goddess to search the uppermost levels of the underworld. For our purposes, it leads equally well to the Vatican necropolis."

"Underworld. As in catacombs." I stared at him. "Great. And this seal is supposed to do what for me?"

"The entry to the Mundus Cereris has been hidden since the times of antiquity. Although most historians agree it was housed somewhere in the Roman Forum, the opening, a stone lid known as the manalis lapis, has never been located."

"And this matters..."

But Armaeus was not to be denied his history lesson. "Ceres was the sister of Vesta, the two of them committed to the feminine concerns of hearth, home, family, fertility, and the harvesting of grain. It is not surprising that when Ceres began her search for her daughter, Proserpina, who had been taken into the underworld by Pluto, she turned to her sister, Vesta, for help. But to protect this passageway, which opened up an entire world beneath the city, she needed an entrance that no man would find and use for his own purposes."

"So she stuck it in her sister's temple, dedicated to womanhood, home of the Vestal Virgins, guardians of the eternal flame. Got it," I said. Did he think I'd been working in the arcane artifact trade for the past five years for nothing? "And you're telling me this..."

"Because Ceres made several keys to her underground realm, one of which we happen to now have, thanks to you--and, of course, to me." As he broke his arm patting himself on the back, I turned the seal over in my hands. I noted the raised ridges on the back again, but frowned at him.

"If this is the lid to some secret passageway, we're in trouble, Armaeus. That'll be a pretty small opening."

"There is no lid, unfortunately. Not anymore." He shook his head. "But Ceres prepared for that contingency as well. Beneath the manalis lapis rested another entrance point, said to be etched into solid rock." He nodded at the gold seal. "I can give you the point at which it is located, but what lies beneath the temple is a world I have not seen for a very long time. Still, it begins with the seal--though I would caution you to be careful. When placed upon the bedrock of Rome itself, I am told it is a single-use key. And another thing, Miss Wilde." He smiled at me, amusement lacing his words. "Though your passage will be underground, you should not encounter any of the dead for the majority of your trip. Roman law forbade the burial of citizens within the city walls."

He had to remind me about the dead bodies. "Yeah, well, Rome started out kind of small," I grumbled. "That doesn't account for much terrain."

Nodding his acknowledgment of this point, Armaeus gestured to my chair and took his own seat. "You'll be leaving soon, and I must give you the rest of the instructions," he said. "You'll need to memorize them."

"Uh-huh. And where will you be while I'm off playing capture the flag?"

"I regret that business requires me to return immediately to Las Vegas. Where I look forward to you rejoining me late tomorrow, in fact, with the reliquary intact."

"Fair enough." I stowed the seal in my jacket. "So in preparation for that, why don't you go ahead and get your bank online as well. I'll want my money transferred the moment I toss you your pretty gold toy."

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# Chapter Eight

The driver Armaeus had hired to pick me up from Leonardo de Vinci Airport wasn't a local. It wasn't until I'd slung myself into the back seat of the dark blue sedan that I realized this important fact, as he started talking to me in a rich French accent. Just what I didn't need.

"Welcome to Rome, mademoiselle. Where are we off to?'

"The Forum," I said. "Anywhere close to the main entrance on Via dei Fori Imperiali."

"Mais non! It is far too early. Your boss, he is unreasonable."

I blinked at the man, catching his wide smile in the rearview mirror. "Excuse me?"

"It is Rome, at night under the stars. Sending you straight to a tourist trap, and not even one of the better tourist traps, is--pfft." His censure was more amusing than it should have been. Maybe I was tired. But he kept going. "Bien sur, the Forum, it was quite grand back in its day, but its day is long past. It's not like it's the Colosseum or the Trevi Fountain. Mon Dieu, send you to the basilica at the very least, but the Forum? Please. The place, it is locked up tight!"

I couldn't help smiling as the driver kept up a nonstop stream of chatter. His banter, detailing the trials of being an on-command limo driver to the stars, kept me energized at least, and that, along with caffeine pills and some mumbo jumbo Armaeus had muttered at me when I'd left for the plane, was apparently all the rest I was going to get before this day was done. As we sped toward Rome, I went through the plan again. According to Armaeus, I would have to navigate through a mile of catacombs and underground passageways, one of them, notably, under water--before emerging into the subterranean underpinnings of the Vatican. The necropolis was relatively close to the surface but still deep enough that I shouldn't be disturbed at the hour I would be reaching it. I patted the pocket of my jacket, locating the deck I'd hijacked from Henri. This underground journey was going to be a series of yes-nos viewed by penlight, so I separated a few of the Major Arcana cards, sliding the rest back into the--

"Mademoiselle?"

"What!" I jumped about a foot, and the driver had the good grace to wince. We stopped at a light, and he turned around.

"Apologies," he said, his gaze falling to my hands. "Oh! You are a student of the Tarot. Excellent!"

"Ah, thanks." Several additional cards had fallen out of the deck, and I scooped them off the floor, keeping them separate from the pack along with my Majors. Cards didn't jump out of a deck for no reason, even if the reason was a bad one--like a driver who wouldn't shut up.

"I wanted to let you know we're almost there," the driver said, swinging back around to drive. "Is there anything you need before I leave? Mini bottled water? Tourist map?" He handed both items to me over the back of his seat, seemingly out of habit, his eyes never leaving the road once we started moving again. I took his offerings just as automatically, though I wasn't thirsty--and a map wasn't exactly going to get me where I needed to go tonight.

As I tucked the map into my jacket pocket along with the cards, the car slowed and angled over to the right. I peered out the window, taking in the uplit view of the Roman Forum. We were at one of the main entrances, as requested, some enormous old building half standing off to our left, its arched columns looming in silent testimony to a world gone by.

"Thanks," I said again, pulling out some folded euros. "Oh, and here--I appreciate you driving me this late."

"No problem at all, mademoiselle." The young man turned around, his eyes eerily black despite the brightly lit interior of the limo. With a boyish grin, he touched his fingers to his head in a smart salute. "And no tip needed, but my number's on the map. You need a ride out of here, call that line and ask for me by name." He winked at me. "I'm Max Bertrand."

Of course you are. "Bertrand of the French mausoleum Bertrands?"

His grin broadened. "The very same."

I watched as the dark sedan shot down the Via dei Fori Imperiali, waiting until it was well out of sight. It was a few hours before dawn, and the Forum's lights had been dimmed, throwing the ruins into shadow. Not even the most energetic of tourists was out at this hour, but I knew better than to waste any time.

Without hesitating, I hurried to the nearest fold in the imposing but ultimately harmless fence surrounding the long rectangular field of enormous ruined temples and scattered buildings. Where the structure dented inward, I paused, pulling on my gloves. I'd learned over time that sometimes, when it came to handling artifacts, it paid to cover your palms. The unexpected bonus was that for most modern climbing tasks, gloves came in quite handy.

The beautiful wrought iron gate proved easy to scale, and I was on the other side in less than a minute. Then it was off through the maze of ruins toward the Temple of Vesta, one of the few circular structures (or what was left of it) in the space. The temple had once been the home of the Palladium, the ancient statue of Athena carved of olive wood and said to have fallen from the heavens themselves. The piece had long since disappeared into the mists of history, but I was banking that the other great feature of the temple had not: its famed hearth, once kept constantly lit by an intrepid team of virgins.

I trotted the short distance through the Forum, past the Temple of Antonius and Faustina, and something called the Regia, which looked like a whole lot of nothing at all. When I reached my destination, however, my steps slowed, disappointment tightening my jaw. The hearth of the Temple of Vesta was intact, all right--mounted ornately on stacked slabs of rock in front of the temple.

What in the... I moved forward and circled the ancient building, still standing tall if somewhat tattered in her old age, a scant few of her columns remaining. I broke a few more city laws by clambering up onto the structure and skirting around its pillars, then dropped back onto the rubble that marked what had once been the interior of the shrine.

Not helping, not helping, not helping. Dirt lay in huge piles all around the space, and only a few areas of actual rock were cleared off completely. I squinted into the darkness, trying to get a fix on where the center point might be, but it was almost impossible to tell. What were they doing here? Some sort of latter-day excavation? I grimaced, dropping to my knees to where it seemed that the rock that had been unearthed was actual bedrock and not simply stones moved around for the hell of it. And then I started searching.

It took me a full half hour to find what I wanted--deep, tool-cut grooves etched into a stone just off the center of the temple, the rest of the surface worn down. The section was bordered on all sides by more rock, which also boded well. However, I saw no cut marks in the stone's surface to indicate that there was some sort of hatch I could unlock. Suddenly unnerved by the thick darkness around me, I pulled out the Ceres seal and considered Armaeus's words anew. How could this be a key?

No time like the present to find out.

Trying not to wince at the damage I was doing to the millennia-old seal, I turned the relic upside down and gingerly pressed it onto the stone.

Nothing happened.

I pressed harder. No dice.

"You have got to be kidding me." I forced all my weight onto the seal. Still nothing. I settled back on my heels, then shoved forward, forming my gloved hands into fists that I banged down on the seal like it was a square peg I was trying to hammer into a round hole. Nada. The rock stayed very rocklike. Very rocklike and solid. And hard, I realized belatedly, shaking out my hands.

"This isn't happening." I rolled up to my feet and scowled down at the stone. In the distance, I heard a police siren, and I jerked my head toward it, belatedly aware that I was, at a minimum, acting like a lunatic. At worst, I was doing my level best to deface state property with a stolen artifact.

"You know, I don't have time for this." I pitched my words calmly, quietly even. Never let it be said I didn't know how to negotiate with a chunk of metal. "I need to get to the Vatican, and you need to help me."

The seal remained stoic.

"There's got to be a way. That's how he works. You know that." I paced around the seal, then tentatively hopped onto the gold plate. Still nothing. "Totally not joking here." I hopped again. Then harder. And then I did a rat-a-tat march on it. I worked on my samba, my pogo-stick, even some Irish dancing.

Nada, nothing, zip.

And then, finally, there in the hushed corner of the Temple of Vesta, something deep within me sort of...snapped.

"Sweet Father Christmas on a tricycle, stop messing with me!" I stood off the edge of the seal, then raised my foot to stomp down on it with my heavy boot. "I have more!" stomp. "Money!" stomp. "Riding on this!" stomp! "Than I've ever seen!" stomp stomp! "In my life!" I backed up, launching myself forward again to execute a two-footed jump onto the now-battered seal. "DO SOMETHING!"

There wasn't even a crack, and I half stumbled to the side, turning around and staring into the distance as I desperately tried to work out another solution, my lungs heaving, my head filling with a bone-rattling roar that pounded through my brain and--

The whoosh of movement took me completely by surprise as a storm of smoke shot up around me and the rock surface suddenly gave way beneath my feet. I plummeted into darkness and smashed hard into a wall, bouncing off it into a shower of rocks and debris that chased me down to an equally hard floor, accompanied by a tumble of stones that clattered around me. I blinked for a moment, then an ominous creaking sound stretched overhead in the now-pitch darkness, motivating me to scramble to the side until I came up against another wall, spitting out rock dust as I pulled the penlight out of my jacket.

"One use only," I muttered, angling a narrow beam of light upward. I squinted at the completely blocked opening above me. Which meant--no exit either. So after I found the Magician's relic, I'd have to come up with some other way to get out of here.

Armaeus hadn't mentioned that part, of course.

I swung the penlight around as the rock dust cleared, relieved to see a darker opening cut into the rock opposite from where I was sitting--and only one said opening. This cut down on my possible options of which way to go, for sure. Even better, the dust seemed to be moving into that hole, versus hanging stagnant in the air, which meant somehow, somewhere, there was an opening up ahead.

Nevertheless, I put the penlight in my mouth and took the extra second to reach into my jacket and palm the cards, randomly flipping one upright into the thin stream of light.

The Devil stared back at me, grinning and fierce, rocking his evil badassery in the old-style illustration. I much preferred the more modern depictions of the horned beast, but either way, this wasn't helping. I reached for another card, focusing my question more specifically. Two cards came free in my hand, and I nodded when I saw them. That's more like it.

The Hierophant and the Eight of Cups--the Eight clearly one of the Minor Arcana cards that had tumbled out of the deck when the limo driver had startled me. So, apparently this road wouldn't be a yes-no journey after all. The Eight of Cups was a sign to get a move on, and the Hierophant was also known as the "Pope" card.

Couldn't get more literal than that.

I checked my watch's compass feature to reassure myself I was facing northwest. Then I got to my feet and headed out. Time suddenly seemed far too short. I had to get Armaeus's box and haul it to Vegas pronto, if he was right about the twin sisters from Kavala being shipped there. And I had no reason to doubt him. According to Father Jerome, the sisters were Greek girls of exceptional beauty, and from what the priest had been told, their gifts apparently extended to a kind of shared cognition--they could wield the Sight in tandem, piercing the veil of the future or the past simultaneously. In a world constantly searching for the next magical curiosity, they would be coveted treasures indeed.

I picked up the pace.

True to Armaeus's words, the world of Ceres made heavy use of ancient underground passageways hewn through the rock. The space remained blessedly empty of anything but stone and the occasional rat at first, but after the first quarter mile or so, bodies started showing up. I had clearly made it beyond the boundaries of the Old City. Some of the chambers were stacked with cloth-wrapped corpses as old as time itself, but others were filled with figures with a distressingly fresher feel. Holding my breath as much as I was able, I darted through the makeshift crypts, using the cards to guide me when I had a choice of more than one passageway. From time to time, I could sense the passages soaring above me and almost hear the distant traffic as the catacombs reached toward the streets of Rome. Other times, I could barely move, once shimmying on my stomach through a crevice carved into the rock, slick with running water. Apparently, I'd reached the Tiber River. I made pretty good time despite all that, covering the terrain in a little over an hour, before something decidedly different hung in the air around me.

It all started feeling...cleaner.

I slowed my steps, sweeping the penlight on the ground and up around the walls. Fewer cobwebs and dust, I decided. That was it. Someone had clearly strolled this way recently--at least within the last century or so. The air was lighter here as well, the narrow passageway between the stacked bodies seeming almost spacious.

I pulled another card, rolling my eyes as the Devil once again showed his ugly mug. The second proved more useful, however: the Sun.

I dimmed my light and advanced, realizing that the gloom of the space had lifted somewhat as well. Not enough for me to get away without using light of any sort, but enough to make me feel like I was no longer trudging through the bowels of hell. As I moved from one chamber to the next, I felt something else too.

The sudden sense of eyes on me.

"Hello, there."

I turned around quickly, sweeping the light.

"Who's that?"

Silence greeted me. "Armaeus?"

But no. And truth to tell, the voice in my head hadn't sounded like Armaeus. It was...younger. More carefree. Either way, "you're not invited, whoever you are." The silence continued, and I felt unreasonably satisfied about that. So there, imaginary friend. Go pound sand.

To make certain that no one was behind me, or ahead of me either, I arced the beam around. Nope, nada. I shook it off. After having traveled through the graves of what felt like half the ancient Roman population, I should expect to be a little jumpy. I hit it again, moving through the passages with more determination. They had begun to tilt upward, and as I passed one cleft in the rock, I paused, something once more murmuring in the back of my mind, just out of reach.

I cycled up my penlight and flashed it over the surface to the right. Not stone at all here, but a metal door, deeply recessed into the wall and hung with shadows. I didn't need to pull the Hierophant card this time--the papal seal was boldly emblazoned on the metal, immediately above the door's old-style lock.

Transferring my penlight to my teeth, I reached up high inside my jacket and pulled my picklocks free. This would not be delicate work with a structure so old, but torque was important. I didn't want to lose my precious tools in the mouth of a stubborn iron lock.

The mechanism worked, though not without protest, my wrists easing the picks through their dance with steady pressure and a few choice swear words. Clearly this wasn't a common entrance or exit for the Vatican staff. That also boded well.

I pushed past the door and found more catacombs on the other side, along with a fair number of empty indentations in the wall. Too small for dead bodies, but clearly something had been placed here at one point--placed and then removed.

At length, the passage ended, and I was left in a room with no exit--just four stone walls and the entryway I'd come in. I flickered the penlight up over the stone surface overhead and frowned. A constellation had been etched into the chamber's ceiling, the earth at its center, the planets and sun revolving around that overlarge orb. I slid the light to the right of the earth, past the moon and to the large sun, its center pierced with a thick dot. A circumpunct, one of the oldest symbols of the sun--or of God--that existed. Peering up into it and remembering the last card I'd pulled, I flashed around the space at my feet until I found a big enough chunk of stone that was not so large I couldn't move it. I shoved it into place, then stood upon it, dimming my penlight again and flipping it over. I stuck the bottom of the flashlight into the groove created by the chiseled dot and pushed hard.

This time, I didn't have to wait for my reward. The penlight broke right through the thin layer of dirt, and shavings cascaded around me as a burst of light poured down over my face. The block moved easily enough at the push of my fingertips, stone scraping on stone, and with two hands, I was able to ease it up and to the side, revealing a hole large enough for me to climb through. Dim yellow light shone down from the chamber above, and I could see a tiny portion of its flaking ceiling.

I'd reached the Vatican necropolis.

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# Chapter Nine

I hauled myself up through the opening, trying to get my bearings. I was in an ancient room, but not as ancient as where I'd come from. It was one of the painted crypts of the necropolis, the sides layered in a rich terra-cotta orange, the floor decorated with an elaborate ornate mosaic. My entry square was in the center of a long line of similar squares, each with a hole in its center, and I was familiar with their function. The tiles had been used originally as food portals so that the ancient Romans could more easily deliver feasts to their dead relatives.

Very thoughtful, the Romans.

Now, the centers of most of the tiles were stuffed with dirt and clay, sealing them off. I swung my feet clear of the hole and scowled around, every sense on high alert, but no guards came pounding toward me, no alarmed cries went up. Nevertheless, I set the stone back in place and scattered rock dust over it for good measure. Wiping my gloved hands on my leggings, I reached the doorway of the ancient tomb and glanced back. From this vantage point, I couldn't tell the floor had been disturbed. Good.

I found myself in a long brick-and-stone corridor bathed in an eerie yellow glow coming from a line of recessed lights. I quickly made my way to the end, glancing into the empty crypts on either side of the passage, noting the ornate frescoes and striking images in some, the utter barrenness of others. At the end of the corridor, just as Armaeus had described, I found the original tomb of St. Peter, or whatever they were calling it these days. No way the guy's actual bones were still here, but the space itself had a strange feeling to it that made me slow down, the cards seeming to almost shift in my jacket as I poked my head into the narrow space.

Bingo.

I saw the gold box almost immediately, but it wasn't as if that took any special skill. It was lying right in the open, sitting in a sort of cut-out section of the wall, enshrined on purple and red vestments, candles lying around its base. A strip of red cloth lay crisscrossed over the relic, which, as Armaeus had suggested, was about the size of my hand from fingertip to wrist. There was no high-tech energy force field down here protecting the thing, just the cloth sash, and I frowned at the setup, inching closer. The light seemed particularly strange, surrounding the reliquary in a luminous glow. Was it a luminous electrically charged glow? That remained to be seen. I glanced around, listening, but no sound emanated from anywhere in the crypt except my own thundering heart.

Once again, I felt it. That strange sense of being watched.

I checked my watch. Four thirty a.m. The sun would be rising in less than two hours, and I had no idea how I'd get out of the catacombs anymore. I certainly wasn't going to be getting back out through the Forum. All of which meant I couldn't waste any more time here, not when I had a long flight into nowhere ahead of me.

Using one of the ceremonial candles lying to the left of the reliquary, I pushed the sashes off the box. There was a faint crackling noise, but God didn't cry out in holy fury. So far, so good. I squatted down, trying to eye the platform beneath the gold. No way to tell what was under it, and I stood again, weighing my options.

Just get it over with, I thought, feeling strangely inclined to laugh.

Sometimes, it really was that easy.

I reached out with my right hand and plucked the golden box off its pool of vestments. Something seemed to shift, and, frowning, I swept the vestments back--just as a green light on a technical-looking platform clicked to red. And started blinking.

"Crap!"

And sometimes, it wasn't. Time to go.

I shoved the box into my jacket, sparing a few extra, precious seconds to throw the vestments back over the blinking red light, as if that was going to have some meaningful effect on anything. Then I dashed into the long corridor leading away from St. Peter's tomb, moving fast. Sticking my hand in my pocket, I yanked out another card--Chariot.

I frowned, picking up my pace. Chariot? I'd expected the Sun again, dammit. Surely the best idea would be to go back to the room where I'd entered the necropolis.

The sudden crack of pounding boots on stone shot my attention toward the edge of the corridor as I skidded past a room dominated by an enormous mosaic of--

"Do not mess with me," I gritted out, swinging into the room and turning around, then around again. The chariot on the floor in black-and-white was unmistakable, and for added points, the scene it depicted was the freaking kidnap of Proserpina, daughter of Ceres--but there was no door out of this room, no big flashing arrow pointing anywhere, and I was out of time.

"Double Crap!" The box in my right pocket suddenly seemed to gain about a thousand pounds, and I hurtled forward, smacking facedown onto the floor. Just then, two guards ran past the crypt's doorway, their flashlights sweeping the space, but not stopping. Spitting out rock dust as quietly as I could beneath the tramp of their feet, I squinted up--and then I saw it. A grate at the base of the wall, maybe added after excavation to shore up splintering rock or to cover a dangerous hole, who knew. The important part was it was there--and darkness loomed behind it.

I scrambled for the grate and tested it quickly, realizing it wasn't attached. Seriously, who were these architects? Hadn't they heard of security systems? Not one to look a gift escape portal in the mouth, however, I yanked out the grate and stuck my penlight into the space, tossing more rock dust down. Nothing but open air lay beyond the hole, and then, finally, the pebbles struck bottom, loud enough to almost reassure me I wouldn't break every bone in my body trying to make the drop. Dare to dream.

As shouts erupted in St. Peter's tomb, I resecured my light and zipped up my jacket, then snagged the grate. I shimmied down into the hole, pulling the grate behind me until it clanked into place over the opening. Then I hung for another sickening moment in the open air.

And dropped.

The weight of the gold box eased up in flight, and I landed with only the usual amount of pain, sprawling onto the chamber floor with a grunt, then rolling into a tight ball to condense the agony into as small a space as possible. The place was black as pitch, and I wrenched out my penlight again, flipping it around as I squinted into the darkness. The chamber held two doors, so, fine, two cards: Hanged Man and Sun. "Oh great, now you give me the Sun."

I'd take it, though. I was starting to feel a little claustrophobic. Being forty feet underground would do that to a person.

I headed back into the darkness through the east-facing door, the one indicated by the Sun, and prayed for a quick exit.

I didn't get one.

The cards started playing hard to get from that point forward, showing me the Devil at every turn as the weird half echo of spectral laughter dogged my steps. Finally I gave up and started jogging, taking whatever passageway seemed like it was leading up. My last intelligent card had been the Sun, after all. Well, the sun was in the sky, right? And the sky was up.

Finally, after what felt like hours but which my watch confirmed was only ninety minutes, I stumbled into a space that seemed ever so slightly newer than third century AD. A wide cistern of some sort had been cut into the floor, holding a deep well of murky water. I craned my neck upward, my penlight barely picking out a catwalk high upon the wall. And hanging down from that catwalk, bolted against the wall...

"Finally." I raced over to the side of the cavern, then stuck the penlight in my mouth again--never mind where else it'd been stuck during the last several hours--and attacked the ladder with newfound energy. Hand over hand, I climbed up the side of the sheer wall, not bothering to look down until I finally collapsed onto the landing of the catwalk far above, my lungs blowing hard. From there I could totally see where I was, if only I spoke Italian. The underside of an official-looking manhole lay above me not six more feet.

Pausing to ensure everything was going according to plan, I did one more check of the cards and got The Devil, which I was getting used to by now. Then the Five of Wands--another of the minors I'd already encountered this evening, and one I wasn't at all happy to see again. And then Justice.

I scowled. From my underground position, I had no way of determining what Justice meant. Was I going to crawl out in front of a police station or come face-to-face with the Super Friends? Justice was always a pain that way. You got what was coming to you, but every so often that was the boomerang of doom.

I glanced up at the manhole. Security forces were typically presented by knight cards, and knights were conspicuously not showing up to my card party so far. But if the enforcers for SANCTUS were waiting for me up there, for some reason, things were not going to end well for Armaeus's box.

Or for me, as it happened.

Getting to my feet, I pulled the dull yellow reliquary out of my pocket and held it under the gleam of the penlight. As Armaeus had instructed, there was nothing on the piece but the inscription, carved into the box in some unreadable language. Aramaic, he'd said, but it didn't matter. It could have been Alien and I wouldn't have known the difference. The box looked bug-free at least, so that was a bonus. Kept things from getting too crowded.

I fished around in one of my inside pockets until I found the slender plastic disk. Squatting down, I placed the reliquary carefully on its side, then pulled the disk free from its backing. I stuck the wafer to the corner of the reliquary, where the metal was the smoothest. Once in place, the sensor was virtually invisible, a tiny disk, but through the miracle of plastic tech--and a very wise decision I'd made with an incredibly smart, incredibly hot circuitry genius a few years back--it would make sure I didn't end up empty-handed.

Satisfied, I stowed the reliquary in my jacket once more and slipped the safety off my gun in its shoulder holster. Then I hit the next ladder, picking up speed.

Just as the square slab of rock in the tomb had been easy to dislodge, the manhole cover above me proved equally accommodating, and I pushed up the circular slab of metal to see out. I was in the middle of some sort of side street, and though a few cars were visible lining the curb, no traffic stirred. I heaved the manhole off the opening, then crawled out of the shaft, pausing only long enough to drop the cover back over the hole. I'd finished that process, still on my knees, when I heard a car door open.

And then the lights came up.

Sweet Christmas, that's bright. I hunkered down in legitimate pain, practically blinded with the sudden glare after so many hours in darkness. Steps sounded loudly around me, official and precise, and I heard a gun cocking into place. My own weapon remained holstered tight to my side, but I needed to understand how many people I'd be shooting at before I went that route.

"The inscription."

"What?" I growled, turning around. Had someone said that aloud? And in English? No one spoke again for another moment, then the man closest to me started shouting at me in rapid-fire Italian.

"Scatola!" the man next to him cried out over his associate's words, and I understood what they wanted, despite my lousy Italian. Box. They wanted the reliquary.

Worked for me. To hit me, they'd have to go through the relic, and I figured they didn't want to risk damaging the thing. So with my left hand, I reached inside my jacket and pulled the box out, waving it in front of my chest as I turned, keeping my feet moving and the relic close.

"Read the inscription." The order was louder this time, more insistent. Definitely English. But I couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from.

"I can't!" I shouted back, finally getting a good look at the men surrounding me. A dozen guys ranged in a tight circle wearing black uniforms and berets, all of them with rifles trained on my twirling form. Oh, goodie. SANCTUS. How did they find me so quickly? And what exactly had happened to Armaeus's other agents--

Meanwhile, I sensed the press of otherworldly eyes upon me again as words were forming in my mind, words such as I had never heard before, ancient and melodic, hypnotic and strange. Running around and through and over and above the Italians who were edging closer, their shouts growing louder as the sun finally broke over the horizon and flooded the far-off street, its light not quite reaching into this side alley.

"The inscription!"

"Fine!" I bellowed. Waving the reliquary in my left hand, I squinted at it, then spoke the words that had come to me in a rush--all three lines, not truly knowing what I was saying as the sounds tumbled and crashed over themselves, my heart lightening as I neared the inscription's end.

Whatever I was saying, though, I wasn't saying it fast enough. I heard the cock of a pistol, sensed the gun aimed at me as I babbled out the last words. Crap and double crap!

Without warning, the box suddenly went from weighing about two pounds to two hundred. I dropped it, shocked, then instantly went for my gun, yanking it out as the box made contact with the asphalt--

And everything went sideways.

The reliquary bounced hard as an explosion ripped through the space with a percussive blast, though there was no sound, not even much light. I was knocked to the side, away from the manhole, but I had the easy end of it. The commandos standing around me all burst backward as well, like leaves caught in a strong wind, stumbling to the ground, smashing up against the alley's wall, while I was yanked to my feet, and--

Found myself staring into the face of the second most magnificent man I'd ever seen in my life.

"Second?" the impossibly beautiful vision in front of me said with a twist of his sensual lips. "How disappointing."

Innate recognition and outrage swept through me, flavored with a salty dash of fear that I stamped down with more outrage. "You've got to be freaking kidding me," I snapped. "Armaeus sent me after the actual Devil? As in the Prince of Darkness, Father of Lies, Enemy of Righteousness--you're what I just stole from the Vatican?"

The Adonis before me gave me a lazy grin.

"Speak of the Devil," he said, his voice as heart wrenchingly beautiful as his features. "And he shall appear."

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# Chapter Ten

With that, the Devil shot out his right hand toward the closest SANCTUS guard. "Besides," he continued, "they stole me first."

The guard screamed as his gun turned to flames, the fire jumping from his weapon to one held by a soldier across the alley so quickly I could barely follow it. Then it leapt again.

"Aleksander Kreios," the Devil said by way of introduction. He didn't let go of me as he stooped to pick up the golden box at his feet, examining it with marked distaste as the men around us erupted into screams. "I think we should be leaving. Where is the plane?"

"Ciampino Airport," I said, trying to process the carnage in front of me. Not very easy, given the smell of burning flesh on either side of us. "Just south of the city. Were you the one watching me in the catacombs, then?" I frowned more deeply. "And how did you get in that box?"

"It appears Armaeus did not expect us to meet. He always was a man of no manners, despite his protestations." He shrugged. "But it's time to go. As enjoyable as it would be to see these men suffer longer, there is work yet to be done." He turned, guiding me past a guard whose cries of torment only increased on seeing Aleksander Kreios standing over him. Kreios paused long enough to stop the man's screams--by kicking him savagely in the head. Then he turned back with a satisfied smile. "After you," he said, gesturing me on.

I glanced back as we strode down the alley. The fires dissolved into dirty smoke as I watched, but half the guards still seemed in abject pain, and the other half were held in some kind of thrall, none of them making a move.

"Um, are you doing that to them?"

"Not at all, Sara Wilde. They are doing it to themselves."

Breaking out onto a main street, Kreios walked right into traffic, moving ahead of me to flag down a sleek Alfa Romeo. The driver stopped, poleaxed with alarm, gaping at us as we approached his vehicle. Kreios put his hand on the hood appreciatively. "It is a fine car."

The man--a prosperous-looking businessman, judging by his suit and tie--promptly exited the vehicle with his briefcase in hand. His expression shifted to a decidedly enthralled look, and he stood by the driver's side while the few cars that were on the street pounded their horns and angled around us. Kreios nodded to him and spoke in musically fluent Italian, something about a Banco Credito. The man gestured magnanimously to his car. "È tutto tuo."

Then he walked off. Whistling.

"You see?" Kreios said, dropping my hand to open the passenger door for me. "Men of refinement yet walk this world."

I eyed the car, thinking only two words. "Flight" and "Risk."

"Um--you are planning to head back to Vegas now, right?" I'd cuff the man to me, only the moment my brain contemplated that idea all other rational thought jumped ship. Besides, no handcuffs. Damned poor packing job.

Kreios smiled. "Have you any doubt?"

"Lots of them."

"Well, fret not on my account." His brows lifted as he studied me. "Now this is interesting. I have not been to Kavala in many years. Your desire to return those young women to their homes, it is a worthy goal."

Freaking Council mind-reading freaks. Still, I was more than happy to play phone a friend to get more information. "So they are in Vegas? They're still alive?"

"There is only one way to find out, it would seem." He moved to the driver's side of the Alfa Romeo. A chorus of police sirens suddenly screamed from a few streets over, and Kreios winked at me as he opened the vehicle's door. "Rome is always so invigorating."

He slid inside and I clambered into the passenger seat, barely getting the door shut before he slammed the car into gear.

"Buckle up, Sara Wilde." After the second turn, I did as he instructed, the belt the only thing keeping me from being plastered against the roof of the vehicle, the door, or the Devil himself. We raced through the streets, conversation impossible what with half the city roiling with lights and sirens, all of them seeming immediately behind us.

By the time I realized that the cars and noise had faded, I realized something else had disappeared too.

Namely, any signs referencing "Aeroporto".

"I'm pretty sure we're supposed to be heading to an airport." I eyed Kreios. "You know, a place with planes?"

"I regret that I will be unable to join you in that endeavor. But hopefully you'll agree that I did not leave you to fend for yourself alone in Rome, yes? I do not want to appear callous."

"How about you appear sensible and turn the car around now."

"I do hate to disappoint a woman of your undoubted skills." As if on cue, the car slowed, but that didn't make me feel any better. If anything, I tensed up further, sensing a trap as Kreios skidded the vehicle onto a side road, fishtailing. There were large warehouse-looking buildings along this stretch, and little else. "Yet it appears we are doomed to both be disappointed today."

He turned the wheel sharply and we flew into the parking lot of a large, flat-topped concrete building, which looked absolutely abandoned until another vehicle emerged from the far corner, heading toward us fast. Before I could react, Kreios gave me one last grin, then opened the door and jumped free of the car, wrenching the wheel as he went. The car shuddered and bucked, then suddenly we were rolling, as if Kreios had managed to flip the car with no more than a flick of his wrist.

Chaos rained down as I screamed, the car turning over once, twice. The concrete and the building and the sky became part of a kaleidoscope of light and terror and bone-wrenching fury as I caught sight of the asshole getting into the car that now idled at the opening of the drive, waiting patiently for me to stop rolling.

When the Alfa Romeo finally crumpled to a stop, with me strapped in and hanging upside down, it roared off.

"Asshat!"

I sucked in a tight breath and unhooked my seat belt, letting fly a litany of curses as I crunched to the ceiling of the car. The windows had shattered, and the door opened willingly enough on my side. I crawled out and lay on the ground, staring up at the sky, panting.

"Bastard." I liked that name better. My chest heaving, I rolled to my knees. My head had suddenly morphed into an overripe grapefruit, and I suspected I'd herniated myself on the safety belt. Otherwise, I was intact. Sweat poured off me, the adrenaline of the high-speed chase and the Devil's precipitous exit combining with the overdue reaction to the race out of the necropolis. I blew out a long breath, squinting across the sun-soaked pavement, then checked the sky again. He'd gone east, I was almost certain. Fair enough.

What wasn't fair? Not getting the freaking information I needed from the Cat in the Hat. Armaeus was going to pay for this. He'd sent me after a box, not Mr. Muscles. Aleksander Kreios. The actual Devil. For the love of Kansas.

Gritting my teeth, I hauled myself to my feet and reached into my jacket. My phone was there. So was something else. Something I hadn't expected to be needing again quite so soon: a map of the city.

My new favorite limo driver picked up on the second ring. "Maximilian Ber--"

"You have any knowledge of a warehouse under construction south of Rome? Maybe thirty miles out of the city, just off a main highway? Blue signage that's half-finished, begins with PRO?"

"Ah, yes I do, Miss. Very nice facility, construction halted due to permits, and--"

"How long till you get here?"

Max didn't pause. "Thirty minutes, give or take. You have shade? Water?"

I squinted back to the battered car. No way was I getting back in that thing. But beyond the vehicle, a line of trees stood at the far end of the parking lot. Just enough distance for me to stretch out my legs and maybe lose the throbbing headache. "Shade. No water."

There was the slightest hesitation then. "Are you hurt?"

"I'll manage. Get here as quick as you can, please."

"It will be my pleasure."

Twenty minutes later, the familiar sedan pulled up. By then I'd ditched my jacket and was sitting on it, hunched over my phone like an irritable gargoyle. Grinning like one too.

Max brought the car up to me and had barely slowed when I heard the sound of his door locks disengaging. I pulled open the passenger door before he came to a complete stop and slid into the back of his vehicle.

"There is water and a first aid kit in the case to your left," he said, replicating his cheerful patter from this morning. Had it only been this morning? "Where are we headed? I can assure you I know everything there is to know about Rome and southern Italy. It has become a sort of passion of mine."

I glanced down to my phone. After he'd popped out of the reliquary like a grumpy genie, Aleksander Kreios had pocketed the gold box, and apparently had not paid too much attention to it. My bug remained intact, and for the past twenty minutes, I'd been following it as it made its way southeast of Rome, trying to figure out where it was heading. "What's Sermoneta? What's its importance?"

"Sermoneta?" Max frowned from the front seat, but he bounced the car back onto the access road and headed east. "It is a very pretty medieval town, with a fine abbey and castle to boot."

What would the Devil want with an abbey? "Abbey as in still active?"

"Yes, indeed, though it's had a bit of a troubled past. It was founded by Greek Basilian monks in the eigth century AD, a very secretive order, and was home to the Templar knights for a time, right up until they were disbanded. It's somewhat famous for an unusual Sator Square on the grounds, impossible to be translated but rumored to be very powerful. The Cistercian monks work the place now, a very practical, somewhat boring lot. But it's a pretty enough abbey."

"Right." I'd had my fill of the religious for the day, but there had to be some reason Kreios was heading there. I reached into my jacket and thumbed free a few cards. A quick glance confirmed we were on the right track, so to the abbey we'd go.

"Who owns the castle?"

"The Caetani family. Very ancient, very rich. Well connected too." Max snorted. "One of Italy's most famous popes was a Caetani, actually, Boniface VIII. You might remember him from Dante's Inferno--made it all the way to the eighth circle of Hell."

"Nice."

He laughed. "The family remained consistently loyal to the church, though for a time their own castle was confiscated by a later pope, Alexander VI. One of the Borgias, not a nice character. But the Caetanis continued to thrive, producing more bishops and cardinals along the way. That line of the family died out in 1961, though. Very sad."

I frowned. "I thought you said they owned the castle."

"Their descendants do, but they are no longer of the pure bloodline, eh? Times, they change."

"Yeah." I leaned back against the rich leather seat, watching the Italian countryside zip by. Max Bertrand had not asked about the car that I'd abandoned at the warehouse. He'd not asked a lot of things. "How much did Armaeus tell you about me?"

"Le seigneur? He said only that I must fetch you from the airport and deliver you safely to wherever you directed. He did not tell me why. He also did not tell me that I would have the pleasure of your company a second time."

I eyed him. "And have you reported in?"

"What am I to report? That a beautiful woman cannot last a day without me? That would be terrible hubris, no?" He flashed me another smile. "It is enough that I am able to serve you in my own small way."

"Got it." I thought about Armaeus. He'd said he was going to be called back to the States imminently. Was he across the pond yet? In flight? As long as there was a body of water in between us, as I'd learned quite by accident, he'd have no way of contacting me. I preferred having an ocean of distance between us for that very reason. That, and I no longer trusted the Tyet to keep me safe.

Nevertheless, while I had the Magician on mute, there was no use wasting a willing tour guide. "How connected are you with the Bertrands outside of Paris? How much do you know about their operation?"

"Not as connected as I once was," Max said with a little shake. "Why do you think I am here, so far from home? I've been assigned as a watchdog for the family, without knowing what it is I am watching."

I frowned at him. "You've learned nothing about SANCTUS?"

"Oh, but of a certainty. I merely don't know what the importance is of what I know. That is for wiser minds. I report on them coming and going from the Vatican, of attacks in the city. They wisely do not trouble much of the Connected in Rome proper, so as not to draw too much attention. But the whispers, they have been coming to us from other places. Budapest. Ankara. Cairo. Close enough for us to hear about, not so close that any are worried."

"But the family is worried?"

"Not for ourselves." His shrug was noncommittal, betraying his French origins. "We are not part of the Connected, exactly."

"Um, how is that possible?" I asked, thinking about Dante and Claire. "Don't any of you have psychic skills?

"It only takes one member per generation to retain the blood tie. Time marches on, the families do not practice the old ways, they weaken, they die. Much like the Caetani, we too will have our end if we do not rekindle that nascent force within us." He sighed and shook his head, a sigh not even Henri could have bettered. "I once thought I had the whisper of magic within me, but as a Bertrand, we do not take such things lightly. There was another of my generation who had already been chosen for that coveted spot, and his bid was not to be denied. He had the very cast of le seigneur."

I thought of Dante, back at the mansion. I'd not felt even a flicker of magical ability within him, though, and I frowned. "And how did that work out?"

"I assume well," Max said. "It is never spoken of. The chosen simply do the work they are called to do, and the rest do what we are told. I cannot help but wish though, eh? It is a weakness I cannot put behind me."

As he spoke, I put my hand inside my jacket, an instinctive move I didn't really think about until I felt the cool, crisp surface of my cards. I fanned through the deck, nudging out a card. I slipped it out as we angled off the main highway onto an exit.

"We're coming into Sermoneta now," Max said. "What are we looking for?"

I glanced down at my hand. The Six of Swords. A card of journeys over water, better times ahead and, the old books said, the voyage of an initiate toward psychic mastery. I grinned out the window as we passed over an ancient medieval bridge, a crystalline river snaking beneath us, flashing in the sunlight. "I think we're looking for trouble. And along the way, I suspect all your dreams might just come true."

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# Chapter Eleven

We left Max's car as close as possible to the edge of town, pointing outward, as if we would be able to dash back out and escape the city before the Saracens caught up to us. The place just had that kind of feel. We walked through tiny cobblestoned streets and almost passed as tourists. Max had ditched his cap and suit jacket, and strolled along in the heat wearing a shirt and tie like a businessman on lunch hour. I trudged along in my leather jacket, battered clothes, and boots like a biker who'd lost her ride. None of the natives paid any attention to us, and the tourists were too busy with their own selfies to notice anyone else.

As we walked, I kept my phone handy. I wasn't an idiot. I knew if I was able to track Kreios, someone could track me doing so. But I had a few things going in my favor. Thing One, Armaeus didn't know I'd lost his prize--at least not yet. Thing Two, my phone was the equivalent of a burn phone, though admittedly jacked up with a state-of-the-art international plan that included the latest bells and whistles in security along with its powerful tracker app.

Accordingly, I had a snowball's chance in hell of completing this search undetected, at least while Armaeus was in the air and not aware that I wasn't safely en route to Vegas as well. Either way, I had to act fast. Because I had a bad feeling about the Devil being here.

Which sounded ridiculous even in my own head.

Still, there was something important I needed to figure out here. If Kreios had merely wanted to dump me, he could have left me on the ground with the SANCTUS guards. Had he somehow been trying to protect me? If so, I didn't know if I should be charmed or irritated. Irritated was winning. And besides, his idea of protection needed work, given that he'd left me in a tumbling cage of Alfa Romeo.

"We seem to be heading directly for the abbey, not the castle." Max's words cut across my thoughts, his voice casual, as if we were discussing the merits of Italian street food. "Does that make sense for what you're seeking?"

I glanced at him. "Do you really not know why I'm here?" Another French shrug, and I shook my head. I'd been pissed when Armaeus had left me out of the loop, but Max was family. Surely that should count for something more. "I'm trying to find one of Armaeus's...fellow Council members. Embodiment of the Tarot Devil, maybe you know him?" At Max's blank stare, my irritation ratcheted up another notch. "Your little Council needs to get on Twitter or something. You guys are the worst."

"The Council has thrived because of its isolation. They won't be eager to change that."

"Well then, they'll be eager to fail. I don't know what the devil the Devil is up to, but he's totally gone off the reservation, coming out here. Armaeus wanted him collected and returned to the fold, not haring off on some field trip through Italy."

"Perhaps he had unfinished business?"

"Yeah, well, that's not..." I stopped. As in literally stopped, standing stock-still in the street while Max continued forward a few more strides before turning around to glance at me.

"Miss Wilde?"

"You said the abbey had unusual Templar artwork here? Some sort of Sator Square, but different?" I took off at a brisk trot, and Max hurried to catch up with me.

"Yes, the Sator Square here is in a unique design. Normally the words make up an actual square--five words lined up, one beneath the other: SATOR AREPO TENET OPERA ROTAS. You can read them upwards, downwards, backwards--you'll always have the same order of words. There are other consistent repetitions as well. But the one in the abbey is different. Same words, but they are laid out in five concentric rings instead of a true square, with each of the five words flaring out from the center, like five points on a star--or a target. You can read the words edge to edge, or around the circle."

"Clockwise or counterclockwise?"

He thought about it. "Clockwise. Does it matter?"

"We'll find out."

We reached the abbey and edged into the back of the line, where two young lovers leaned into each other, the girl loosely holding her tickets as she sighed up at her paramour. I brushed by them with irritation, pushing to the front of the line, past a group of feral teens, a harried tour guide, and a stern-faced older woman holding a guidebook like it was the Holy Bible.

"Biglietti." A sweet-faced young girl held out her hand, and I gave her two tickets, Max's head swiveling to watch the transaction.

"The young Americans?"

"They'll get over it."

We entered the abbey and drew closer together, the hush of the ancient place demanding reverence.

"You've been here before, you said?"

Max bowed slightly. "I was a tour guide for five years. There is no rock in Italy I haven't peered under." Max took me by the arm, and I froze for half a second. "What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing. Lead on." I shook him off but didn't bother hiding my grin as he strode ahead of me. Had Armaeus known? Dante the golden child back in France didn't have one-tenth the kinetic power that Max's casual touch had betrayed, and yet Dante was the one holding court at Le Sri, while Max was playing tour guide. How long was Armaeus going to let that continue? Or did he care?

Or, more interestingly, was he doing it on purpose? From what I could see, being a member of the Council had its perks, and I would assume one of its ranking generals would have its benefits as well. But with perks generally came sacrifices. Armaeus could easily be trying to protect his extended family in his own misguided, megalomaniac way.

Max turned toward me. "It's just around the--"

"Stop." I pulled him into a long hallway hung with paintings that were not original to the abbey by any stretch. Behind and between the paintings, the walls were hung with carpenter cloths, pinned into place with low scaffolding. "What is this place?"

Max looked down the long gallery. "They removed the original frescoes for restoration, but this was once an entire room of beautiful artwork, commissioned over the years by the Holy See."

"Uh-huh. As in popes and bishops of the Caetani family?"

Max nodded. "Of course. Whenever they could divert funds to Sermoneta, they did so. Enrico Caetani commissioned one of the more famous pieces, but it is no longer viewable by the public."

"And he lived..."

"Late 1500s."

"Right. And that fresco hung here, in this room. While the Templar Sator Square is in the next chamber. Do we have any other weird symbols close by, either for the Templars or the--"

Max cut me off excitedly. "You're looking for a line?"

"I'm looking for anything I can find. My phone says my guy is here, but--" I waved around. "Here is a little broad."

"Of course, of course." Max blew out a breath. "There is the Templar Cross in the rose window overlooking the nave, of course. And the symbols of Solomon's knot in the courtyard." He frowned, turning as if to stare through the walls. "That would be in a direct line from here. The knot, that is. With the Sator Square between us."

I nodded. I remembered the cards I'd pulled in the limo on the way here. The Two of Pents, with its infinity symbolism, equal sides balanced and intertwined. The Wheel. And the Hierophant. And here I was at the end of a line of artwork, starting with Solomon's knot, ending with a fresco commissioned by the pope. And in the center of us was the Wheel-like depiction of the Sator Square. It all made sense. Almost.

Max kept frowning, though. "But your quarry, this devil character, he cannot do anything here in the abbey. It's public. Hundreds of people see that symbol every day. There is doubtless a tour in front of it right now. He can't be next to it without being seen. It's not possible."

"He's not." I shook my head, flipping my phone around for him to see. "He's beneath it."

Max frowned. "There is no beneath--"

"Bullshit. Where's the nave where that window you mentioned is?"

We reached the stunning chapel quickly enough. It was nearly noon now, the sun pouring in the brilliant window, lighting the floor in a myriad of brilliant colors. This wasn't Indiana Jones, it wouldn't be that obvious, but the light was still going to point us the way. The four equal stems of the cross flared brilliantly on a panel on the floor. A panel that appeared like any other panel. Due to a trick of the light, however, the cross seemed to elongate slightly, its top stretching a bit almost to point...

I looked up. A confessional box stood at the far end of the chamber, ornate and unused. It gleamed with modern fittings. "Bingo."

"Bingo?" Max followed my gaze. "You wish to make your confession?"

"They lock those things?"

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no." Max followed me over to the booth, and I tried the doors. First, the side box. It opened. I poked my head inside, saw the placard. Part of the display, not used for actual confessions anymore except on special occasions. Even the Italians were embracing Vatican II, it seemed. It'd only been in play since the 1960s, but baby steps.

The main box was not quite so easy. The door didn't budge, and an old-style lockset gleamed beneath the handle. "Stand right there for a minute."

"It is a marvelous place, this abbey, is it not?" Max gazed upward, his voice reverential but not quite hushed. He nattered on as I pulled my picklocks from my jacket pocket. The second skeleton key worked, and I felt the door give way. Leaving the door slightly ajar, I leaned against Max, drawing him away as we caught the eyes of a passing tour guide, who smiled and nodded at us.

"Keep going along the side of the nave," I murmured. Fortunately, the day was a busy one. The room seemed to go through a full turnover every ten minutes or so.

We climbed the small steps to the public access area of the nave, at a safe and respectful distance from the high altar. As expected, the view was deeply moving. But it wasn't what I was looking for.

My own upbringing in Memphis had been sadly lacking in a number of ways, but I'd spent my fair share of time in Catholic churches. It was what had inspired in me a love of the arcane and magical, or so I'd always thought. So much beauty, so much symbolism wrapped up in extraordinary art and artifacts, all to celebrate the greater glory of God. And more to the point, so much consistency from one church to the other.

Without breaking stride, I stepped over the small velvet rope and moved into the sacristy. As I suspected, the small room was lined with closets. And in the closets were vestments. I pulled out a set I figured were close enough.

Max was right behind me. "What are you--" He pulled the vestments out of my hands. "No, you're too small. You'll never pass as a man."

I scowled at him, but I didn't have time to argue, especially because he was right. "There should be another door on the far side of the confessional box. Look for the cross, the square, the knot, use your imagination, something that matches up with the Templar artwork. Tap on the door if you find it. If not, get the hell out. We'll have to wait until the Devil moves again to get his position. If you find it, though, go through and stay put. I'll be right on your heels. You've got five minutes before you're out of there."

It took him less than three.

When the telltale knock sounded, a group of school children was clustered around the nave, their eyes filled with admiration for the frescoes on either side of the altar and the lovely graceful archways of the ceiling. A schoolteacher spoke of the reasons behind creating such beautiful artwork in such a place, to encourage the faithful to gaze up outward and upward toward the heavens and remember there was something greater than themselves gazing back.

I was just happy not to have anyone gazing at me. I rose from my kneeling position and stepped quickly over to the confessional, then pressed inside, shutting the door quickly behind me. I heard the lock snick back into place and adjusted my eyes.

Max, of course, wasn't there. Given that the compartment was about the size of a Twinkie, I would have noticed him. Instead I noticed that a slender panel stood ajar against the back of the compartment, letting in a thin sliver of light. I pushed the panel open, stepping into a cool space smelling of age and rock dust, not unlike the chambers below the Vatican. "Thick walls," I whispered.

Max nodded but held a finger to his lips. He leaned to my ear as he pointed down the narrow passage, which quickly turned into a staircase leading down. "People. More than one."

We set off along the passageway, Max in his robes, his Ferragamo loafers silent on the stones. My boots did their job as well, and we moved silently, step by step, down the stair and along another passageway. Roughly, I knew we were heading back toward the main gallery we had seen before, but how many levels would we have to go?

And how would we get back up?

A loud rasping scrape reverberated from below us, the sound making my bones grind together. Beside me, Max grimaced as well, and I heard a choked gasp, then a flurry of gritted words, which, quite literally, were all Greek to me.

Beside me, Max's eyes were rounded. I checked my phone again. The Devil was definitely down there.

But I'd been expecting him to rule the day, not be ruled by it.

Max waved furiously for my phone, and I handed it over to him, frowning as he swiped it to the notes app. He typed furiously, then shoved the device back at me, and I squinted down at the screen to read his words. "One of the myths of the Sator Square: used as a demon ward by the Knights Templar. No one knows how."

The shirring sound started up again, that sound of bone-on-bone agony, but this time I realized it had a resonance, a cadence. It had words. The words of the Sator Square--spoken over and over again, backward, forward, upward, down. It was enough to drive me mad.

And apparently I wasn't the only one.

"I knew you would come, Aleksander Kreios." A dark voice floated out over the murmuring words. "And now we'll see if the dark legends of Sermoneta Sator Square are true."

By the sound the Devil made after that, I was betting they were.

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# Chapter Twelve

The cry that tore up through the rocks was cut off short, but it served as enough cover for us to make our way fifty feet deeper into the passageway, down a second flight of stairs, this one far steeper, and along another passageway. The walls and ceiling pressed in on us, but we could manage--myself more so than Max, whose height was becoming a liability. Clearly, the passage had been carved at a time when everyone was built to a smaller scale.

Eventually the corridor widened again to become a kind of gallery--short, stubby columns stretched from the ceiling to a waist-high ledge, allowing a view into a chamber below, which was filled with light. The passage continued forward, but we slowed as the outline of a man became clear, standing at the top of the stairs.

This guard wore priest's robes, his gun equipped with a silencer. I frowned. If he had a gun and a silencer, and their point was to kill whoever was below, then why not get it over with? I had to assume it was the Devil down there making those unearthly guttural sounds, and I had to assume these people knew he'd already escaped once. Why mess around?

Then I peeked around one of the stone columns to the space below. Oh, of course. They wanted to play with their prey first.

Idiots.

But these weren't the minions of SANCTUS, as I'd originally expected. They didn't have the same air of military efficiency. The whole religious-motif thing, though, they had down.

Aleksander Kreios was strapped to a stone platform in the middle of the room, his chest bare, his fine trousers looking very much worse for the wear. He was alone, so whoever had driven him here had either betrayed him or wasn't along for this particular stop on the tour. He scowled at the men above him, but the effect was ruined somewhat by the helmet that encased his head, covering his ears. Even at this distance, I could hear the shirring noise that must be pretty much exploding his eardrums. The priestlike man standing at the base of his makeshift torture bed was adjusting an instrument panel, every turn of the knob making Kreios arc off the bed in misery.

I edged back, wincing, and Kreios's face turned, his eyes searching wildly. When they rested on me, though, I froze. There was fury and pain there, yes. But there wasn't any doubt. Not yet. If anything, the magnitude of whatever was pounding through his head seemed to make the Devil more exhilarated, like it was its own special kind of drug.

Note to self: Kreios is a whack job.

Our brief connection was summarily broken with another twist of the dial. I could hear the words again, the Sator Square's apparently meaningless babble repeating, switching back on itself, running forward again.

"Good, good." The man at the instrument panel nodded with apparent satisfaction, and only then did a second man emerge from the shadows. He spoke in Greek, and Max fitted himself close to my ear, translating on the fly. "You will suffer now."

"I will kill you now," Kreios gritted out. "Betrayer."

"No, you won't." The man waved another hand, and the intensity of the volume picked up again. I winced along with Max. What was it about the combination of these words that pricked the senses of those with psychic abilities? "You have no power here. I'd almost given up on you escaping your little cage, but you always do manage to impress. You were foolish to come here, though, when I had already trapped you once." He gestured again, and my gaze followed the movement. The Devil's reliquary sat, open, on a bench against the far wall.

"What do you want, Barnabus? What is your game?" Exhilarated or not, the Devil's voice was ragged, vibrating with pain.

"No games." The man in the Templar robe smiled. "I'm not foolish enough to believe anything you might say now. Not until you're broken. But then!" He spread his hands. "Delivering you twice will elevate me to the highest levels of trust."

"You had our trust."

"I did!" Barnabus crowed. "And I used it to my advantage. Why do you think I was so eager to help you find your missing Connected in Hungary? And now, here you are once again. The words of the Sator Square burn, do they not? It is not just an old superstition after all." He paused, grinning down at Kreios. "You will be very useful to us, eventually."

Kreios moaned something then, but it was too low for me to hear. Barnabus still seemed pleased.

"We no longer need your help in that manner. Your order is lost, Kreios. There is only one order to follow now. One path to ultimate divinity. You will see this more quickly than most. You will see everything soon."

"Who?" The word was anguished now, and I tightened my hands into fists.

"Always so persistent in your pursuit of the knowledge. That was in your file too." He shook his head. "They know everything about you, Aleksander Kreios. From the beginning. They have always known about you. Your abilities were clear even when you were nothing more than another poor stiff working the docks for a day's ration of bread, laughing in the very face of the war that was brewing atop the sea you loved so much." The man's face twisted. "You should never have joined the Council. The death of your mentor was unavoidable. Yours was a choice."

That seemed to affect Kreios more than the pain. He went deadly still. "Don't speak of him."

"Still burns, does it? Seeing him gutted, then shut up in that reliquary, buried alive before your own eyes? The lore of that day has been etched into our history." He shook his head. "But now, it will be different. Now the Devil of the Arcana Council will be laid to rest, and he will not be replaced."

"Fool!" Kreios's eyes snapped open, and he glared at the robed man with enough ferocity that his tormenter stepped back, his hands stealing to the heavy cross that hung around his neck. A Templar cross, I realized. "The path you follow will betray you even as you betray the watchful gods of old. Balance will be kept, Barnabus. It has always been kept."

"Do not deceive me, Prince of Lies." The man made a sharp, cutting motion with his hand, and I felt rather than heard the surge of volume in the device. Pain wrenched through me. Max's hands now gripped my shoulders, whether for my benefit or his, I didn't know. "Who else now sits on the Council?" the man demanded. "Is it truly reassembling?"

Kreios's response was also in Greek, but Max didn't bother to translate it. Another turn of the dial, and I felt the tears on my face before I realized I'd shed them.

"Who?"

"All of them," Kreios spit the words. "The Fool. Magician. The Emperor and High Priestess and our very own pope. You want me to continue? You know the roster as well as I."

"You're lying," the man shot back. "You could never find all the stones to rebuild your unholy church."

"And you are led from darkness to greater darkness, scrabbling with your bones, your beads, and your unfounded hopes. Desperate for a savior who is not coming." Kreios practically pulsed with an internal fire, and I scowled down at him, remembering the golden reliquary into which he had been forced. Now, under this pain, with his focus so fixed on his tormenter, he almost seemed to be disintegrating. "He will never come, Barnabus. We will not let him."

"You will stand in his way?" Barnabus stepped forward with new excitement. This apparently was something he hadn't expected. "None of you have the strength."

"Is that what you believe?" Kreios's voice had taken on an air of slippery danger, as if he were luring the robed man toward an open pit full of spikes. And, like the fool that he was, Barnabus took a step closer. Still, he wasn't a complete loss. With his right hand, he made a twisting motion, and the stooge at the dials twisted the notch again, once more making Kreios writhe.

"Tell me, Aleksander. For the family you have sacrificed, whose cries torment you at night. For the children you have lost to perdition. Tell me and absolve yourself of all your many sins."

"You dare!" Kreios's eyes blazed with rage and something else, something not right. They burned too brightly not to eventually explode.

I did a recon of the chamber, because showtime was clearly close.

Two men guarded the reliquary, both of them masked. Another pair of guards stood at the second entrance to the room, and I assumed a final guard stood at the bottom of the stairs to this gallery. Six men against Max and myself, and the Devil who even now was starting to look a little too incorporeal for comfort.

I couldn't afford for him to up and disappear on me. I didn't know if he'd get sucked back into his box or go poof for good. Or for bad, as it happened.

I reached into my jacket. Beside me, Max already had his gun out. Neither of us had silencers. Hopefully the tours above had moved along.

Wait, I mouthed, as Max's eyes were trained on my face. Wait.

Barnabus gestured another time.

Kreios cried out in fury one final time and I shoved myself half over the banister of the gallery, shooting at the guards at the far wall before dropping all the way through. I hit the ground and rolled, gunfire skittering off the floor as I ducked behind Kreios's platform.

"Finish it!" Barnabus snapped the order, and the man at the controls dived forward. I launched myself at the cart, shoving it out of the way as I took him down at the knees. I coldcocked him with my pistol once, twice, before looking up to see Max at the bottom of the stairs. He cracked the soldier's neck against the stone, the skull crunching into the rock, then let the man fall. His quick, efficient shooting took out the remaining guard. Barnabus was already running, and I gestured Max after him while I turned to Kreios.

The Devil was barely breathing. The screech of noise from his helmet reverberated through the room, and I pulled a knife out of my pocket, ripping at the wires that held the helmet affixed to the sprawling cart. It seemed permanently attached to the platform, so they had to have somehow gotten Kreios into it without protest. Which would have meant he'd been knocked out. But how?

With the severing of the last wire, a spray of sparks flew across the room, and merciful silence blanketed us. I slumped forward over Kreios's body, my ears ringing, the abrupt cessation of pain like a benediction. Beneath me, the Devil's chest was slick with sweat, his own lungs heaving beneath his thickly corded pecs.

As I steadied myself against him, soft words floated down around my ears.

"As pleasant as I'm sure this experience would be for both of us, we may want to wait until we are completely alone, Sara Wilde."

I jerked back upright as Max appeared in the doorway again, his face grim.

"Gone?" I asked.

"Dead." He shook his head at my startled expression. "Some sort of suicide pill, frothing at the mouth before I got to him. Stuck in an oubliette, no way out." Max tossed me a set of keys. "These might be helpful."

"Don't count on him being dead," Kreios gritted out as I grabbed the ring, turning first to the ankle manacles until I found the right one. "Go back for him. Guard the body."

"Go," I nodded. I had the second ankle manacle off and was on the left wrist when the chest bar snapped. I narrowed my eyes at Kreios. "You could do that the whole time?"

"Not all of them. And not with that infernal noise. Besides, I rather enjoy you doing it." He reached up with his right hand as soon as I freed it and used the leverage to push himself down, out of the fixed helmet. I blinked--his head had been shaved bald. It gave him a savage ferocity that, combined with his glittering eyes, made me wonder if he was fully sane any longer. "Accursed Sator Square. Knew this place had one, but shaped like a wheel..." He shook his head like a bear coming out of hibernation. "Wasn't prepared for that."

Max's curse floated back to us, and Kreios hauled himself off his platform. A quick step, and he collapsed against me heavily. I groaned at the weight, which was several times more than what I'd expected. "What in God's name did you have for breakfast?"

Kreios ignored me. "Where's Barnabus?" he asked instead. "The body."

"Now he's gone." Max came back through the doorway and willingly took Kreios's weight as I moved to the side of the room for the reliquary. After snapping it shut, I shoved it inside my jacket and zipped the pocket closed, then returned to Kreios's side.

"So, what?" I asked. "Fake arsenic pill? I hear they sell those on the Internet now."

"Not fake," Kreios managed. He kept trying to get his feet under himself, and skidded and slipped instead. "Built up a tolerance. Simply one of an arsenal of tricks."

"Stop fighting us," I bit out when he practically horse-collared me again. He was drenched in sweat, but his skin was ice-cold. "What the hell was that helmet?"

"Variation on an old theme, I'm afraid." Kreios coughed. Blood dripped from his mouth and he wobbled again before leaning heavily on both of us. "A very effective variation. Someone's been doing their homework."

"We're coming up on a door." Max warned. "It's open. Gotta be where Barnabus went out."

"Check it," I said. "If he's left us a welcome party, it's going to get messy."

But he hadn't. Barnabus was nowhere to be found in the basement. The door at the far end was locked, of course, but I'd been target practicing on locks for a long time. With a few rounds, it swung open easily. Max went forward several steps before giving the all clear.

"Looks like the storage room for the abbey gift shop," he said. "Hope they don't pick us up for shoplifting."

I eyed Kreios. "He's not going to be able to make it all the way to the car."

"Agreed," Max said. "And he's going to need some clothes."

Between us, Kreios sighed heavily. "I'll be all right in another minute. The glamour is not a difficult effect to reconstruct."

"I've got a better idea," I said.

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# Chapter Thirteen

Coming up out from the depths of the abbey into the gift shop a few minutes after Max slipped up the stairs, I kept my head bowed, my eyes on the shuffling form that preceded me down the narrow aisle. The irony of the Devil wrapped up in clerical clothes wasn't lost on me. Fortunately, the woman at the cash register wasn't paying attention to us but to the elderly couple buying postcards, so we got out into the sunshine without incident.

"There's a bench to the right, three--well, maybe five paces, the way you're walking now."

"Always so critical." For all his bravado, the Devil wasn't looking so good. He sank down on the bench like a man fifty years past dead. I perched beside him, arranging his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together so that he almost gave the appearance of being lost in contemplative prayer.

"Wanna tell me how you ended up in Barnabus's bed?"

His chuckle was his only response for a moment, and I stared diligently at the side of his head, willing his secrets to spring forth.

Who was this guy, really?

Aleksander Kreios appeared foreign born, just as the Magician was, but their similarities ended there. As golden as the Magician was dark, Kreios's large, sensuous eyes were jade green, his body sleekly built. The combination of high cheekbones and sculpted lips looked almost too perfect on a man, but the sexual aggression that lay barely restrained in the guy's every move transcended everything as his defining characteristic. Even if he was practically dead at this point.

Which begged the question, why hadn't Armaeus warned me that I'd be carrying around canned Master-of-Darkness?

I hit him up with the obvious question. "Why'd you come here?"

"That's not necessary for you to know."

"Uh-huh. You want me to include this little side trip in my report to Armaeus?"

"Only if you want to risk my annoyance."

I eyed him. "Not gonna lie, that doesn't seem like too much of a threat right now."

The laugh seemed dredged up out of Kreios's stomach, a rasping huff. "I can see why Armaeus never bothered to arrange an introduction between us. Where have you been all of my lives, Sara Wilde?"

"Just focus on breathing, big boy." I squinted down the long cobbled street, praying for Max to hurry it up. "So walk me through this. Who picked you up at the Alfa Romeo dumping ground? Why did you come here?"

"Those were my associates." Full stop.

"You're not very good at this, you know. Where'd they go?"

Kreios lifted a hand to wave me off, but I batted it away. "Tell me, or I'll call the Magician on the Batphone. I have to assume he's got more family out here than Max."

The Devil sighed heavily. "I did not bring my friends into the city. This is only partially their fight."

"Yet they handed you over, gift wrapped, to Barnabus? Because it sure seemed like he was expecting you."

I could see Kreios's smile in profile. It was not a particularly good smile.

"'Cowards die many deaths.'" He gestured to the street. "This place--it belongs to an extension of his family. He considers its inner workings his own. It was reasonable that this was where he would go to ground."

"Yeah, well, he was wearing a Templar robe, Kreios, and it looked like the real deal. I thought that order died out, oh, about eight hundred years ago."

"The Templars still have a robust following."

"Yeah, well, so do skinheads. Doesn't make it cool." I waited a beat. "So you came here because he was the one who'd stuck you in that box in the first place, and you knew this was where he'd gone to ground. Did you also know he'd have the helmet of doom waiting for you?"

Kreios coughed again. More blood trickled from his lips. He ignored it. "That was an underestimation on my part."

"How'd he get you in the helmet?"

"The moment I entered the abbey, he piped the noise at a frequency higher than human hearing. I wasn't prepared." He straightened with obvious effort. "I will be henceforth." He lifted a hand to forestall my next question. "Budapest was also a miscalculation. It's been a long time since I faced a worthy opponent." His smile flashed. "Rest assured, I've had sufficient time beneath the basilica to contemplate my sins."

"Okay." I blew out a long breath. "You go to Budapest, get ambushed by SANCTUS. How'd they get you in the box?" The answer flickered in my subcortex as I asked it. "It's the pain, isn't it? With enough pain, you wink out." He didn't answer, and I grinned. "I'm totally going to force you to binge-watch the Kardashians, to see if we can try this at home."

His coughing spasm got worse, but I forged ahead. "Why the Templars, though? What beef do they have with the Council? I thought they were good guys."

The Devil's snort was derisive. "There is no mortal who is purely good, Sara Wilde. But the Templars are not the only group trying to find a balance with the members of SANCTUS. The entire Connected community is on edge. The Templars merely acted first. Unwisely, as now they will be persecuted. Again."

"Right." I patted him on the back, allowing him his bravado even as he wheezed. At length, Max drove up, once more in his spiffy uniform and hat. I was a big fan of the hat. I was yet more of a fan of the way he hopped out of the car and hustled around, hoisting up Kreios's gravity-defying weight as I struggled on the other side. Together, we got the Devil into the back of the car, and I scooted around to enter the vehicle as well.

"Destination?"

"Ciampino Airport." I frowned. "Has your car been LoJacked by Mr. Mephistopheles?"

"It was." Max smiled. "Then I moved the monitor to one of the limo service's other vehicles. This one is clean."

"I knew I liked you."

Kreios sighed beside me. "If we could start moving, that would be ideal."

The Devil was slumped back in his seat, but he wasn't the Devil I'd hauled out of the abbey like a refugee from a Filene's Basement sale. "So what was the point of Barnabus shaving you?"

Kreios shrugged. His hair had already grown an inch, and somewhere along the line he'd either stolen or manifested sunglasses. Still in his cassock, he looked like some kind of rock-star priest, the poster child for Catholic cool. "It gave him something to do that didn't actually cause me pain, so I was happy to oblige him." He straightened a little in his seat, wincing against the movement.

"You're kind of freaking me out right now with all the pain emoting," I said. "I didn't know you guys could get hurt."

"If by 'you guys' you mean the Council, then once again I am sorry to disappoint you. We can be hurt. We can be killed. Why do you think we need to keep tabs on the Connected? When we have to replenish our ranks, we are generally not in the mood for that process to take a great deal of time."

"Fair enough." I knew Max was listening avidly from the front of the car, but I didn't care. If this much crazy was coming after the Connected, we needed to be prepared. All of us. No matter who we had in our family tree. "We going to be followed?"

"Doubtful. Barnabus won't want to advertise his failure, and without his leverage," Kreios tapped his head, "he won't try again. Better to keep the blame for losing me firmly on SANCTUS's military force."

"What about his Templar den mates?"

"I doubt their leadership knew of his plan. Certainly not the execution of it. We..." He winced again, shifting in his seat. "We go back a long way."

Oh? "Are they, ah...affiliated with the Council?"

"When they have reason to be." Kreios lifted a hand. "Silence, Sara Wilde. I am afraid the sonic attacks leveled upon me were more robust than I would have given them credit for. I will need time to address the damage."

I scooted back to my side of the car. "No sweat. I'll just play Candy Crush over here."

My phone jangled in my pocket. Which was a problem, since it was set to silent.

Pulling it out, I scowled down. A text from Armaeus. Apparently, he'd reached an altitude where the combination of water and distance wasn't screwing with his senses anymore...or he'd asked someone to check in with air traffic control.

Why aren't you en route?

I shrugged and nudged Kreios's arm, lifting the phone so that it reflected off his mirrored sunglasses. "You want to answer that?"

"It will be my pleasure."

Dutifully, I punched in Armaeus's digits. The call rang through, and, as usual, Armaeus didn't keep me waiting. As the call was picked up, my phone slipped out of my hand, leaving nothing behind but a shiver of promise, like a mild electrical charge against my fingertips. Kreios was clearly on his way to finding his happy place once more.

"Armaeus," Kreios said in his luxuriously sensual voice, his eyes steady on me as I shook out my hand. "Look what you have brought me."

I rolled my eyes as he settled back in his seat. "We are on our way to the airport now." More listening. "I was in slightly worse than anticipated shape. It's taken a while for me to recover." More listening. "But of course." He glanced back at me, his eyes unreadable behind the reflective lenses of his glasses, his smile wolfish. "She has been with me the whole time. She has proven most useful. You were right to send her." I could hear the sharpness of Armaeus's retort, then Kreios slipped into a language I had no knowledge of--something that didn't sound remotely European.

I shook my head, irritated, but more with myself than the Council. My laissez-faire attitude about information gathering wasn't going to work with this crew. I couldn't deal with Armaeus, not if there were twenty one other potential demigods lurking in the shadows, whether current or planned. As it was, I barely knew a few of the Council members.

The Fool was a reasonable enough sort, kind of like Loki's nerdy younger cousin, with an affinity for fast cars and faster tech. I'd met him once when the Magician had been too busy to track me down himself. He'd sent his message via the Fool without warning me. The Fool had delivered it to me, catching up with me in LA right after I'd delivered another job, but he hadn't come clean about his purpose until we'd shared a very expensive bottle of tequila and had ended up poolside of a celebutante who kept calling him Luscious. I still wasn't sure about the provenance of the name Luscious, but anyone who can keep down half a fifth of hundred-dollar reposado was okay by me.

The High Priestess was completely on the other end of the spectrum, haughty and lovely, with long black hair, flashing dark eyes, and an ability to whine that was almost a superpower unto itself. She had joined the Council fairly recently, I got the feeling. But with these guys, that could mean any time after 1950.

And that was, well, it. I had a vague sense of the Emperor and Empress skulking about in Sin City, but I'd never picked up a clue about the Devil. How could I have missed someone so...unmissable?

I stared out the window as the landscape whipped by. At length, Kreios ended his call and tossed the phone on the seat between us. I left it there. I didn't feel like touching the guy again, and something about this entire operation sat wrong with me. I was beginning to think it had been Armaeus's plan all along to con me into getting sucked into the Council's business. And I really wasn't in the mood.

We reached Ciampino Airport and turned onto the private airstrip. A gleaming white jet rested alone at the head of it, pointed out toward the far horizon. On its tail, a corporate-looking logo of a blue dragon bracketed by two arching red flames was the only marking I could see. Kreios, in a burst of newfound energy, was out of the car before Max had even fully parked it. A second later, I realized why. In his hand he held the reliquary. How had he...

I shook my head. I needed to pay closer attention to these freaks.

"He looks like he's going to be okay."

"Yep." I eyed Max's reflection. "What about you? You gonna get in trouble for your little side trip?"

"Doubtful. Bottom line, you were attacked, and your cargo was taken from you. Since you were honor bound to go after it, I was honor bound to protect you while you did so. In the end, I safely returned you to the airstrip that had been your original destination, and waited around until you were safely on your way. Mission Complet."

"Right." Together we watched Kreios disappear around the back of the plane, holding the gold box aloft as if trying to examine it from all angles. I wasn't feeling too good about that box's chances of making it to Vegas in one piece. I clicked on my phone and was relieved to find the tracking device secure. I was pretty sure Armaeus wanted to examine the reliquary, but I suspected that Kreios wasn't too keen on keeping it around. I'd let them figure that out.

I returned my attention to Max. "So, where will you go from here? Back to the limo service?"

"I think no. I've been shuttling around guests of le seigneur for the past five years. Never has it been more interesting than today, and today is not yet done. This man called Barnabus, he disappeared on my watch. He was hurt, at a minimum." Max gave a long, heartfelt sigh, then winked at me. "I feel badly about that. He may need a ride somewhere safe."

I lifted my brows. "Uh-huh. And you're just the guy to help him with that?"

He grinned. "I live to serve. At the very least, I can pick up his trail and see where he goes from here. Who knows? Maybe he'll let me join his secret club."

"Or maybe he'll kill you. Which wouldn't be nearly as fun."

"It would certainly make for a diverting afternoon, though." Max patted his steering wheel. "It's time I broadened my horizons."

I blew out a long breath. I couldn't let this guy just hare off after a nutcase, but it was clear he needed to do something. And driving tourists around in his limo wasn't going to cut it, not after today. "So what's your kink, Max? What psy power do you actually possess?"

He frowned. "I don't. I told you--"

"Riiight." Armaeus was going to be pissed, but the Connected had to stick together. And if there was ever a man gifted at discerning the talents of an untutored psy... "I tell you what. Why don't you go to Paris instead--no, not to your family, though if you do, give Claire my love. We're besties. But I really would rather you go to the Cathedral of Saint-Germaine-des-Pres. There's a priest named Father Jerome. Tell him I sent you."

Max's eyes lit up. "And what is the reason I should give?"

"Tell him you're ready to join the team."

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# Chapter Fourteen

We said our good-byes, then I exited the limo, patting its flank like it was a good pony as Max drove off. Then I turned toward the sleek aircraft that awaited me. Kreios was nowhere to be seen, but I climbed the long stairway alone, nodding toward the woman who stood at its top. She was perhaps the most attractive flight attendant in the history of aviation. Figured.

The jet Armaeus had commissioned for this jaunt was sleek and well equipped, and apparently came with enough money to expedite minor inconveniences such as identity checks and customs management. The attendant followed me into the cabin and began to describe the plane to me in a silken, heavily accented voice. Then Kreios appeared, and the woman's head completely separated from her body.

Oh, boy. This might take a while.

While the attendant tried to recover her capacity for speech, I wandered over to the bar, pulling out a bottle of water and listening to the captain crackling instructions over the intercom. Taking one of the overstuffed captain's chairs, I watched Kreios discuss the upcoming flight with his newest convert.

Eventually, of course, she had to go back and do her actual job. Kreios ambled over, looking entirely too smug as he sprawled in his own seat. I'd sat across from the Magician just the day before in almost identical positions, of course. But while Armaeus had breathed refinement and control, the quintessential European aristocrat, the Devil was like a half-drunk frat boy, lounging with one leg over the arm of the plush leather seat, his body canted back, his gaze several shades too contented.

"How long is the flight?"

"Twelve hours, give or take," he said. "Armaeus has a several-hour head start on us, but I'm sure he'll be eager to see you again."

I looked at him, my curiosity finally getting its moment in the sun. "So, before we go further: you're not the actual devil, right?"

"A matter of semantics, I suspect."

"Uh-huh. And what exactly was SANCTUS hoping to do with you--or Barnabus, for that matter? Because they had to keep you alive for some reason, and I don't think it's because of your sterling personality."

"So quickly does the rose turn to thorn." Kreios shrugged. "But it is a worthy story, and since Armaeus did not see fit to share it with you, I shall. I was heading to Hungary quite some time ago, if it is truly now late spring...?"

I nodded, and he continued. "On very good information from a man who, while not a friend, precisely, had certainly never been my enemy before now."

"Barnabus."

"No. I'd contacted Barnabus after receiving the information about Hungary. He was to help facilitate my meetings there. Barnabus was also, up to this point, someone I did not consider an enemy. It seems my trust has been very misplaced of late."

"Yeah, you might want to work on that." I considered his words. Hungary had become a hotbed for the underground antiquities market over the past few years, but I'd managed to avoid the place so far. And the country was too far east for its lost children to find their way onto Father Jerome's list. Though based on the map I'd seen at Armaeus's family homestead, we should be paying more attention to those children, and pronto. Their value was definitely heating up. "What's in Hungary?"

"A family of mystics, as it happens. Very old, very well respected. They had gone to ground around the turn of the last century, and there was some indication that perhaps they had resurfaced with the recent...global rekindling of interest in the magical arts. A member of their line had once upon a time been part of the Council, and a very strong part at that."

"I take it you didn't find this family?"

He shook his head. "Regrettably, no. I no sooner landed in Budapest than I was met by a group of very earnest young soldiers who, apparently, Barnabus had directed toward me."

"They trapped you in the box?"

"A charming thing, no?" He leaned back as if imagining it in his mind's eye. "Diaboli Reliquiarum Thecam. The Devil's Reliquary. The last time I saw it was in Consta-- No!" He snapped his fingers. "It was Istanbul by then. Ah, how things change with the passage of time." He regarded me with his heavy-lidded gaze. "A dear friend of mine, my mentor, if you will, had drawn the attention of some very unfortunate men, rigid adherents to a code of religious practice that we found tedious at best, despicable at worst. My friend, he had grown to become a person of prominence by this time, and to see him brought down by such unfortunate parasites was, as you might imagine, quite affecting."

I watched him, tracking the danger in his tone. Though his manner remained easy, the edge in his words was unmistakable. "And how long was he in there?"

The Devil shrugged. "As far as I know, they cleaned his ashes out of that accursed box in order to put mine in. And to that we should drink!" These last words were shouted, and the beautiful attendant materialized in the doorway to the cabin, hastening to his side.

"Do you have a preference, Monsieur Kreios?"

"Scotch," he said, glancing at me. "It's what the lady likes."

I stiffened. I was a fan of scotch, yes, but there was no way that I had said as much to Kreios in the few words we had shared--I certainly hadn't been thinking it. And I could not imagine that my beverage preferences had come up in the conversation between Armaeus and Kreios on the phone. Nevertheless, as the attendant looked over to me for confirmation, I nodded. "Glenmorangie."

Kreios raised his brows. "You seem quite confident that it's in stock."

"And you seemed quite confident of my drink of choice. Why is that?"

"One of my many charms." He spread his hands, anticipating the return of the attendant with the glass at his side. She smoothly handed him the drink, then presented me with a cut-crystal tumbler as well. When she'd withdrawn to whatever antechamber served as her holding cell, Kreios lifted his glass high. "To Marcus, long of life," he said robustly, the lilt in his voice breaking through, betraying his Greek heritage. "That he did not die in vain."

"To Marcus." I nodded. The scotch was as smooth as I had come to expect, but it burned a fiery trail down my throat. "That he had not died at all."

"Well, I'm not sure I would go that far," Kreios said, angling his glass to me. "After all, without his death, there would have been no becoming for me. And then, my dear Sara Wilde, we would not have met. That would have been a pity."

I tried to stifle my chuckle, but Kreios peered at me, his eyes missing nothing. "You have not worked with the Council long, but there is no excuse for Armaeus not to have introduced us."

"I'm not in the city much."

"Of course you aren't." Kreios's smile was far too knowing. "Still, something could have been arranged, before my unfortunate excursion, don't you think? It is a curiosity that we have not met. And curiosities interest me."

I shifted uneasily in my seat. "I can't see how it matters."

"Perhaps you are right," Kreios conceded. "One evening of carnal pleasure with Armaeus, no matter how intriguing, does not a relationship make."

I scowled at him, knowing he was baiting me but unable to resist the challenge. "As you say."

His smile broadened, and he leaned forward, his entire being focused on me. The effect was heady, dangerous. "Well then. Since the Magician does not now share your bed, perhaps you can tell me how I might be of service."

"And perhaps," I said, leaning forward as well, my gaze lingering on his eyes, the curve of his jaw, his sensual lips, "you could tell me specifically why SANCTUS stuck you in that box. Or why Barnabus suddenly hates you so much that he wanted to turn your brain to rice pudding."

Kreios's laugh was a thing of raw, primal beauty and did nothing to ease the tension in the cabin. He took another sip of scotch, regarding me more closely over the rim of the glass. "Old prejudices die hard, Sara Wilde," he said as he tipped the tumbler toward me. "The men who captured me are not the exact caste of the priests who incarcerated Marcus, but their desires are the same, as are their needs." He rolled the glass in his hand. "As it happens, needs and desires are my stock-in-trade."

"What, the damning of souls lost its shine for you?"

His smile was wicked. "That depends. Do you have a soul you'd like to be damned?" His gaze rested on my mouth again, stoking an alarming response until he settled back in his chair again. "I assure you, my role on this earth is nothing so tedious. How much do you--ah!" His beautifully arched brows lifted high, as if he'd had a flash of inspiration. "Has Armaeus told you so little, then?"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you do that all the time, answering your own questions?"

"Forgive me." He inclined his head. "You will find that as cloaked as our dear Armaeus can be, I am his opposite. In this as in so many things. He uses deception and illusion to gain his ends. I find that the truth can be far quicker--and, when skillfully applied, far more devastating." He set his glass beside him, then clasped his hands together. "But I was telling you of my unfortunate altercation with SANCTUS." He said the name with a delicate twist of his lips, making it sound like an epithet. "What do you know of them?"

He had the grace to allow me to actually answer this time. "Evil minions of some cardinal, dedicated to destroying all the Connected in the world, starting with their icons, statuary, and twenty-sided dice."

Kreios nodded. "The role of the Arcana Council since time was born has been to maintain the balance of all magic. 'All magic,' of course, presupposes that there will be dark to counter the light. Dark, as it happens, is my specialty." He ducked his head, the soul of modesty.

"The rest of it--the worship of an anti-God, fire and brimstone, eternal torment--that is not a construct of mine, nor of any of my predecessors, but the Catholic church does not see things in quite the same light, nor have they for centuries." He shrugged. "I cannot blame them. Their zealotry has served them well. But--I, and Marcus before me, and all who came before him--we mean to enjoy this world, not bathe it in screams of terror." He lifted his brows. "Which is not to say the occasional scream isn't quite satisfying, in the right context."

He grinned as I rolled my eyes. "But the ruination of the teeming masses is not, nor has it ever been, our purpose. It would be quite tedious, in fact, when there are so many pleasures to be had."

"Uh-huh. So if you're not truly the enemy of the Church, then why--"

"Well." Kreios spread his hands once more. "I never quite said I wasn't an enemy of the Church. That would be a lie, and as I have told you--"

"Right. Champion of truth, defender of honesty, got that."

He nodded. "Whatever you would know, I can tell you. Especially, as I have mentioned, your deepest needs, Sara Wilde. Your darkest desires."

I considered that. My darkest desires had taken a turn of late. I wasn't too comfortable with that going out on the psychic network. "My worst fears too, I suppose?"

"Never that." He shook his head, shrugging off my surprise. "That, I must be told. You would be amazed, however, at the number of people who cannot help but share their worst nightmares aloud, as if begging for them to be unleashed in their midst. But do not evade the question." He steepled graceful fingers beneath his chin. "What truths do you seek?"

"Are the young women from Kavala in Las Vegas? Are they alive?"

"Too easy," Kreios said. "But yes, and yes. Armaeus has told you this already. He would not lure you to a city you despise only to show you corpses. And why do you despise Las Vegas, Sara Wilde?"

So not going there. I refocused him on the more important question. "Where are they?"

"The young women? You cannot help them until we land." He tilted his head, his green eyes searching mine. "But there are other questions you should be asking, and well you know it."

I felt the challenge in his words and knew the opportunity he presented. The opportunity, and also its unstated truth. What else has Armaeus been keeping from me? "Who else is on the Council that I don't know about?" I asked. "Are there actually the full twenty-two Major Arcana represented?"

"Too safe." Kreios dismissed the question, his lush lips turning down in a pout. "And our current number is far less than twenty two, I assure you. The Fool and High Priestess are in the city now. I suspect you have met them. They are well in the public eye. The Empress and Emperor are present as well, but remain uncommitted to the war that Armaeus would wage. The rest--scattered. Some of the positions remain unfilled. And the houses are all in ruins."

I lifted my brows. "Houses? This is different from the families?"

"Of course. The minor houses that have always served the Council." He waved casually. "Swords, pents, wands, cups. They have not been mobilized since the reign of Charlemagne, though. No need, really. The world's use of magic has risen and fallen with the tides of money and power." He shrugged. "It might do so again, without our intercession, despite the current threat."

I put aside the mind boggle of yet more minions of the Council I knew nothing about. These people had their fingers in way too many pies. "Is SANCTUS really all that powerful?"

"A year ago, I would have said no. But we have gotten lax, it would appear. We have seen, too long, solely what we want to see. It is why there are so few of us to hold the line as it is. Or to dance over it, from time to time." His gaze flickered back to my face. "And speaking of the dance, that's not all you want to know, is it?" he prompted. "I can see it in your face, hear it in your blood."

I grimaced. "My blood?"

"It sings to me," he said, leaning close. "And it tells me you have much to learn, that you are on the precipice of knowledge, on the very verge of slipping over, never to return." His smile deepened, drawing me into his spell with his eyes, his voice, his words. "So tell me, Sara Wilde. What truths do you truly yearn to know?"

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# Chapter Fifteen

Kreios's chuckle brought me back to my senses, and I stiffened. How long had I been sitting there, staring at him? Enthralled like a rabbit by the wolf? "Quit that," I muttered, wishing there was more scotch in my glass. I felt like I could down the whole bottle.

What did I truly yearn to know, he'd asked, and too many options lodged themselves in my brain. Why is this happening, why now, why to me? And will it all end so horribly as it had before, with everyone I knew just...gone?

Unaccountably, my heart turned over, thumping painfully as my life stretched out before me. My ragtag childhood, my mother's boozy laughter--her love too impossible to predict, too ephemeral to hold onto. The emerging of my own abilities out of nowhere, and Mom's delight in showing me off to her friends, her neighbors and, finally, to the impossibly perfect cop who'd looked down at me without flinching and asked if I could help find a missing kid.

Don't go there. Don't ever go there. He's dead to you.

But he wasn't dead, not really. I felt his sharp presence every time I touched down in Las Vegas. He'd transferred there. Of course he'd transferred there, the one city I needed him not to be. He'd risen to the rank of detective now, and if he ever saw me... If he ever realized that I was alive, and that his frenzied search to find me after that horrifying day in Memphis had all been for naught, that the moment he'd given up on me and acknowledged I was dead, I'd been five states away singing show tunes at an RV campsite... I couldn't imagine how much he'd hate me then. But I'd had to do it. I'd had to. No one else could die because of me.

They're all dead to you.

"You should never resist your desires, Sara," Kreios purred, and in my hand, my glass was suddenly more than half-filled with the glittering dark liquid.

I swirled it, the aroma of the aged spirits rising around me. "And this is real," I said flatly, forcing my memories down to focus on the Devil and his tricks. "I could drink this, and it would affect me as much as any drink would. The flames burning those men--those were real too."

He shrugged. "Did they seem real to you? Does the scotch taste real?"

I tilted the glass and took a sip, savoring the familiar burn once more. "Yes. But that's not what I asked."

"What is reality?" Kreios stood and stretched luxuriously, sweeping his hand around the space. I was drawn by the movement of his hand, watching it like it was the pendulum at the end of a hypnotist's chain. "Is this airplane that Armaeus so generously provided us real?" he asked, strolling a few steps toward the bar before turning to me. "Is the air we breathe and the skin we inhabit real? Am I real?"

"Any of me?" A second voice sounded, and my gaze jerked back to Kreios's chair. Sitting there was a second Kreios, his smile wry as he took in my startled glance. "Armaeus really has fallen short on your training, it appears. I could assist you with that."

"It's all illusion," I said, swiveling my gaze from one of him to the other. "Which one is--"

"Which one would you like to be real?"

I nearly dropped my drink as the words fanned across my ear, lips grazing along my neck. A third Kreios had taken up residence in the chair beside mine. He leaned into my space as I sat rigidly, his laughter setting whorls of sensation skittering along my skin. "The entire point of an illusion is for you to see what you most want to see, what your mind can allow you to see. And taste." Kreios part three reached over and slipped the glass of scotch out of my fingers, taking a slow drink before letting his fingers go lax, the glass and scotch dropping out of his hand. Reflexively, I grabbed for it, even as it winked out of existence, and he caught up my hand in his strong, warm grasp, pulling it to his mouth.

"And touch," he murmured.

I stared at him as he pressed his lips against my fingertips, the responding reaction deep in the center of my being swift and absolute. The ache of my own memories flipped to an unexpected heat that pooled within me, flooding me with need.

"This is an illusion," I tried again, though my words sounded shaky to my own ears.

"If you wish it to be," he said, and his grip on my hand firmed. With a ruthless yank, he pulled me over the short distance between our chairs, then turned and tossed me from him, half hurling me backward across the room. I barely kept my feet as I heard the attendant's concerned voice, then the sound of a slamming door as I skidded to a stop against the far wall. My vision swam back into focus.

Kreios stood in front of me, too close, too real.

"You are an illusion," I gritted out, my words ending on a moan as Kreios suddenly leaned in, taking my mouth in a hard, searching kiss, tasting, demanding--and my body felt like it was going to go up in fire, the heat so intense that I desperately feared he'd cast off my clothes as easily as Armaeus had done, and then we would be positioned body against body, need against need, with nothing between us except my own fraying control.

"Perhaps. But I think you like this illusion," Kreios said, his words tight and almost angry as he shifted his mouth up next to my ear. "I think you have yourself and your abilities, so locked up inside a cell of your own making that you are afraid to truly feel, Sara Wilde. Afraid to truly own the gifts you were brought into this world to share. And more than that," he said, lifting his head again. "I think you like the way I make you feel, trapped in my--"

"No!" Summoning strength from the depths of my being, I cracked my head against Kreios's chin, the shock of the movement forcing him to back away. "I told you no."

The Devil's laugh drifted down over my ears.

"You did. And that's all you will ever have to do." He blew me a kiss that I could feel against my burning cheek. "Something for you to remember."

A blink later and he was across the room again, seated in his chair.

Kreios regarded me with amusement, his drink still in his hand. Mine sat waiting for me next to my chair, its level indicating that I'd had a few healthy swigs, no more.

"An illusion," I managed shakily, straightening my clothes. Not a stitch had come off my body. Even my Tyet had remained firmly in place, not reacting cold or hot to the Devil's assault. "That...was all an illusion."

Kreios shrugged. "Did it feel like an illusion?"

I gingerly flexed my fingers, wincing at the pain. "But--"

"Come here," he said, his voice echoing in my bones. Ignoring him, I walked over to the bar where the Glenmorangie still sat, and pulled another crystal tumbler from the rack. Kreios's chuckle was rich and full behind me.

"You see? You can choose that which you prefer to take as real, versus what you choose to see as illusion. Which makes me wonder why you allow yourself to live with the illusions you do."

I turned and scowled at him. "I'm aware of the Council's abilities of manipulation, Kreios. And I appreciate the reminder. But don't treat me like a fool."

"Then stop acting like one." Just like that, Kreios was in front of me again, his impossibly beautiful eyes staring down at me, his lush lips bare inches from mine, sending my body into another spasm of need. "You, more than most in this world, have the ability to see beyond your fears, your desires. To recognize them merely as tools that serve to unlock a greater truth. You should learn to trust yourself."

"I can't trust myself!" I shoved him, and he fell back easily, which only served to piss me off more. "You of all people should know that. I can't--"

"Ah-ah-ah," He raised a finger, the danger shimmering between us almost like a living thing. "Have a care with sharing your fears, sweet Sara Wilde. Remember, I cannot know them without your tacit permission."

I broke off, staring at him, my heart thundering, the entire history of my horrible choices parading in front of my eyes, mocking me for ever having trusted myself. "Then what can you see?" I asked carefully.

"I can see a woman so powerful that she blocks what she cannot endure," Kreios said. I shifted my gaze to him, and his mouth teased into a smile. "Imagine that. All the horrors that are clearly dancing in your mind are held back from me as if they never happened. Imagine, if these are the things you see, what you have forgotten. How deep must your terror be for something to just"--he fluttered long, elegant fingers--"disappear?"

I frowned at him, confused, then understanding dawned. "You mean with Armaeus. The fact that parts of...our time together, I can no longer remember."

"I do not blame you, of course. As tedious as the Magician is when standing upright, he must be an absolute trial in bed."

Heat scored my cheeks, but I managed to regard Kreios with a more or less steady gaze. "And you know why I blocked those memories, I take it?"

"Of course. I know your innermost needs and desires, Sara." He grinned. "And this blockage was born of those, not of any true fear. So yes, I know why you did it." He took another step toward me, leaning down. I was too busy wrapping my brain around his words to fully take in his movements--his arms reaching out to gather me close, his body fitting itself to mine, his head bending down, his mouth nuzzling against my lips, setting a thousand fires aflame along every filament of my nervous system. "Would you like me to tell you?" he asked, tasting me, teasing me, his hands sliding down my back. "Would you like to tell me why your need with Armaeus is so great that you must shutter it from your own mind?"

I didn't hesitate. "Nope," I said, my voice solid and sure. I could go another six or seven lifetimes without dipping my toe back into that murky water.

Kreios drew back, his eyes bright with delight, his grin unabashed.

"Excellent. Then I shall look forward to our next dance, Sara Wilde. You will learn, in time, that when there is no one else who will tell you the truth, that I will be there for you. And when you come to me, I will tell you everything. If you pay the price."

Then he dissolved in front of me, leaving me alone in the cabin--except for the last and final form of Aleksander Kreios far across from me, sprawled out on his chair in deep, snoring slumber, a contented expression wreathing his face.

"Asshat," I muttered.

His lips quirked up in a smile.

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# Chapter Sixteen

The sun poured in mercilessly from all sides when I finally stirred, disoriented, only to realize I was still in my chair, the unit cranked all the way back.

"I was wondering if you'd ever awaken," Kreios drawled. He looked freshly showered, his cassock changed to a linen shirt, open at the collar down to his chest, paired with buttery soft khakis. On his feet, he wore sandals, and it took great fortitude for me not to stare. Even the man's feet were beautiful.

"Yes, well," he said, though I hadn't spoken. "I tried to get you to share my cabin or to avail yourself of your own. But you were quite insistent about remaining where you slept. I have spoken to Armaeus," he said, holding up a phone I didn't recognize. "He is awaiting us both at that god-awful fortress of his."

"As opposed to where? I don't suppose you simply take out a suite at the Bellagio when you're in Vegas?"

"Why?" He grinned at me. "Are you considering paying me a visit after all?"

"Yeah. No." His words from earlier haunted me. What truths was he hinting at...and what price? Or was this simply how Kreios worked--getting his marks to believe he could give them something they didn't have, something they eventually believed they needed more than life itself, for a price they would never otherwise consider paying? I didn't know. And right now, I didn't want to know.

But I couldn't deny my curiosity about his home in Sin City. Because, seriously. One of the best charms of the Arcana Council had to be their digs.

The first time I'd seen the spectacle, I'd been caught completely off guard. I'd just rounded the Strip at the turn of the Venetian Hotel, steamed that I'd even agreed to come to Crazytown in the first place. Then I'd looked up and had almost been run over by the horde of chain-smoking senior citizens, raucous college guys, and giggling bachelorette parties the city seemed to aspirate with every rum-soaked breath.

Nothing could have prepared me for the Arcanan shadow realm, though. Hidden beyond the typical tourist's sight line, an entire candy land of enormous gleaming casinos soared above the boulevard, each one larger than the last. A stone fortress crested above Caesar's Palace, bleak and imposing as a mighty medieval castle. A glittering nightclub surmounted the Flamingo, with the word SCANDAL in brilliant neon along its roofline, and a lighting effect that made it seem like fire was crawling up the side of the building.

Then there was the massive castle billowing majestically over and around the Bellagio, a fairy tale palace wrought in pure rose marble and shimmering leaded glass. And above Paris shot a sheer black column in perfect counterpoint to the White Tower that had suddenly erupted beside me, rising above Treasure Island, both of them stark and cold.

Finally, in the far distance, topping Luxor Casino's pyramid and glowering sphinx, was an extraordinary gothic fortress of steel and stone, glass and fire.

Somehow, I'd known that that was where Armaeus lived. But at first, none of the others made sense.

"Scandal," I said now. "That's your place, isn't it?" I held up a hand to stop his reply. "Because when I saw it last, it was lit up like a fire show and seemed to be doing just fine without you. Who took care of it while you were on your little forced sabbatical?"

Kreios quirked an irritated glance at me, but once more I felt like I'd displayed my ignorance, that this was information I should have known. Would have known, if Armaeus didn't constantly play his cards so close to the vest. Fortunately, the sudden chunk of the descending wheels of the aircraft cut off our conversation, and the plane touched down a few minutes later, the private airstrip one I'd come to know well enough in the past few months. We emerged from the jet only to be knocked almost level by the oppressive Nevada heat, which had to be pushing ninety-five degrees with the sun high in the sky.

A jet-black town car rested just off the runway, with a familiar figure standing beside it, holding a little white placard. As if there could possibly be anyone else arriving at this location at this time.

I grinned despite myself as Nikki Dawes saluted smartly, stunning in a chauffeur's uniform, complete with a snap cap, tight-fitting black jacket that barely contained her ample breasts, a pencil skirt that made the most of her mile-long legs, and towering, size-thirteen platform pumps. No hosiery touched her well-muscled calves, but the concession was a practical one--this was Vegas in May, after all. And besides, she had amazing legs.

Kreios trotted easily down the stairway behind me, admiring the scenery as well. "Armaeus is improving in his taste in drivers."

I smirked. "That's right, you two haven't met, have you? She came on the scene after your incarceration."

"Your continual reminders do you no favors, Sara Wilde."

"And one day I might possibly care."

I'd gotten Nikki as a driver and general gopher for the Council once she'd hooked me up with the Tyet, since I'd quickly realized I needed all the friends I could get in Oz. At first she hadn't been able to see the more elaborate elements of the Arcanan world, since it didn't technically exist in this plane. But she was an advanced psychic in her own right, and it didn't take her long to catch on.

Now, as we approached her, her eyes widened under her heavy mascara, her face blanking with unfeigned awe. "I really, really like the souvenirs you bring home to me, babe," she said in her marginally feminine voice. Then she smiled widely at Kreios as she clasped her hands behind her back, tucking her placard out of sight to give him unrestricted access to the full glorious view of her. "To the Strip, sir? And where have you been all my life?"

For his part, Aleksander Kreios tilted his head, studying Nikki from the tips of her streaked brown wig to the toes of her sharp-pointed shoes, pausing notably to study her impressive--and very expensive--assets. He held up a hand, a card having materialized in it, which he slid into the plunging vee of Nikki's cleavage. "Please stop by my club anytime, Miss Dawes," he drawled as Nikki's eyes dilated despite the brilliant sun beating down on us.

She issued a sound that might have been a whimper, but, ever the professional, she dutifully opened the door for us. We slid into the cool comfort of the limousine, and I found myself relaxing for one precious moment.

Just one--but damned if it wasn't a good one.

"Straight to the man in black?" Nikki asked again once she'd taken her position behind the wheel, her composure firmly back in place as she flicked a glance in the rearview mirror. I hadn't seen if she'd palmed the card out of her bra or not, but knowing Nikki, probably not.

"It's a pity we don't have time to stop at Fremont Street." Kreios sighed. "So much unfinished business there."

"On Fremont?" I met Nikki's eyes, and just like that, my moment had passed. So that was where the girls from Kavala were.

Fremont Street was the home of the Las Vegas of yesteryear, where the city had really gotten its start before the heyday of the Strip had taken over with its ever-growing casinos and entertainment complexes. Though the Arcanans preferred the wide-open Strip for their immense personal dwellings, the older part of the city still drew its share of magic.

But it was the darker side of magic. As in pitch-black. Nikki and her fellow carnies who worked the Strip had their hands full keeping the young and the newly arrived in Vegas from straying into that hellhole, but it wasn't an easy battle. And each year, from what little she'd told me so far, it was getting a bit more difficult.

"Yes," Kreios sighed languorously. "The gentleman who gave me such poor information on my contacts in Hungary makes his living in the back of Binion's, as it happens. I shall have to pay him a visit soon."

"Not the nicest casino anymore," Nikki observed, and I turned to see Kreios's smile grow craftier.

"It suits him that way, I suspect," he said. "The fewer respectable people in the front of the house, the easier it is to get his business done in the back."

"The back? You mean Vato's?" Nikki regarded the Devil. "Nothing there but a highly questionable collection of stogies."

I cut short the inevitable conversation on cigars as I saw Kreios's interest being piqued. "And what sort of business would your one-time friend carry on in such an illustrious location?" I knew what Kreios was doing, but I also remembered his promise from the airplane. His penchant for the truth carried an eerie sort of excitement with it. He would speak honestly, I was sure, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be deceiving us.

"His newest venture is the recreation of the Oracle of Delphi, as it happens," Kreios said. "He was very excited about it--so much potential. He spoke of his search to find perfect young women for his masterpiece, lovely, pure psychics who would feast upon the mix of gasses once available only on the mountain of--"

"Cut the crap, Kreios," I snapped, staring at him. "I know what he's using them for. Where specifically is he keeping them?"

Kreios's eyes flared, and he tilted his head, almost as if he was scenting the air for corruption. "They are deep in the center of his holding. To get to them, you must go through a raft of other young women, all psychics, all blindfolded and in most pitiable condition, I'm afraid. One who is missing an ear."

"Hold the phone." Nikki's voice erupted from the front seat, startling me, though Kreios seemed unaffected. With a quick jerk of the wheel, she knifed the limo into a bus stop space, then turned in her seat. "What are you--"

She dropped off sharply. Kreios had vanished.

Her gaze swung to me. "Those girls he mentioned--not the oracles, but the blindfolded ones. We've lost six girls from Dixie's in the last three months, Sara. Six. All of them too damned dumb to live, but Dixie was doing her level best to keep them safe, like she does every pitiful soul that crosses her shadow. One of them"--she punched a long, lacquered nail to where Kreios had been sitting--"had had an ear removed when she was six years old." Nikki's lips curled into a snarl. "Because of the things she heard."

I tightened my own lips. Dixie Quinn was one of Nikki's friends. Given my penchant for leaving the city as soon as I'd arrived, we'd never met, of course. Nikki talked about her like she was some kind of Vegas institution, though--always on the lookout for wayward Connected. "I never did like Binion's," I said. "But given that we've lost our fare..."

"Maybe we should give it another shot," she agreed. "Hang on."

Nikki wheeled the car around into traffic, and we bounced back onto Paradise Road a minute later, weaving our way through the heavy knot of tourists. "Where'd pretty boy go, anyway?" she asked over her shoulder. "The Magician gonna be all hot and bothered you didn't deliver him?"

"I suspect they'll find each other eventually." And Kreios would have some explaining to do when they did. I took out my phone and checked my locator wafer on the reliquary--nada. Had Kreios strapped it into one of the exhaust pipes of Armaeus's private jet, conducting his own personal cremation ceremony? If so, I had a bad feeling that would reflect poorly in my compensation for this little adventure, but given that the thing had been turned into Kreios's prison, I could hardly blame the guy for wanting it destroyed. Now I wondered if he had actually entered the limo with us, or if he'd taken his leave after depositing his card into Nikki's bra. "You have his card, right?"

"Are you kidding? It's been keeping my altogether warm for the past twenty minutes. Which one is he? Not that I'm planning to pay him a visit, but--"

"The Devil."

Nikki's mouth clapped shut. Her fingers stuttered out a rapid rat-a-tat on the steering wheel for another full minute, then she flipped on her blinker and got into the right lane. "I think we're gonna need a detour, doll."

"No detour." I frowned at her. "If those women are really at Binion's, they're not going to be in great shape. The Devil's been out of commission for a long time. I don't know where he got his data, but that could be outdated too. We might already be too late."

"If they're in Binion's, they're not alone. You heard him yourself. Apparently they've also roped in some of the local girls, and the one he was talking about with no ear? She doesn't speak English, and I sure as hell don't speak Romanian. But Dixie does."

I stared at her as she whipped into a turn. We streaked away from the Strip, into a warren of squat houses and scorched plots of land, as most of the Las Vegas residents varied between decorating decisions that involved rocks, cactus, and sand. Another turn and the houses got ever so slightly seedier, and then a final turn and we were back close to the Strip, in the near-but-not-quite-overflow area where the cut-rate casinos, strip clubs, and taquerias flourished.

It was where the carnie-level Connected of the Strip flourished too, I knew. The hole-in-the-wall psychics who weren't quite up to the main stage at Caesar's Palace, the dime-store palm readers and sidewalk channelers who could stare at you for thirty seconds and bring back your Great-Aunt Betty.

But Nikki didn't stop at any of those places. In fact, she didn't stop at all until she cut into a wide parking lot bracketed by a mini strip mall and a free-standing building, a giant white monstrosity fronted by a glittering billboard that proclaimed it as the Chapel of Everlasting Love in the Stars.

I stared. I couldn't help myself. "What the hell is this?"

"This," Nikki said triumphantly as she jammed the car into a parking space, "is Dixie Quinn."

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# Chapter Seventeen

Apparently, my expression was enough to convince Nikki to take it down a notch. Or six. She used story time to check her lipstick as she spoke, her mouth going a mile a minute the way it always did when sharing her debriefs.

"Okay, what you need to know about Dixie Quinn isn't that she's an astrologer for a wedding chapel, though she is, and she's not half-bad. More importantly, beyond serving as the city's Welcome Wagon, she's sort of Vegas Homeland Security for the Connected community--she knows everyone and everything, what their skills are and where they live. She goes all out, even keeps records of this stuff, in the quintessential office black book. She's a little too Goody Two-shoes for my taste, just between us girls, but we've come to an understanding because I also like keeping up on who's coming into the city." She winked at me. "Only newcomer she hasn't drawn a bead on was you. But you didn't actually stay long enough to lay down a shadow, let alone a root."

I frowned up at the enormous chapel sign. "And you think she'll have information on these girls?"

"Oh, I know she will. She's the one who introduced them to me. You ready?"

"I want to get back to Binion's."

"Smart trumps fast in this case, dollface. Trust me on this."

She hauled herself out of the limo, and I followed suit, blinking around in the harsh sunlight.

The chapel reared up in front of us, a beacon of eternal love facing a liquor store and a tattoo parlor, its entryway surmounted by a second neon sign announcing "Drive-Thru Weddings." An incongruously dainty traditional church-style front door beckoned the love struck from beneath a bedazzled white stucco star-topped steeple, looking impossibly tacky at noon. I suspected the place got most of its business at two in the morning, though.

The chapel's landscaping consisted of a series of topiaries cut to resemble bow-wielding cherubs nestled in cutoff Roman columns that now doubled as flowerpots. A gaggle of stone geese bedecked in wedding attire waddled up the red-carpeted front walk. Based on the spotlights mounted every three feet or so, at night the entire place would be lit up with the kind of wattage usually reserved for used-car lots and crime scenes.

Both the liquor store and tattoo parlor were open, of course, and I made out the form of a thin ball-cap-wearing man leaning in the doorway of the tattoo shop, the trail of his cigarette smoke floating up to dissipate in the arid heat. He nodded to me as we passed. I glanced up to the battered sign atop the shop: DarkWorks Ink. Artwork lined the windows, along with a single flickering neon TATTOOS sign. One of the prints caught my eye: a faded poster of an armored warrior on a white horse, carrying a black flag with a white rose in its center.

I frowned. "Um, Nikki?"

Nikki's sharp curse covered my words as she squinted ahead toward the chapel. "Son of a biscuit, not Henry again. He will not give up."

I swung my gaze forward then jerked to a halt beside Nikki, gaping at a tiny Barbie doll of a woman dressed almost all in white, crouching in the alcove of the chapel. Despite the fact that it was barely noon, she was rocking four-inch platform white leather boots that nudged up against a shimmering white miniskirt, which bared enough skin to show off an impressive swath of white fishnet stockings. And she was trying to rouse an older, pudgy but remarkably well-dressed man curled up at the base of a large cupid-themed topiary vase.

"Henry, honey, don't make me tase you." The woman's voice was soothing as she pulled at the man, revealing a white sequined leotard beneath her equally white leather bolero jacket, and sending a tumble of blonde curls free from beneath her snow-white cowboy hat. Yes. Cowboy hat.

"Please tell me that's not Dixie," I murmured.

"Henry, I'm telling you, you have to quit doing this to yourself," the bombshell cooed. "You have to stick to Libras and Pisces, if you're going to have any shot at all. Why do you do this to me, honey? You tryin' to kill me?"

"Owwuarggummafluevian!" the man on the ground protested, and the woman clucked in gentle rebuke.

"You won't say that to Bobby-Frank when he takes you home, promise? He's got feelings, you know. He's fragile." She poked the poor guy with a rapier-like nail. "Promise me, Henry."

"Iwufffliann."

"That's better. You'll be yourself in no time. I'll have those nice people at the Bellagio arrange a massage for you." She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. "And stay away from Scorpios, okay? You know they make you crazier than a bedbug."

The old fellow assented with a long, baritone mumble, and the woman rocked back from him, waving as if to the sky. Within fifteen seconds, a kind-eyed man who had to be Bobby-Frank ambled up, built like a fire hydrant and wearing a rumpled brown suit. He hunkered there with a sigh, eyeing poor Henry as the woman uncoiled herself and stood.

Or sort of stood. She couldn't have been more than five feet high, even in the boots.

"A Scorpio?" Bobby-Frank asked.

"Gets him every time."

Bobby-Frank leaned over and lifted Henry off the ground, settling the man on his feet with barely a twitch of muscle. A cab had magically appeared at the entryway to the chapel's drive, and Bobby-Frank folded Henry inside with a gentleness that belied his bulk. I glanced back at the tattoo parlor, but the thin man was gone and the place looked deserted.

"Well, Nikki, as I live and breathe--what are you doing here?" The bombshell's words, all sweet tea and Southern Comfort, whipped my attention back to her. "And who is this?"

"Sara, allow me to introduce Dixie Quinn. And Dixie, this," Nikki said with a flourish, indicating me, "is Sara Wilde, aka how we're going to get back Marta, Mary, and whoever else has gone missing you haven't told me about." Nikki popped a hip and settled her mitts on her sleek chauffeur's uniform. "I know, I'm impressive. It's okay to stare."

"Oh!" Dixie blinked perfectly mascaraed eyes at Nikki, then at me. "Well, gracious, come on in, the both of you. It's hot enough to fry cactus out here."

I didn't argue as Dixie led us inside to a cute little sitting room done up in bubblegum-pink walls, gold-framed wedding photos, and yards of white carpet. Dixie settled us into white overstuffed couches that looked like they'd been sold alongside their matching brass-and-glass side tables at a blowout sale at Big Lots. Several brass keepsake boxes were stacked artfully on the tables, with a small price card tented beside them. "So." Dixie smiled at me with a perfect cupid bow's mouth. "You're new in the city?"

"New enough," Nikki answered for me. "She's been working for the Magician. But we're on the clock here. We need to know about the girls. Languages, skill sets. Last known whereabouts. How many we might run into at Binion's."

"They're at Binion's?" Dixie frowned, then swiveled her gaze to me. "Not a good place. You go there to get your questions answered, for a price, when you don't like the answers you get on the Strip. Nasty place to do business, but the rumors of its accuracy are steady and sure." She nodded. "Come back to the office. I have everything you need there."

The office was little more than a closet, the walls lined by low file cabinets and literally dozens of hand-drawn cartoons of couples in various states of wedded bliss, apparently a "caricature with purchase" promotion the chapel must be running. But it was the file cabinets that intrigued me. I frowned, looking around. "You don't believe in the cloud?"

"I believe too much in the cloud." Dixie's manner was pure Southern charm, but there was no mistaking the steel underneath. "I wouldn't store anything there, not when it's so easy to hack. These cabinets are lined with lead, hematite, and more than a few charms to keep out prying eyes. It's the only way I've kept the information safe." She smiled ruefully. "And we're pulling in more information all the time." Somehow, I didn't think she was talking about wedding RSVPs.

She went to her desk, where a ledger sat, closed. She touched the front, and locks audibly clicked, rendering the notebook a grown-up secret diary. As she paged through its contents, she kept talking. "I'm sure Nikki has already filled you in, but I'm sort of the first stop, you could say, for the city's Connected--astrologers, palm readers, fortune tellers, hypnotists--the works. We make sure everyone is settled in, finds work, learns their way around the city. Ah." She reached an entry, then glanced up at both of us. "And when they go missing, we notice. Because someone needs to."

Her last sentence was loaded with a bitterness that seemed years in the making. "You have people go missing a lot?"

"Even a handful is too many, and it's happening more and more." She refocused on Nikki. "Which girls do you think he has?"

"Marta--that's the one missing her ear, right?" Nikki waved a hand past her own shiny mane. "And the entire group that came with her. No clue what their skills were, but there was a knot of them, remember? Maybe all sisters?"

"Oh, yes. Psychic attunement. They weren't sisters but close friends. Are close friends." Dixie pursed her perfect lips, reading in her book. "One moved, they all moved. One had a thought, they all had a thought. You could whisper something in the ear of one of them at the back of the audience, and the friend on stage would speak it purely, plainly, and without prompting. You could touch one of the girls, and the others would know that too. More faintly, an echo, but she'd know it." She looked up, her eyes fierce. "I do not want to imagine what's being done with them at Binion's. The girls arrived in the city two months ago, and they've been gone for three weeks now. Three weeks. I thought--I'd assumed they'd been taken out of the city. To think they've been here this whole--"

"Focus, Dix. You said they could speak anything spoken to them. So they know English? They can communicate?"

She shook her head. "They didn't have to know English to perform. They're mimics. Their own language was nothing I could figure out, some sort of pidgin Slavic that didn't match up to anything we understood. But we'd begun teaching them. They'd barely escaped detection getting here, and we lost them in less than two months." She looked at Dixie. "They won't respond to reason, only orders. You bark at them loud enough, they'll move. Their leader is tall, with long hair, so blonde it's almost white. I don't know if they'll have cut her hair, but I doubt it's shaved off. It's too beautiful."

Nikki considered that, nodded. "I can work with that.'

"There are two other girls there too, we think," I said, drawing Dixie's attention back. "Psychics from eastern Europe. Kavala. You have any record of them? When they might have come into the city, how long they've been locked up at the club?"

She frowned, shooting a glance at Nikki, who shrugged. "Her information is solid. I trust her."

Beautiful brown eyes swung back to me. "What's your interest, here?"

"The two girls from Kavala," I said, my nerves ratcheted up. "You got information on them, then give it to me. Otherwise, we're out of here."

Dixie bristled, and even that looked good on her, but she didn't glance down at her book. "Those girls weren't free when they got here. I don't keep such records in the main directory. That doesn't help them."

"Then what do you--"

Dixie cut off my words with a wave of her hand, gesturing to the drawings on the wall. They were carnie-level art--caricature artist renderings almost, but instead of being cartoonish, they looked almost poignant, beautiful young girls and dashing young men in their wedding finery, bridesmaids posing in front of a silhouetted kissing couple, best men mugging for the artist. Then I looked closer. "You've got to be kidding me."

"It's the easiest way to get their pictures around the city. I hear about men, women, kids being taken, I get their descriptions and meditate a bit on them, then provide as complete a picture as I can to the cartoonists. Their rendered images go up on artists' walls and in cafes and coffee shops up and down the Strip. I get a whisper of someone seeing a back-alley act where the players aren't all looking so healthy, same deal. Someone sees a girl who looks like his sister, his daughter... Someone sees a guy who might be the stripper she saw the night before... It all helps." She shrugged daintily. "The cops don't always listen, but when they do--"

I schooled my features to be even, my breathing to stay steady. "Cops?"

"Won't be any cops at Binion's today," Nikki said firmly, more to me than Dixie. She was scanning the pictures as well. "You think you have the girls up here? The ones from Kavala?"

"I'm afraid so." Dixie moved out from around her desk and strode over to the far wall. Her cowgirl getup should have looked ridiculous, but I was already getting used to it. Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas.

She reached up and pulled one of the crisp drawings down from its clip on the wall, then turned and handed it to me. "These your girls?"

I scowled at the image. It was clearly a reprint, but the likeness of the girls was unmistakable, though I'd only seen one picture of them. Two beautiful young women, their long hair tied in thick, gleaming braids that hung to their waists. They were holding hands and gazing out at the viewer with wide eyes, their perfect Cupid's bow mouths smiling with bridesmaidenly bliss. Only, their bridesmaid's gowns were decidedly unique. "Togas."

"I remember that description when it came in. Someone had seen them at a private party--no connection to Binion's, I can tell you that. But they thought they were on drugs of some sort. They were almost in a trance, lying on each other, stroking each other's hair, murmuring nonsense. 'Beautiful and tragic,' my informant said."

"There's a lot of beautiful and tragic going on in the city," Nikki pointed out, her keen eyes on the drawing as well. "Why'd they stand out?"

Dixie tapped the picture with a long pink fingernail. "Something he saw them do. They were pulled up to meet someone and immediately started crying, pulling at their clothes, their hair. They got hustled right out, but the guy they had done the demonstration for was all outraged. Big spender, apparently, who was looking for some sugar, not some kind of fit."

I handed the drawing back to her. "Let me guess. He's dead."

"Found floating in Lake Mead not twelve hours later. Spooked my contact good, but that's the first and last I heard of the girls, and that was a month ago and more."

I nodded. I'd seen the date inscribed at the bottom of the drawing. They'd been in Vegas five weeks and were now out of public view. There was very little chance they were still alive.

Nikki placed a large hand on my shoulder. "We'll get them." She glanced at Dixie. "There may be others."

"Well, darlin', I didn't think you came all the way over here for my apple pie." She reached languorously over her desk and scooped up her petal-pink cell phone. "You just run along. We'll be there whenever you need us."

We turned to go, and I stopped, looking back.

"Question for you. That guy by the tattoo parlor. What's he about?"

"Jimmy?" Dixie grinned. "Honey, he's been here longer than I have. Master with a needle and ink, not so much with his love life. Keeps to himself mostly, 'less you're his client. His shop may not look like much, but he draws in some pretty high rollers."

"Right." I frowned, thinking about the image I'd seen in his window. I would have sworn it was... "He's not part of the Council, right?"

"Oh Lord, no." She looked at me, startled. "He's not even a... I mean..." She frowned. "Bless my soul, I've never really spoken with the man. He could be a Connected, but if so, he's got to be a minor one. All his magic's done with his needle, nothing more."

"Thanks." We walked out into the bright sunshine again, and I stared over at the shop. Now the sign read CLOSED, but that wasn't the only thing that had changed.

The large print of the horseman and flag were gone.

Death had left the building.

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# Chapter Eighteen

I mulled over the image the entire way to Binion's. Seeing figures from the cards in places I didn't expect them was kind of a thing for me. An ad for Red Devil pizza, a statue of Justice and her scales in the middle of nowhere. The image of a Hanged Man painted on the wall of an Italian bistro. For Death to show up in a tattoo parlor wasn't completely unusual, but given the givens, I couldn't help thinking there was a hidden message in its appearance.

What could it mean, though? Most of the time, Death meant extraordinary transformation.

Sometimes, however, it just meant a whole lot of Death.

We parked a quarter mile from Binion's. The "Fremont Street experience" included many things, but quick access to your vehicle generally wasn't one of them. Nikki changed out of her chauffeur getup into her usual street wear and lounged in a rare stretch of shade as I pulled a few cards. Seven of Swords, Pope, High Priestess. Since the Seven cautioned of trickery and the High Priestess could reference the girls' oracular powers, those made sense. The Pope, not so much. But I had a bad feeling about it.

"We good?" Nikki asked. Shed of her uniform and cap, her perfect brown mane of hair was pulled into an all-business ponytail, and her statuesque figure made the most of shiny black tights above her black stilettos. Her silky fuchsia halter top had a death grip on her chest, but her tiny bolero jacket was not exactly functional. When I nodded, she looked down at herself in sudden concern. "How in the hell am I going to pack a gun in this?"

"You're not," I said, reaching into my boot and tossing her the switchblade I kept there for special occasions. Because I'm festive like that.

She grimaced as she slid the blade out of sight between her breasts. "I'm better with a gun."

"I'll keep that in mind."

We headed off. Vegas being Vegas, we didn't draw much attention as we strode down Fremont Street. We reached the old casino in a few minutes. The stench of the place--cigarette smoke embedded into the very walls--greeted us almost before we entered the door, but it didn't take long to get used to the gloom inside.

Binion's was an old-style casino, and by old-style, I meant broke down and wheezing, with the barest glimmer of its old glory days shimmering beneath the worn façade. We pushed our way toward the cigar purveyor at the back of the building, and I slid my hand in my jacket, fanning through the cards. I pulled another one from the center of the deck.

"I love it when you do that," Nikki murmured beside me. "What's tricks?"

"Miss Wilde, what is it you think you're doing?"

"Wheel," I said, ignoring Armaeus. Apparently, our detour to Dixie's had given him the time he needed to get his bearings again. He'd figured out that we were no longer on our way to his fortress with the Devil in tow, and I somehow suspected Kreios wasn't breaking any land-speed records to get back to HQ. Why couldn't Vegas have been built on a lake? "That's not especially helpful, though. It's not like we haven't already passed a half-dozen roulette tables in this place."

"True. Then again, none of those were hanging at eye level, pretty much like a big red X marks the spot." Nikki smirked. The dark, stained-paneled corridor led down toward ominous-looking restrooms at the far end, but what Nikki was eyeing was an old clipping pasted to the paneled wall with a roulette wheel prominently featured. She scanned down the panel for a doorknob, but there wasn't any in evidence. Still, the place had the feel of a door. "You think--" Nikki began.

"You ladies lost?" A gruff voice at my side drew me up short, and Nikki stiffened as well.

Her voice, when it sounded next, was a study in tremulous fear.

"We...we have questions that no one can answer. Not right, not the way we need them to be," Nikki said, her words barely a mumble, as if she'd mixed the wrong pills and downed the combination with a tumbler of vodka. "We were sent here for help. Please, honey--we have money. Lots of money."

I kept my head down, doing my level best to scuff my boots on the ground. I never could pull off feminine, so I did better with desperate and ragtag.

"You're looking for answers?" The man leered, sticking his face into Nikki's chest. "You come back up front when you're done, and I'll give you all the answers you need." He laughed at his own joke, then banged on the wall. The panel behind the roulette wheel image pulled back, clearly a one-way door, and red light poured out of the opening. "That way." The bouncer jerked his thumb toward the ominous hallway.

"No, do not--"

The Magician's warning was cut short as the bouncer shoved us forward, apparently either not expecting us to be armed or not caring. Stupid, but not surprising in the community of dark practitioners. It was as if the weapons of this earth somehow took a backseat to true mystical powers. We walked down the shadowy hallway, peering through the murky red light. The place stank so badly, it was a miracle anyone ever came back here on purpose.

Then we were dumped into a much larger room with pounding music and the acrid smell of burning flesh heavy in the air. When my eyes finally adjusted, I revised my opinion. Based on what I was seeing, it was a miracle anyone made it out alive.

The place was a demon hole.

A favorite construct of the practitioners of the dark arts, demon holes were half club, half rave, all illegal. Bodies were packed into the tight space, writhing and churning, partiers of every shape and size, all of them clearly transported by any of a dozen synthetic cocktails mixing drugs, hallucinogenics, and magical stimulants. Music blasted from every direction, so loud the bass practically jumped the floor. How had we not heard this outside? Then screams of delight went up, and we saw the central attraction as we passed along its outskirts.

Six young women, undoubtedly the young women who'd gone missing from Dixie's care, were tied together on a long rope, blindfolded and standing in the middle of the room. The first in their line was a tall, willowy girl with white hair that might once have been long, but was now blunt cut and spiked, serving as a goth-like crown atop her head.

Snaking around the women was a sort of small labyrinth of flame made by ropes soaked in something toxic, sending up short, flickering curtains of blue-white fire. The game was immediately obvious and chilling in its cruelty: the girls were expected to work their way out of the maze without getting scorched, calling upon their apparent "psychic abilities" and intense intuition about the movements, thoughts, and experiences of each other to get the job done. From the looks of their worn, emaciated forms crisscrossed with burns, however, their Sight was weakening along with their bodies.

"Sweet mother of Jesus," Nikki hissed beside me.

"We'll get them," I promised her. "There are only six?"

"Six is enough." Nikki peered around the dark room. "And I wasn't lying to Dix back there. If Binion's has these girls out on display, who the hell else do they have? This place is a shithole, but it's got a reputation for high-grade black magic."

"Then keep a lookout. But we have to keep moving." Because Dixie's girls weren't the only lost souls in this den, and perhaps more importantly, they weren't the ones who would give us the answers we were supposedly seeking. The guy at our back pushed us toward another door, this one flanked by two enormous bodyguards, their muscled bodies like something out of a comic book. Thick plugs stretched the guards' earlobes and heavy metal horseshoes hung from their wide noses, and their soulless eyes watched us levelly as we approached.

Their heavily pierced and modded bodies were also completely naked, a fact that was not lost on Nikki. "I do admire their personnel standards here, I'll give you that," she said. The men didn't respond, but I could feel their gazes focus on her. Scowling in stereo, they stood aside at the sharp command of the man behind us.

The door swung wide.

The thick stump of a man at the center of the room was not the most interesting thing in the place, but he was the most important. Even better, I knew him. Sort of.

Son of a bitch.

Jerry Fitz had been one of the few buyers of magical artifacts I'd been told to avoid by many of my earliest mentors in this business. I hadn't realized he'd set up shop in Vegas. I wouldn't have pictured him at Binion's either. The guy had money, and a whole lot of it. What was he doing in the back room of a two-bit demon hole on Fremont Street?

I struggled to remember what I knew of Jerry Fitz. He'd started out life as an oracle of sorts, then had quickly figured out that the big money was in pimping the talent, not putting himself out there on the line day after day, particularly as the Connected community got darker and more dangerous. He picked up a mini harem of psychics drawn to his charisma and money, and when the first one had tried to leave, he'd made such a vivid example of her that no one else had attempted it. After that, it was merely a matter of luring in new talent with money and drugs and protection, keeping them locked down and performing at the rate he needed them to perform, and then going where the money was.

And the money had apparently led him here.

Once again, this was quite a few rungs down on the evolution scale. What was I missing? It was dark, it stank, and the crowd outside had seemed decidedly low-rent. True, he clearly had total dominion here, but I hadn't heard a word breathed about Fitz in the past few years. For a megalomaniac like him, that was tantamount to forever.

More intriguing, it looked like he was going to be our personal moderator on today's Q&A session. For someone who had a rep for turning over the dirty work to his minions, that was unusual. Was he seeking a particular question to test his process or tip him off to danger? Had he become more OCD over the years? Was he trying to branch out, learn new skills?

I took in his stumpy form. The picture I'd been given of him five years ago when I'd gone after my first artifact had clearly been pre-body mods. Now Fitz had more metal and plastic implanted under his skin than the Terminator, with not terribly attractive results. But he did look scary enough, I supposed. And those mods... Something about those mods made me nervous. The tech on this job was becoming a little intense, like the bright shiny map of the planet in the Magician's French stronghold, and the electronic death helmet that had encased Kreios beneath the abbey.

Magic had always been about low-tech mastery, you and the force of nature, the ephemeral connection between and around all living things. Magic and psychic skills combined with electronics was...an unknown quantity. It went beyond modern technoceuticals and into places like the Stargate experiment of the 1970s by the US Department of Defense during Russia's Cold War push for dominance. Back then, those experiments had failed.

I got the feeling they wouldn't be failing now.

Fitz finally seemed ready to give us his full attention. "Welcome, welcome," he oozed, turning from his high-tech command center, with its knobs and screens and levers. "What is your question? How can I help you achieve the peace you so deserve?" He glanced at Nikki, smiling indulgently at her garish outfit, then switched his gaze to me.

And froze.

Freezing is never good.

"You..." he said wonderingly. In that moment, I made a half-dozen quick realizations. First, Fitz was either batshit crazy or high. His eyes had that glittering frenzy of someone stretched to the breaking point, and everything on him twitched. Second, he didn't look nearly as bad as he should have for someone hopped up on drugs. He was positively spoiled with health, in fact--skin tone rich and flush with blood, hair still on his head, teeth intact. Third, his breath smelled of burnt acid, which might or might not mean anything more than a really bad burrito for lunch.

But it was a final set of insights that were the most troubling. One, he wasn't wearing a weapon. That meant he didn't need one, which didn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy. Two, he was solidly built beneath all the body mods, so he wasn't going to go down easy.

Third, he clearly recognized me. Or thought he did.

I took a step back as Fitz barked out a command in some language that--once again--I couldn't recognize. Clearly, I needed to brush up on my ancient tongues.

But it was too late to consult the Rosetta Stone now. In the space of a breath, two guards were at either side of me, bracing my arms so hard they lifted me off my feet. Another two guards held Nikki--the bouncers from the front door, as it happened, which I didn't know was a good thing or a bad thing. Without being told to do so, they pulled her from the room and back into the chaos of the club, so I decided: good thing.

Meanwhile, my personal set of guards had liberated the gun from my holster as well as my deck of cards, dumping both on the table in front of me, along with my box of Tic Tacs, cell phone, some stray euros, my tourist map of Rome...and a key-fob-sized Magic 8 Ball. I frowned at the last item. Granted, it was a really cute tchotchke to have on hand as a backup to my cards, but it wasn't mine. In fact, I'd never seen the thing before. Where the hell had it come from?

That thought, of course, led me straight to Kreios. Had the Devil planted the toy on me when I wasn't looking? And if so, why?

Ignoring both me and my perplexing pocket toy for another moment, Jerry Fitz leaned over the console in front of him. Suddenly, the panels lining the wall slid apart, revealing two stunning young women collapsed on the floor behind a sheet of glass. I surged forward, but the guards held me tight. The two sprawled girls were nearly naked, their hair fanning out around them, but there was no question that they were the twins from Father Jerome's list--and from Dixie's wall of wonders. Both of them sported matching black hair, pale skin, delicate features, long limbs. Both of them appeared dead to the world. Both of them were Greek goddesses in the flesh who moved only when a gong-like chime sounded at a flip of Fitz's fingers.

With an almost ghostly languor, the girls stretched upright, stirring toward wakefulness. Eventually, they pulled themselves to their knees, then their vacant gazes swung toward the glass. Resolve knifed through me. These faces would not haunt me, dammit--they would not join the ranks of the missing whose lives I could not save.

"Lost." The whisper slowly built. "All is lost."

The Oracle of Delphi was ready for her close-up.

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# Chapter Nineteen

Beside me, staring at the plate glass, Fitz fairly bounced with excitement.

"Do you have any idea how long it is between visits from a truly gifted Connected?" he asked, though who he was asking, I wasn't really sure. The two creatures holding me in place weren't talking, and I wasn't much in the mood for twenty questions. "I seek so little in this world. The chance to explore. To learn. To put my creations to the test, refining and improving them until they could take their place among the angels. But I must always wait. Be patient. It is...tedious."

"What are you doing here, Fitz?" Did he truly know who I was, specifically? Somehow, I didn't think so. I didn't think he'd truly looked at my face. He'd just sensed something about me at twenty paces, the same way I could sense the level of magical ability in a person by touch. Either way, whatever he sensed in me now had him chortling to himself.

I wasn't a fan of Fitz chortling.

"It has taken many years to perfect the formula." He fiddled with more controls as I assessed my situation. I couldn't overpower the guards without my gun, and the room wasn't offering much in the way of other great ideas. Fitz had decorated the place in vintage Hugh Hefner, all silk pillows and shag rugs, rosy light and artful porn. Whoever he entertained here on a regular basis was either male or extremely open-minded. Shelves filled with artifacts lined the walls, some of the pieces worth quite a bit to my trained eye, but none of them close enough to matter.

An unearthly moan sounded over the speakers, and my gaze snapped back to the glass wall. The young women in the chamber were now swaying, colorful gas filling the room around them. Fitz turned another dial, smiling as their faces creased in pain. "I call it Pythene: methane, ethylene, benzene, and a few other nice additions to make the oracles more animated," he said, watching the girls as if they were his prized pets. "Admittedly, the combination is quite lethal after prolonged exposure. But my newest subjects have proven to be delightfully durable. And, in the end, there are always more voices to add to the song."

His oily glance slid over to me. "Like yours, my dear. I have a knack for sensing talent, I should tell you. Yours is exquisite." His hand shook with his own pleasure, and I squinted at his wrist. A large black metal cuff adorned it, etched with a glyph that looked almost like--

"Speak!" Fitz commanded, watching me, and I jerked my gaze back toward the girls. They now stood pressed up against the glass. Despite myself, I shrank back. Their eyes were dead, their mouths agape. And they were staring at me.

"Chosen," they intoned, and Fitz leered.

"You see? I am never wrong. You've been sent to me like a gift, to further my exploration. To take me closer to the ultimate truth." He turned back to the women. "Why is she here?"

"Finder!" the woman on the right cried out, her hands lifting to her ears.

"Chosen!" the other moaned before lapsing into unintelligible babble.

They both rocked on unsteady feet, their loose shifts slipping off their shoulders, revealing the bodies of girls who were barely teenagers. They pressed their hands against the glass as if straining to get out, their faces tight with pain. "Darkness," they all but sobbed in near tandem, one echoing the other in some sort of twisted overdub. "Death and war and darkness." Revulsion coiled in my stomach at their words, their panicked faces. What must these women be seeing?

Fitz almost giggled. "And so you have come into my place of darkness, on the brink of death and war, to achieve your potential." With another sharp crack of his command, the guards shoved me down to my knees. I was now eye level with my scattered cards.

"Sorry, guys," I muttered, knowing that no matter what happened in this room, I probably wouldn't be keeping hold of them. Half the cards were on the floor, but the one topmost on the tabletop pile was faceup. And I really wasn't happy to see it again.

The Tower.

In a Tarot reading, being dealt the image of an exploding building was very rarely a good thing. Especially when you were currently trapped inside a building, with no discernible way out.

"Speak to me." Fitz stood right in front of me now, his bug eyes bulging as he held up something that looked distressingly like a hookah. He pushed the nozzle of the contraption into my mouth as one of the thugs clamped down on my jaw and pinched my nose shut.

Then--with a sharp brutality I wouldn't have thought he had in him--Fitz shoved his fist into my stomach.

Startled, I blew out a sharp gust of breath, then inhaled before I could resist the primal urge. Only, the gas from the hookah hose now stuck in my mouth was nothing like actual air. I instantly convulsed, going rigid in the guards' grip as Fitz did something with the device that shot more gas into my lungs. My head filled with images and noise, my stomach roiled, and when he finally yanked the hose out of my mouth, I lurched forward, ready to throw up everything I'd eaten for the last six weeks.

Instead, only words spewed out of my mouth, thick and hot.

"Death comes for you," I wheezed and took some satisfaction from how Fitz's face suddenly went from cackling enjoyment to confusion. "Destruction. Loss. Your kingdom-- vanquished." I said this last on a gasp, and the effort it took to push the word out grated along my windpipe, as if the word itself had claws.

I swung my gaze to the women behind the glass. Was this what they felt every time they were compelled to speak their prophecy? The pain was raw and fiery, and it didn't dim with the passage of words. Not when more of them kept bubbling up insistently. "Lost. Failed," I wheezed. "Destroyed. Forgotten."

"You haven't been properly prepared," Fitz growled, thrusting the tube at my mouth again despite my efforts to squirm away.

The gas poured into me once more, and my eyes practically rolled back in my head, the images shattering through me those of destruction and pain, fire and noise. Once again, with startling clarity, the black papal seal seared across my memory. I flailed forward, grasping Fitz's wrist to where an identical seal was etched into his cuff. "You are betrayed!" I gasped.

"Get off me!" Fitz threw up his arm, and clearly his mods included some sort of steroidal component, because for a small man he really could pack a punch. I staggered back against the guards, barely coherent as they hauled my body up once more, Fitz beside me the whole time, blasting my face, my eyes with the gas. As I mumbled words that made no sense, I was dragged across the carpet, deadweight in the arms of the two guards. A door opened, and they tossed me to the floor. "Full dose," I heard Fitz call out as the door slammed behind me, and I blearily turned to peer through the glass.

What I saw was a nightmare.

There was no longer just the sleazily posh room of Jerry Fitz and his thugs on the other side of the smeared glass, but the throng of dancing humanity beyond it as well, then the worn-down Binion's casino beyond that, people hunched over faded baize-topped tables, acrid smoke heavy in the air.

And I could see farther, to where the Devil reclined in some glassed-in penthouse, sipping from a golden chalice--then off again through streets and deserts and cities and oceans, until I soared far into the East, to the seat of Fitz's master, amid a glorious palace.

Beyond that, as if lying in wait, something alien stirred in the darkness--a blue figure trapped on a field of red. And in the midst of all this, in the center of a great, arched room hung with gilded paintings and glittering treasure, I could see soldiers standing at attention around a black-robed man whose slight stature belied his strength. They all bent over a gleaming black console--as sleek and dark as Fitz's wrist cuff, emblazoned with the same grim seal, minus the dagger that also adorned Fitz's. While gas filled the small chamber and the young women beside me sent up a keening wail, I lurched toward the glass. They're coming!

"Speak!" The voice crackled over me, so loud it could be God himself demanding me to share my desperate vision.

"SANCTUS!" I cried, and I could sense Fitz stiffen, though his guards didn't flinch, apparently unaware of the meaning of the name, unaware of anything except the commands of their leader. I pounded against the glass, my words frantic now, panicked. "Death! Destruction! Your kingdom turned to fire!" I shook my head, frustrated at my own confusion. I need to be more clear!

"You lie!" Fitz roared back at me, and I felt the tears pool in my eyes, the warm rush of them falling down my cheeks as another burst of gas streamed from the vents. "I have delivered them their Devil and they have paid me for my work. I am one of them. I have done all that they asked, an initiate to their cause. I am ready to serve!"

"They despise you," I cried, gagging on the gas that filled the space. "You are the filth they must get rid of before what is to come. You will die--you must."

"I have met my obligations!" Fitz strode toward the glass, shoving his finger at me. "No! You are not ready. I sensed the Sight in you, but it's too wild, too broken. You're a shattered toy that no longer serves its master, and I have not put you back together yet. I will, though." His face swelled up with meanness, and he leaned toward the glass, bug-eyed and cruel. "You cannot partake of the Pythene mists if you're not pure of heart, and you are not prepared!"

The laughter welled up inside me as I reached some new level of hysteria, something snapping within me like a too-frayed string. "And you have been betrayed," I hissed, my words silken with threat. I crawled along the glass wall, my fingers grasping at its smooth surface. "You have been betrayed, and you will suffer, Gerard Fitz, undone by fear and treachery."

"Shut up!" Fitz snapped, but he stumbled back from the glass at whatever he saw in my eyes, grabbing for his console.

"Did you think you could deceive the prince of lies?" I continued, slithering against the glass, tracking his path. "That there would be no price to pay? That pain would not rain down upon you in a storm of fire, engulfing your very soul?"

Fitz's fingers twisted knobs on his console, and a new mixture flooded into the room. Even in my hallucinating state, I recognized a change in the gasses, my body sagging forward as Fitz grinned in unholy triumph. Foggily, blearily, I realized his leering mug would be the last thing I would ever see on this earth.

That was a little depressing.

Right up until the moment his head blew apart.

The glass shattered with the force of the blast, and oxygen rushed into the space as the noxious fumes spilled out, creating a deadly cocktail of gas and fire. The guards, realizing too late the carnage that was about to ensue, still managed to almost reach the door before being blasted through it, and I could hear the screams of the dancing throng in the world beyond.

And then, for a long and horrifying breath...there was nothing but smoke and darkness, and a distant, shimmering blue figure, trapped on a field of red.

Watching me.

"Sara!"

Nikki was at my side, hauling me up as my eyes blinked open again, one of the body-modded guards at her side. Somewhere, he'd found trousers, I noted through my delirium, and he gathered up the two girls on the floor, one under each arm, then pounded for the door.

I tried to make my feet move, but my legs wouldn't cooperate, slipping and sliding on the scorched carpet. Nikki used her not inconsiderable strength to throw me over her shoulder in an impressive fireman carry, giving me a unique upside-down view of the room. I blinked and stared, trying to make sense of everything, while trying equally hard not to vomit. Girl had paid way too much for those stilettos.

Fitz's chamber wasn't burning nearly as much as it should have been, given the destruction that immediately surrounded the bomb. Unfortunately, the only thing left of Fitz was a few of his hardier modifications--and the smoking wreckage of his exploded wrist cuff. Lying next to it was an equally pulverized...Magic 8 Ball.

I grinned, drunk on vertigo. Let the police figure out what to do with that.

The outer room of the demon hole was impressively empty by the time Nikki dragged me through it, her mouth going a mile a minute. "Hans and Franz--whoever they are, I appreciate muscle like that, you know? And no inhibitions about putting it on display? I mean did you see those guys' asses, I'm telling you," she began, stilettos clumping over the now-doused labyrinth of fire, smoke heavy in the air. It seemed like we were going in the wrong direction, and I suddenly felt...not so good. Not so good at all.

"Fortunately, they agreed Dixie's psychics weren't going to be good to anyone dead, after I practically promised I'd have their babies. They're going to be so disappointed when they figure out the plumbing doesn't quite connect that way. Such nice shoulders." She sighed. "By the time I got back to you, all hell had literally blown up, and half the planet had fled like rats on fire."

A door opened and closed, and we were in some sort of hallway, lit by dim blue light. Nikki picked up speed as we moved, and I focused on keeping all my insides from becoming my outsides. "But kudos to Fitz's interior decorator, right? The back of Binion's opens up into a maze of underground tunnels that extend out into points all over old Vegas. You can get anywhere from anywhere down here, I'm thinking. And most importantly, we can get out."

"Mmph," I muttered as Nikki finally clattered to a stop. She slipped me off her shoulder, steadying me as I swayed.

"You look like shit, sweet cakes, but the moment we step outside these walls, the Council is gonna be on you like rubber on a duck." She snapped her fingers in front of my eyes until I pushed her hand away.

"Why?" I managed, then squinted as she waved at the high-tech fixtures blinking down at us over the large door.

"Fitz may have been a bastard, but he wasn't cheap. That unit's from Techzilla." She grinned. "Psychic jamming device, top of the line. I suspect the Council will want to get their hands on it, since it clearly blocks their asses too." She waggled her brows at me. "Unless Hans and Franz strip it out of here first, which I sincerely hope they do. You ready for prime time?"

I nodded, and she opened the door. We were in an alley that ran behind the Binion's building, crowded with delivery trucks and a dozen or so half-clad clubbers. Smoke puffed out of some of the doors as they banged open, smelling of sulfur and too-sweet gas. There'd been so much gas--

"Up you go, babe." Nikki had a strong arm around me, keeping me steady when I would have slumped to the ground. "I got a feeling we're not out of this yet."

She was right. We hadn't moved ten feet when my vision was obscured by two perfect feet shod in luxury leather sandals. Laughter floated down around my head.

"I have so missed this city." I squinted up into sunlight as the Devil stared down, his gaze full of warm admiration. "And all its many charms."

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# Chapter Twenty

Nikki let me drop to the ground with admirable speed as she stood up, balancing on her high heels. My head swam, and my lungs felt...fouled. Each new breath didn't improve the situation either. It was like I was adding to the contamination by inhaling the hot, dusty air. I shook my head, trying to clear it. No dice.

Kreios offered Nikki a handkerchief to wipe the grit from her face. "You'd better not have been kidding about that invite to your club," she said as she took it. "I've earned a serious VIP suite."

"I will personally see to all your needs." He considered me again as Nikki's gasp devolved into a stuttering cough. "You were hurt worse than I expected," he said, sounding surprised. "But you killed him, I assume?"

"Fitz? He is definitely dead." Nikki wasn't quite willing to give up the floor, and I was more than happy to let her carry on. "Unless he got modded to regenerate himself from bite-size pieces, anyway."

"We didn't kill anyone," I rasped. "You're the one who planted that bomb."

He frowned at me, appearing genuinely confused. "Me?" he asked. "The Council doesn't kill mortals. Mortals kill mortals." He looked down at his perfectly manicured fingers, apparently admiring the job of his nail tech. "The fire that was set outside the necropolis exit was not deadly. Painful, perhaps. Not deadly. The men in the abbey--at no time did I lift a hand against any of them. I had you and your associate to thank for that. And here..." He waved at the bombed-out building. "This is an unfortunate accident emanating from the lair of an avowed meth cooker. We are merely lucky that the police and all their earnest young detectives are on their way. Thank heavens more innocent bystanders were not harmed."

"Right." I had no patience for the Council's loopholes right now, or its effed-up code of honor. And, truth to tell, SANCTUS could have been behind that bomb instead of the Devil. Fitz's wrist cuff had been as destroyed as my Magic 8 Ball. Had Kreios planted a bomb or a harmless toy? And did it matter in the end? I was out. The kidnapped psychics were out.

Either way, there was something in Kreios's words that nagged me, something whispering of warning. What was it he'd said? How had he said it, exactly? My vision blurred again as I bent forward, my hands on my knees, overcome with a sudden hacking fit that teetered on the edge of something far worse.

"How much did she ingest?" Kreios asked over my wheezing. I missed Nikki's answer as I spit into the street, pretty sure I should be concerned at the vivid green hue of my bile.

"What was that shit?" I muttered. Kreios stepped closer, apparently unmoved by the Technicolor display.

"In addition to the gasses Mr. Fitz no doubt mentioned to you, as he was ever a fan of explaining his experiments in vivid detail, the mixture contains a cocktail of high-end designer hallucinogenics with electromagnetic properties," he supplied. "Technoceuticals, I believe is the street term. The very latest coming out of southern Asia, where they've somewhat cornered the market on the trade. According to our resources, your host was engaged in some highly lucrative test applications intended to enhance the ability of known high-functioning Connecteds. With the proper combination, and once he managed to hurdle the unfortunately terminal side effects which seemed to accompany all such combinations to date, he could easily go out and turn midrange Connecteds into high-functioning ones, and high-functioning ones into demigods. Or that was the theory."

"Psychopath." Nikki sniffed. But there was a note in her voice that I didn't miss, and I thought of Dixie back at her chapel. She and Dixie were two midrange Connecteds fighting on the side of good. If anyone would benefit from a technoceutical charge-up, why not them?

"Quite," Kreios said, scattering my thoughts again. "Now that the wards are down on his lair, we will send in our analysts, at least once the police have--"

"Police!" I jerked my head up, panic finally cutting through my nausea. That couldn't happen. His words from before suddenly trickled into my mind. The police and all their earnest young detectives... No. No, and no, and no.

"Okay, I'm out. Give Armaeus my love." I straightened up painfully, willing my head to stop spinning. "He knows where to reach me."

"So it is the police that centers your fear, Sara Wilde," Kreios mused, eyeing me with renewed interest. "Except your fear is far greater than I find useful, as it shrouds your mind from me."

"Hang on a tick," Nikki interrupted the Devil's complaint, peering down the alley. "That's the ride for my girls. I also have no interest in dealing with the boys in blue, scrumptious though they may be. So let me get them out of here. We picked up a few stragglers along the way, and I need Dixie to triage." She strode off to where the narrow alley intersected with a main street. A bright pink bus emblazoned with "Chapel of Everlasting Love in the Stars" now idled there. Next to it, two highly pierced guards stood watch over a clutch of young women, along with some adult males and a white-haired couple huddled together on the pavement, and the still-unconscious twins as well. I should go to the girls, I knew, make sure they were all right. I should report in to Father Jerome. I should close the loop and finish the job.

But the sound of sirens pounded through me, igniting me with a wholly unreasonable fear. Right now, I have to get out of here. The rest I'd figure out later.

I turned back to Kreios, but he'd already slipped away--no doubt to explore the building for himself before the police poured through it. The alley was finally clearing of smoke, and dizzying heat beat down on me.

I hated this city, I decided. Hated everything to do with it. And everything it held. I wanted nothing more than to leave it behind for good.

But as nausea crashed over me again, pinning me in place for another moment, I also couldn't deny what I'd seen while under the influence of Fitz's Pythene gas.

SANCTUS was coming.

Whether they had killed Fitz or the Devil had, I was no longer sure, but their darkness was stretching toward Vegas--was already in Vegas, I suspected. No way was Fitz the only dark practitioner on their payroll. I thought of Barnabus back in Italy. Were the Knights Templar aligning themselves against the Council as well?

And if so, it all came back to why. Clearing out the Connected communities made sense if you were an ultraconservative religious group. But the Knights Templar were as underground as the Connecteds, and their relationship with the Church had been anything but open. The mere fact they still existed, if they truly still existed, opened up an entirely new level of crazy.

Someone needed to bring the Council up to speed, assuming that Kreios hadn't already. Beyond that, Nikki's and Dixie's people needed to be warned. Prepared. How long had Fitz been operating at Binion's, financed by SANCTUS or at least in their good graces? How much had SANCTUS already penetrated the city? If they were about to wage war in Las Vegas, the off-Strip carnies would be the first to fall.

And then there were the girls from Kavala. They were in no shape to be moved out of the city. It wasn't reasonable to ask Father Jerome to come here to oversee their recovery. He had children of his own to find, in addition to his work in the cathedral. He'd want me to stay, get them on their feet, protect them for as long as it took to arrange for their safe transport back to their home village, assuming that was even a viable option anymore. How long had they been in Fitz's lair? And what had they endured before they'd gotten here?

I sighed, the familiar urge to run gnawing at me, matched by the equally oppressive obligation to stay. Those were my options: I could leave, disappear. Hole up somewhere until I could inhale without hearing green slime rattle around in my lungs.

Or I could call Armaeus right now.

The first decision at least made some level of sense. The second involved actually facing the nightmares that had pierced the mists of Fitz's Oracle room. The soldiers of SANCTUS preparing their plans, and then that--that creature behind them, hovering in the darkness. Lying in wait. In my mind's eye, I felt its gaze flicker over me again--and suddenly I knew.

I couldn't leave. Not yet. I had to warn Armaeus that SANCTUS was coming.

I reached into my jacket for my cell phone, the movement feeling more momentous than it should, as if a ripple was shooting out across the universe, ringing some far-off bell.

Then I remembered my phone was back in Fitz's demon hole, blown to bits.

Oh well. Leaving was probably the smarter idea anyway.

I wiped my hand over my face and, limping, headed in the opposite direction of Nikki and her gaggle of exhausted, half-broken psychics. I'd find some place to hide for a few days, catch some sleep, and heal. Then I'd figure out how to meet my obligations without--

I fell back from the curb as a car shot by me too quickly. Vertigo clouded my vision, and I staggered a little to the side, smoke and gorge rising up once more in my throat. The car braked and backed up, and panic shattered through me. With the visionary clarity of the Oracle, I saw myself stumbling to the pavement as the door opened, sickness overtaking me, never even feeling the hands beneath my shoulders, around my waist, barely able to discern the words sliding through my head.

"A decision, once made, cannot be unmade, Miss Wilde."

"No!" I shook my head hard as the limo stopped beside me. The door didn't open, though, and I didn't fall down.

Forget that. If Armaeus swept me away now, I'd be just as trapped as those girls behind glass. I knew the Magician, and I knew how he worked. If I didn't go to him on my own terms, or at least healthy, I'd be overwhelmed. It'd happened before.

"Miss?"

I turned and squinted into the sunlight. A man was walking up the street to me, his gait so familiar, so self-assured, that for a moment I simply stood there, unsure of where--or who--I even was. I took a step back, more out of self-preservation than anything else, and something changed in the man's body as well. Recognition swept through me in a visceral wave, so electric that the air seemed to explode, circuits popping in my brain, my heart, my joints, my bloodstream.

The detective--and it was a detective; it had to be, from the cheap brown suit to the badge on his belt to the worn, tanned face, messy hair and squinting eyes--froze another moment as well. I felt rather than heard his next question, the word so quiet I could almost believe I'd imagined it. "Sariah?"

Oh. Hell. No.

I reached out for the door to the limo and wrenched it open, piling myself inside. "Go, go!" I gasped as the door slammed shut behind me, the pounding steps of a man fading into the background. The driver complied, bending forward to jump out into traffic, revving the engine hard to leave the detective in the dust.

Holy shit. Brody Rooks. Had he truly seen me? His voice had been uncertain, his eyes disbelieving whatever his brain was trying to convince him had just happened. He had to have known it was really me, though, right? Right?

No sirens erupted behind us as we zipped along the boulevard, however. And the driver--Armaeus, of course--didn't ask for my destination. Instead, he studied me in the rearview mirror. "You want to tell me what that was all about?"

"Can't you figure it out yourself?"

"No, Miss Wilde, I can't. Which, please let me assure you, I find more tedious than you can possibly imagine."

His unexpected candor threw me for a second, and I hunkered down in the backseat, alternating between attempting to breathe without pain and trying to unscramble my brains. Neither was working out too well.

"Where are we going?" I asked instead, sounding like a thousand-year-old smoker.

"To Prime Luxe."

I frowned at him. "You live in a steakhouse?"

Armaeus didn't dignify that with a response, which was fine by me. I was hunched so low in the limo seat that I felt like I was five years old, seeing Vegas for the first time. Only I wasn't seeing the Vegas that everyone else saw, I knew. We approached the Strip from the north end, and as we passed the Stratosphere, I squinted hard, seeing the barest shimmer of another shadow casino. "Who lives here?"

"No one," Armaeus said curtly. "You should rest. There will be plenty of time for you to explore your new home once you have recovered."

"I'm not staying here." Every time I spoke, I expected the words to come out of my mouth on a puff of smoke, like a cartoon dragon. "There's too many people in this city."

The silence from the front of the car was noncommittal, but I knew Armaeus was anything but. Which irritated me as well. He didn't know me, not really. He'd used me for a half-dozen jobs, and I was a reliable finder to him, nothing more. He had no right to ask me to stay anywhere I didn't want to stay, and if he threw the whole SANCTUS war at me, I'd call bullshit.

Oh God. SANCTUS.

I struggled upright, the movement hurting more than it had any right to. "You need to know this."

"If it isn't about the man who was following you, it can wait."

"It can't wait." I clenched my hands into fists and pressed them against my belly. Why wasn't I feeling any better? "Jerry Fitz was working with SANCTUS. He had a cuff on his wrist that was imprinted with the same glyph that I saw tatted on that Swiss Guard lookalike. Pope hat and tails, the whole bit. His also had a dagger at the bottom, for what that's worth. He was transmitting to them the whole time I was there. I have no idea what, but when I was...in that room..."

"Rest is the best way you could serve right now, Miss Wilde. Do not make me force you to do so. As you requested, I am asking you nicely first." Armaeus's haughty golden glare raked over me. "But I'm only going to ask you once."

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# Chapter Twenty-One

"Fine." I flopped back in my seat, my bones jarring with pain. "I shouldn't hurt this much, by the way. Just sayin'."

"Do you know why you do?"

"Because Jerry Fitz is--was--an asshole? That about covers it, I think."

"There is more to it than that, I suspect." Armaeus cruised past the Wynn Casino. I blinked down the Strip and saw the negative reflections of the half-hidden homes of the Council. The white tower soaring above Treasure Island, the stone fortress that dominated Caesar's Palace. Scandal, the only arcane casino that chose to advertise, flickered above the Flamingo. An elegant castle of fairyland proportions glittered in the harsh sunlight above Bellagio, and a black tower surmounted Paris.

Farther down was the ancient yet somehow techno-modern steel-and-glass monstrosity of what was apparently called Prime Luxe, the Magician's home. It didn't have its name flickering in neon along its towering spires, but with a name like Prime Luxe, I couldn't blame it.

Still, the palace towered over the Luxor Hotel with its gleaming pyramid and golden sphinxes, and I had to smile at the nod to a lifetime that could never be restored. Armaeus had been Egyptian before he had become Arcanan. Some memories were worth keeping alive, apparently.

Up in the front seat, Armaeus was waiting for me to continue. Loudly.

I sighed. "Yeah, well, forgive me for stripping it down for you. Fitz stuffed his Pythene gas tube into my mouth and turned the jets on full. That much hot air did a number on my lungs, not to mention my nervous system."

"Certainly, but that's not the only reason."

"Enlighten me."

"We're here." I looked up and, as always, Armaeus was a master of the understatement. He cut the wheel and sped into the drive of the Luxor like he owned the place. Which he did, after a fashion. The valet-service boys jogged up to us, their Luxor uniforms flickering between the garish gold of the beloved casino and the deep navy of Luxe. Armaeus stopped and glanced back at me. "Can you walk? I can assist--"

"I can walk." The door swung open, and a masculine hand reached out, which I grabbed with perhaps a bit more force than expected. Still, I was half lifted out of the vehicle with admirable grace, and I didn't have the mental strength to figure out how Armaeus had managed to move from the front seat to my car door in a split second, replacing the valet boy. He folded my hand over his arm, snugging me to his body. The contact with him short-circuited my system from the tip of my head to my toes, and, too late, I realized I no longer wore the Tyet around my neck.

Armaeus's chuckle was soft. "I'm not going to accost you when you can barely stand, Miss Wilde."

"Mmph." If anything, my vertigo grew worse, not better, here in the Magician's lair. I squinted and shook my head, trying to reconcile the tone-on-tone overlay between the very real Luxor and the not-quite-as-real Prime Luxe. I hung on to Armaeus shamelessly, and he provided a solidity I hadn't experienced in far too long.

Don't get used to this, I warned myself, but any attempt at intelligence was not really tops on my list right now. Not after what I'd been through over the last few days. Not after what I'd been through over the last ten years. Not after what had happened to me a decade ago, on a sun-blasted day in Memphis, when everything I'd thought I was and everything I thought I'd be had blown up in my face.

Bake my biscuits. Brody Rooks. Of course he'd be called in to investigate the one place in Vegas I most needed him not to be, before I could escape cleanly. Of all the gin joints in all the world...

But it wasn't that surprising, I supposed, that he would get the freak-show detail for Vegas. Back in the day, he was the cop who'd made his name working with the kooks in Memphis. Back in the day, he'd been willing to listen to people who didn't merit much more than a snickering reference on cable news.

Back in the day...

I shoved those thoughts away as Armaeus shouldered me closer to him. He punched the button to a bank of elevators that shimmered slightly out of alignment with the other elevators in the Luxor lobby. I peered around, trying to get my bearings, which was impossible with the cases of kitschy Egyptian trinkets all around me and the wildly colored carpet that assaulted the eyes along with all the gold.

The doors swooshed open, and he ushered me inside.

I really did mean to stop leaning on the Magician then, to support myself on one of the four very capable walls surrounding me. But that seemed like an awful lot of work.

"I can help you heal, Miss Wilde, but you must allow me to do that."

"So what are you waiting for," I muttered against his chest. It was a very nice chest. "You got insurance paperwork for me to sign or something?"

"Not exactly. But your mind is closed to me."

"That's kind of the point, isn't it? It being my mind and all."

The slightest trace of irritation laced the Magician's sigh as the elevator slowed, an amber light glowing on the console marked "P." I was pretty sure we weren't heading for the Parking garage. The doors opened, and my suspicion was rewarded with a flood of light from windows on all sides. "You don't have to make this so difficult. I'm not going to attack you when your guard is down."

"Oh, give me a break. That's exactly what you're going to do."

"She's right, of course." The Devil's rich voice floated over us, full of laughter, and the Magician's entire body went rigid. Given my proximity to said body, it was a good reminder of how strong the guy really was. And how hot, for the record.

"Now you decide to show up?" Armaeus refused to let go of me until we reached the main sitting area of the opulent space, a collection of overstuffed couches that were built for giants. Nevertheless, I held off on being deposited on one. The moment I sank into that much luxury, I was going to pass out.

"I don't suppose you have a bathroom somewhere closer than a quarter mile away in this place? I'm pretty sure I still have glass shards in my hair."

Armaeus twitched with irritation. "Of course. We need to assess your condition anyway."

Before I could comment on how wrong that idea was, a woman emerged from the side of the room. Built like a discus thrower, she was dressed in the same liveried uniform as the valet, but she had the firm, no-nonsense manner of-- "Oh, for God's sake, Armaeus," I groaned.

"You have two choices, Miss Wilde." He didn't elaborate on option number two. He didn't need to.

"Gotcha. Nurse Ratched it is."

The woman smiled. "I'll do my utmost to ensure you're not lobotomized while in my care. Sir?" She gestured to Armaeus, who was still holding on to me like I was his prized stuffy. He reluctantly handed me into her arms.

We hadn't cleared the lobby before he started laying into the Devil, once more using the strange language I had heard them speak on the phone. Really, I was going to have to look into the Google Translate options for ancient Sumerian.

"You've done quite a number on yourself." The woman exited to a long, quiet corridor, the hushed lighting and plush carpet a balm to my senses. "Your first time in Vegas?"

Despite myself, I laughed. I was leaning harder on her than I wanted to, but she seemed unfazed by my weight. "You get banged-up guests a lot in here?"

"On occasion. My name is Margaret Sells, by the way--Dr. Margaret Sells, if it makes you feel better."

"Sorry."

"My fault for not wearing the white coat. I didn't want to alarm you until I could introduce myself."

"Armaeus call you on the Batphone or something while we were en route?"

I could hear the smile in her voice, though my eyes had drooped to half slits. "Something like that. I am on retainer with the Luxor. When Mr. Bertrand has a need for me, I'm happy to help. You're the first bomb victim in a while, though." We turned into a room that could have served as anything from a massage parlor to an operating suite, and she eased me over to the sink. "Let's get some of this glass out first, before I examine you."

"You've got the con."

The next several minutes were accompanied by the pinging sounds of shrapnel landing against stainless steel as the woman dictated a laundry list of my injuries into what I assumed was a digital recorder. Either that or she just liked the sound of herself nattering on. Either way, I learned that I suffered several minor contusions and lacerations, a probable slight dislocation of the right shoulder, a left ankle sprain I hadn't even noticed, and probable significant gas poisoning. The green tint to my lips was apparently a key indicator.

By the time we'd gotten to that part, I was sitting on the massage table, blowing into a device that looked impressively like a Breathalyzer. The doctor clucked as she watched the readings. "I've never seen anything like this, and I've been at it awhile," she said. "The makeup of these toxins..."

"Pythene gas," I managed after she took the mask from my face. "Ever hear of it?"

Her gray eyes flicked to mine. "Pythene, no. But I'm guessing it's tied to Pythia, as in the Oracle of Delphi?"

"You know your mythology."

"It's becoming an occupational necessity." She pursed her lips. "I can't prescribe an antidote for this kind of poisoning, though. Deep breathing of purified oxygen will help, but otherwise it's just time." She frowned as she looked into my eyes, and in my peripheral vision, I saw her pick up a slender penlight. With a murmured warning, she shined it in my eyes.

I didn't flinch.

"Your pupils aren't reacting. Has your vision changed since your exposure to the gas?"

I grimaced. "You could say that. But I can see you and the rest of this." I waved tiredly around the room. "Even though the rest of the world can't."

"The transdimensional paradox, yes." Dr. Sells spoke as if I should know what the hell she was talking about. "Our initial perception is that we should be standing in the middle of thin air, but the transdimension, where this building exists, is quite real, if you know where and how to look. And if you have Connected capabilities."

My blinking had nothing to do with her penlight. I reached out and touched the only exposed skin in easy reach, her arm above her plastic glove. Sure enough, there was the slightest zing. "I didn't know."

She smiled. "You'll find minor ability throughout the medical community, I expect. There's a reason why intuition plays such a powerful role in a doctor's success."

"And are you part of the community community?" I asked. "As in, here in Vegas?"

The idea appeared to startle her. "You mean, do I interact with the psychics?" She frowned. "I don't have much call to do so."

"Yeah, well." I thought about SANCTUS and the visions I'd seen at Binion's while sucking on that infernal gas. The visions of a war in the heart of Las Vegas, of blood and spirit and fire. "You're about to."

"Miss Wilde."

We both startled like girls caught out gossiping, and mentally I kicked myself. For whatever reason, the Magician couldn't crawl around in my own brain, but that apparently didn't stop him from riffling through Dr. Sells's mind like a deck of cards. I scowled up at him, and Armaeus smiled.

"I see you're feeling better," he observed mildly. He regarded Dr. Sells. "Other than the reaction to the Pythene compound, are there any other concerns you didn't mention in your report?"

The mind of the Magician. Better than a digital recorder any day. Beside me, Dr. Sells shook her head. "She needs rest, and she should avoid eyestrain." That merited me a startled glance from Armaeus, and I pointedly didn't strain my eyes looking at him. "Otherwise, she should be fine in a few days, depending on how her body processes the gas." She considered him. "Have you collected a sample? What I have from her lungs is pretty degraded."

"We'll have three separate samples sent to your lab by this evening," Armaeus said. He flicked his attention between us. "If there's a way for your team to replicate the compound--"

"Team?" That roused me. "You've got a team?"

Dr. Sells reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. "Call me day or night, with whatever you need," she said. "Your recovery is my primary concern." She turned to Armaeus. "She needs rest more than anything."

He nodded, his manner perfectly polite. "She'll get it."

Then his gaze shifted to mine, and his smile turned predatory.

"I'll make sure of it."

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# Chapter Twenty-Two

The Devil had evidently bugged out, since the vast sitting area was empty when we moved back through it. "You guys kiss and make up?" I asked, trying to shore up my strength against what I suspected was going to be in my future. A bed, most likely.

A bed and Armaeus, if I wasn't careful.

A bed, Armaeus, and a reaction I was going to regret unless I got a serious handle on things.

Fortunately, Armaeus seemed to be distracted by my question. Distracted and vaguely irritated, both of which worked fine for me.

"Kreios, like the rest of the Council, is not under my control, Miss Wilde," he almost snapped. "While I am the titular leader of the Council, I am not its ruler."

I casually leaned against the edge of the couch, as if my feet were totally steady beneath me, and I just, you know, wanted to take a load off for a second. "So what does being leader get you, then? From what I'm picking up, you don't even have a full Council sitting here now. What is it--the Priestess and the Fool? And Kreios, of course."

"The Empress and Emperor are here as well, as I am sure Kreios told you," Armaeus said coolly. "They are not needed for the daily work of the Council."

I frowned at him. "Not needed? Really? Do you seriously not give a crap that SANCTUS is planning to drop by for a visit?"

"You don't know that for a fact."

"Yeah, well, let's call it a really strong hunch." I stared out the far window to the sweeping panorama of Las Vegas. "There's a lot of people down there who aren't going to fare too well if SANCTUS decides to clean house, Armaeus. And I don't know who actually is paying attention to the actions of the Council, but if you can't do anything in your own backyard..."

Somehow I had made it off the edge of the couch and onto the cushion while I spoke. I didn't remember doing it. Still, now that I was here, I decided it was an outstanding decision on my part. Couches were much less dangerous than beds. Couches were in living rooms. It was broad daylight. The fact that my words were slurring ever so slightly was completely beside the point.

I flattened my hands on my knees, stretching out my fingers. They hurt. Then again, everything hurt. "So what's the plan?"

Armaeus sat in the chair nearest me, amusement in his golden eyes. "The plan?"

"The fight. SANCTUS. They're coming, and they're probably coming here first. How are you going to stop them?"

"We're not."

"What?" I shook my head. I'd probably misheard him. I was feeling dizzy again, the vertigo returning even though I knew my feet were planted firmly on the ground, my hands gripping my knees, my shoulders tight, my back straight, my chin--

"You need rest, Miss Wilde." Armaeus's voice was suddenly too close. I blinked, startled, and realized he was face-level, which meant he was no longer sitting next to me but kneeling now, leaning in. "How can I convince you to do so?"

"I--" My words broke off quickly as he leaned just that much closer to me, his lips brushing against my mouth. He tasted of cinnamon and sunlight. "Um, that's not helping."

He edged back a fraction of an inch. "You don't have anything to fear from me. I thought we'd established that. There is nothing that I seek to do to you without your tacit permission--other than help you heal."

"Heal." I blinked at him, forcing myself not to look at his sensuous mouth. He could help me, I knew. If I wanted him to. Which I didn't. Instead, I squared my shoulders. "I'm good. I'll go to sleep on my own. I promise."

"It's not been a good day for promises."

Something in his tone made me look up at him sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't recall there being a deviation in my itinerary for you and Kreios, yet I understand that he exposed himself to more danger--and others as well--after you both left the necropolis. That's not the way you were supposed to conduct yourselves."

"Look, I did the job you asked me to do." I didn't know if Armaeus was deliberately pulling my chain, but I couldn't help but bristle. Bristling hurt. "I boosted Kreios from the Vatican and got him here. It's not my fault he decided to take a detour. If you'd told me what exactly was hiding in that box, maybe I would have handled it a bit more carefully. As it was, I could no more stop him from doing what he wanted than I could stop you."

I lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. That hurt, too. "Besides, you've got bigger problems than Kreios. At least he's here. Whether you lead him or rule him or you're just the first guy in line to kick the ball, he's with you. And he's useful. Which is more than I can say about your little Golden Boy back in France. Unlike, I might add, your limo driver."

Armaeus's brows lifted. He hadn't moved from his kneeling position, and I felt his gaze on my face, steady and certain. "You're speaking of Maximillian?"

"Yes, Maximillian. He's the real deal, Armaeus. Dante isn't. You have to know that."

His lips twisted. "I don't need another Bertrand to be the real deal. As I told you before, just because one member of a household has taken a position within the Council, doesn't mean that future generations must share the burden."

"He wants to share the burden, trust me. He can go after Barnabus or figure out his own mad skills."

"Barnabus is being tracked through other channels. Max would do well to remain where he is."

"Oh, bullshit." I waved my hand in front of his face to get him to back off. Instead, he captured my fingers in his, turning my hand around to study my palm as I kept talking. "He's way overdue for an upgrade from limo boy, and... Um, what are you doing?"

"Your hands." Armaeus barely murmured the words. "I thought Dr. Sells attended to them more carefully."

"She attended to them just fine. They're banged up is all. It happens when you--oh."

My words broke off again as Armaeus pursed his lips, then blew a soft sigh across my abraded palms. A chill swept over the skin, instantly sensitizing it, and as I watched, frozen, the edges of the bright red scratches drew together, the skin knitting and smoothing until all that was left was a thin white scar. "Dude, what is that? Wolverine Breath?"

Armaeus merely picked up my other hand. I didn't resist--what idiot would? This was way better than Neosporin. I tried not to moan as cold absolution swept over my palm. It was almost as if I could feel my wounds actively healing, stretching over the tears not only in muscle and flesh but in my psyche, repairing the damage caused by everything I'd seen inside Binion's. Nikki's poor lost psychics, the throbbing mob, the loud, soul-sucking music. And something--something else too. Someone else.

My mind slipped and stuttered, refusing to take hold. I was floating, adrift in a boundless sea.

"Sara." Armaeus's voice seemed to be coming at me from too far away. Was he in this ocean of sensation with me? My body shifted, becoming unmoored from its axis, but the Magician wouldn't let me fall. He eased me back, steadied me, and his hands were at my face, my chin. Instantly, my headache eased. Even my hair felt better.

I stared at the ceiling, unable to speak, unable to move, lost along the waves of healing, pain dissolving into the endless waters surrounding me. My lips parted, and I heard my own ragged breathing as I went deeper, then deeper still, to a place where there was no more pain, no more sorrow, no more regret. I would have sworn he was healing injuries I didn't realize I had. I'm pretty sure he filled a few cavities while he was at it.

"Sara," Armaeus said again. Then the hands moved from my head and drifted down my body, the energy not quite reaching my skin. "This would be easier if you would allow me to remove your clothes."

That woke me up. "What? No!" My eyes flew open, but Armaeus was right there, his hands at the hem of my shirt, which had slid up when I'd stretched out on the couch. He pressed his hand against my stomach, and I moaned out loud. Dr. Sells had said something about a kidney bruise, but whatever it was, Armaeus found it with the palm of his hand. Waves of soothing cold radiated through me, and I felt my legs loosen right along with my willpower.

"It will take the barest of moments," Armaeus murmured. "We can continue talking if you prefer."

His words were mesmerizing as his fingers slipped up farther under my shirt. Cool air suddenly brushed against my skin, but before I could figure out where it was coming from, Armaeus had curled his fingers over my right shoulder.

"Sweet Christmas." I went rigid with the reaction, his grip the most painful thing I'd experienced today, which was saying a lot. My semi-dislocated shoulder seemed to come apart in five different places before settling back in place, the pain shattering through me in a push-pull with the frozen wonder Armaeus was unleashing. His left hand stroked down my neck and over my collarbone, but even as my back arched off the couch, he slid both hands along the outer edge of my torso, completely missing my chest. I was pretty sure my breasts hadn't been injured, but hey. He didn't know that.

Then he hooked his fingers under the waistband of my leggings.

Instinctively, I grabbed for his wrist, the connection of my hand on his skin practically jolting me off the couch. "I'm good--I'm good."

"I won't harm you, Sara."

"I know you won't, it's just that--"

Armaeus ended my objection with a kiss. As he leaned into me, I could feel one of his hands shoving down my leggings, his broad palm clasping my battered right thigh. The cramping instantly stopped, and I nearly whimpered as his fingers wrapped firmly around my left ankle.

"Better?" Armaeus murmured against my lips, and I tasted the salt of my own tears as he moved to my left leg, healing the long gash with the trailing of his fingers up my leg. That gash extended far north of my knee, however. By the time the edge of the wound was shimmering with cold white fire, I was dealing with an entirely separate issue.

Desire pooled inside my belly as if my core had become liquid, all the frigid healing strength banking as he stoked fire within me. Armaeus may not have an all-access pass to my brain, but he wasn't an idiot. He had to know the reaction he was causing.

I got my answer a second later, as his fingers finally, slowly closed over my breasts.

I nearly passed out.

Armaeus's mouth was by my ear, his chuckle low. "You're not wearing your Tyet. Should I take that as a sign?"

"Lost," I gritted out. I wanted him to stop, but at the same time, I didn't want him to. The danger crested again inside me, the fear of an unknown end with this man--this being--this whatever he was. "It was at Binion's when...everything exploded."

"We'll get it back." But he hadn't moved his hands from my breasts. He kneaded my body as if seeking unseen injuries to heal, and damned if I didn't arch up into him once more, molding myself to his powerful hands. One of those hands snaked around me and supported my back as Armaeus bent his face to my neck, his lips dragging along my pounding pulse. "Slowly... Slowly," he murmured, and even my pulse found that it had to respond to the Magician's command, as my racing heart stuttered to a gallop, then a trot, and the tears started fresh.

"Shhh, Sara," he said, and something about his voice caught at me, something strange and foreign. He'd been calling me Sara, I realized, this entire time. Not Miss Wilde. On purpose? A mistake? Did it matter?

It didn't matter. It couldn't matter. Just as it couldn't matter that Armaeus was standing now and pulling me with him, picking me up as if I weighed nothing.

"You really get off on carrying me around, don't you," I half muttered.

"It's a weakness of mine."

I laughed as he shouldered open another door, registering the chamber as a bedroom, but not Armaeus's bedroom. It had an unlived-in look, as if it was constantly ready for company that might or might not arrive.

He slid me into the sheets with a murmured laugh. "Now, you will sleep, Miss Wilde," he said. "Now, you will finally rest."

He moved away from me and I shuddered with an echo of my former pain, an almost physical ache that was so crisp that I narrowed my eyes at him, instantly mistrustful. "Am I going to regret this?" I asked, already feeling sleep weigh down on me. "What you just did?"

His smile was enigmatic, his words so quiet I almost couldn't make them out.

Almost.

"Not half so much as I am."

Before I could ask him what he meant by that, he was gone.

I lay there for a long time after that, willing myself to surrender to a sleep that wouldn't come. I knew I needed to sleep, to heal. But I felt more than anything else like I was back home again. As in home, home. Before the explosion.

My fingers clutched at the sheets as one by one all the images reasserted themselves in a long dark march of despair. In the weeks leading up to the end, nearly three years after I'd first identified little Maryann's whereabouts in a sensational news story that had led to claims that I was a burgeoning psychic detective, Mom's behavior had gotten more manic.

She'd been chafing at the bit for more notoriety for me, especially since the police had adamantly refused to officially acknowledge my participation in missing persons investigations for fear I'd be targeted. At the end, though, she'd turned petulant. Almost resentful. Like she'd had her hand slapped for reaching into the cookie jar and couldn't understand why. Then she'd announced that she was taking up card readings herself, and things had gotten better for a while. She'd been terrible at the cards, but I'd fed her readings before she'd leave to visit her "clients." We had a system. It worked.

Until that last night.

I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry. Mom had been my responsibility, but I hadn't known that at the time. I hadn't understood. And because I hadn't been diligent enough, careful enough, she was gone.

I'd known something was wrong the next morning too. She'd left a note but not returned. Still, that was common enough. My mother had many, many friends who were more than willing to share a drink with her so late into the night that it was dawn before they stopped. I'd been uneasy, but not worried...until I touched the note itself.

Not thinking, not even breathing, I'd hauled ass out of the house--only to be knocked into a ditch by the force of the blast that had gone up behind me.

After that, I didn't look back.

And I'd never really stopped running.

By the time sleep took me, my face was wet with tears.

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# Chapter Twenty-Three

I was drowning in great, rolling seas.

No matter which way I turned or how I flailed, I couldn't escape. I pawed frantically, and the water wouldn't give way. It would shift backward, then flow toward me again, pressing against me, holding me close.

And it smelled like cinnamon.

Wait a minute.

With more effort than I would have thought I was capable of, I dragged open my eyes. I was alone, surrounded by at least seventy-eight pillows, in the middle of a massive bed that wasn't my own. Which was easy enough to determine, because I didn't own a bed.

Around me, the world dipped and rolled dangerously, my sense of vertigo feeling almost familiar. The automatic questions popped into my head. How hurt was I? Where was I? And what was I trying to steal?

I lolled over, feigning sleep, in case anyone or anything was watching me. I'd learned over long years--some longer than others--that my first order of business was always my own physical state. None of the rest mattered if I couldn't make my legs move.

I went through the assessment methodically, buried under the covers as I shifted and tensed and twisted, and the more body mass I covered, the more nervous I became.

Nothing hurt.

Everything felt unspeakably healthy.

That hadn't happened in... That honestly hadn't happened, ever.

Bits and pieces of my last conscious twenty-four hours flowed back to me. The meeting in Paris. The chase. Armaeus. Rome. Kreios. The abbey south of Rome. Vegas. Dixie Quinn. Binion's. Brody--

Nope, not going there.

Either way, the spell was broken. I remembered the rest of it too, all the way up to the watershed I'd sworn I'd never give myself over to again. Oh, well.

More to the point, I was in the middle of Armaeus's lair, and the man hadn't touched me. Not in any real sense. I mean, yes, he'd done the whole laying on of hands to heal me, which wasn't to be discounted, but he hadn't gone any further than that. Was it something I said?

I shifted again in the coverlets. I was wearing garments that were clearly not my own, but a sweep of the gloom-shrouded room revealed a tidy stack of what almost looked like my clothes, only they were way cleaner. Curled up on top of the clothes was the Tyet.

Despite my fantasies of bounding out of the bed, gathering up my stuff, and hitting the road, my progress was markedly less impressive. It took me a full five minutes to reach the end of the bed, let alone flop over it. Still, the drop to the carpeted floor wasn't jarring so much as dizzying. I brought my head up too fast, and the nausea swamped me again.

I looked out over the room, and there were no more walls, no more windows, no more ceiling or floor. I was suspended over a vast cavern, and the city of Vegas lay sprawled out beneath me, pulsing with pain. While businesses and houses and grand estates spread out like children's toys from the epicenter of the Strip, the heart of the city lay here, as if a gold strike rested directly beneath in the desert bedrock, except the vein was pure magic, not metal. As I watched, that vein raced up toward me--or I toward it, plummeting down toward the crack in the land with no way to stop, no way to turn back, no way to--

"Stop it!" I gritted out. I drove my fingers into my thighs hard enough to bruise, and the pain instantly cleared my brain. My vision returned to normal, the room around me settling into place.

I didn't know what exactly was in that Pythene gas Jerry Fitz was so free with, but man, I needed that shit out of my system. But how did you get an oxygen transplant?

And perhaps more importantly... Why had the Magician left that one part of me untouched? Surely while he was performing his oral search and seizure of my various body parts he could have locked lips with me and inhaled or something to suck out the badness. It's not as if that move hadn't been chronicled a dozen times already on the SyFy channel. It was clearly a move.

One he hadn't made.

My feet seemed fairly solid on the carpet now, so I risked movement again. At some point, Armaeus or one of his lackeys had come in to check on me. I wore some sort of thin nightgown and decidedly new underwear, the same brand and style as the ones I'd nearly melted off myself during Armaeus's little foray into playing doctor yesterday. I pulled the gown over my head and left it on the floor as I reached for my more familiar clothing.

I frowned. Other than the boots, the clothes weren't mine. Similar but not quite, just like the underwear. I shrugged, fingering the thin cotton of the tank, the simple bra. The leggings. It shouldn't matter that I was in Armaeus's house, wearing clothes he provided. It shouldn't make me feel weird.

It did, but it shouldn't.

I dressed anyway, buckling on my boots with the first sense of relief I'd experienced in a while. The Tyet was around my neck again, resting against my chest, but it alone among all my belongings felt foreign to me, like it needed to be recalibrated. My eyes were decidedly gritty, and I turned to leave the room--surely there was a bathroom somewhere.

"Yo. Sara."

I was getting tired of people using the psychic network to check in with me, but this voice sounded urgent. Familiar. I blinked, and my vision blurred again. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see. The world around me dissolved into a rushing kaleidoscope of shapes and colors, the soft muted colors of Armaeus's world changing to the thick concrete shapes of a building I didn't know, white and gray and blue rushing by me, struggling to take form.

"Sara, dollface, c'mon. If you can hear me, we've got a problem."

The forms and figures all coalesced, and I nearly hurled. "Nikki!"

But Nikki didn't answer. I was standing in the room with her, the sense of distortion back as it had been when I'd stood inside Fitz's glass box. I could see what was in front of me, and then what was beyond--the doctors and nurses moving through the corridors, the shuffling patients, the watchful orderlies. All of them shifting and drifting in an endless dance in and out of sterile rooms with blinking monitors.

But here in this room, all I saw was Nikki. Nikki and two empty beds.

As Nikki turned to run out of the room, I could see the past of the young women who had slept in those beds stretch out in front of me like an inviolable thread. The furthest back image was that of laughter and bright skies and girls in pretty dresses with long dark hair flowing in the sunlight. Then there was a pool of water--mirror bright--and something seemed to change. The girls' lives spun more quickly around that pool, they aged faster and they laughed less, but they were ever drawn back to the pool with its flashing brightness as it reflected the sun's glare and pulled them back over and over to its edge. To what they saw within its surface. To what they thought they saw in each other's eyes.

Their eyes. Something about their eyes...

The scenes scrolled too quickly then to count. School, friends, strangers in the distance, always out of reach, but never quite gone. Their parents' faces gradually more careworn, their shoulders drooping. Gifts of gold and whispers of protection. The strangers coming closer. Darkness encroaching on their special, sacred pool of light. Spinning, turning faster. The last day, the lost day, the day they turned the corner and the car was there, the strangers were there, and then--

Panic seized me, clawing up my throat until I gagged.

"Miss Wilde!" This voice was far closer, but I couldn't shake the thrall of the vision. Not when I heard my name again, more loudly, more forceful. Not when I felt the electric shock of the Magician's hands clamping on my arms, trying to ground me. I saw the sisters' violation with eyes that stretched so wide they could see the whole world. I saw them stripped, manhandled. Not raped, thank God. There was at least enough superstition that their virginity was considered necessary to maintain. But abused in other ways. Frightened. Restrained. Separated.

They can't be separated.

Even their captors recognized this quickly enough, and the comatose women were hustled back toward each other, then shipped on a plane, watched like prized treasure but treated like animals. They clung together, alternating weeping and raving, until Jerry Fitz stepped into the room--

"Miss Wilde." I swung my gaze toward Armaeus, staring into his eyes. But I didn't see him, not really. I saw the gilded twin cages that hung high in the rafters of Binion's, lit up with spotlights so Fitz could put the girls on display. I saw their white fingers interlaced across the narrow space between their perches.

I saw the hookah with its puffing steam, and smelled the desperation and fear. The gas helped and it hurt. It helped and it hurt. It wasn't of the gods. It wasn't pure. The things it showed were not for Man to know.

I saw the two women entering on the arms of the bodyguards, and I knew--I knew.

"You have to wake up."

I felt the pull of the Magician's words. I sensed his touch more clearly. The vision began to fracture around the edges--no! It couldn't. I was too close! The woman--me--and her ragged clothes and hard face and lost eyes. Eyes that were too quickly clouded over with the Sight, something wrong with that, something bad--

Another noise assaulted me, but I batted it away. The burst of light and sound made me cringe as if I was reliving the explosion, watching the world shatter into fire and dust. Then there was movement and the sunlight--how long it had been since I'd seen the sunlight! And the cold, concrete place with its rasping white sheets and squeaking wheels and wailing, squawking monitors and so. Much. Noise.

And then she was there.

Quiet, soft hands. Loving hands. Loving voice. A mother's voice.

"Miss Wilde. I have Dr. Sells with me. I know you can hear me. We can't let you stay where you are. You have to come back."

Quiet, soothing hands. Caring hands. Caring voice. A teacher's voice.

"You're going into shock, Sara. You have to break the connection."

Quiet, steady hands. Blessed hands. Blessed voice. A goddess's--

Wait. A goddess?

"Clear!" A blast of electricity came out of nowhere, and I jolted as if I'd experienced a full-body Tase. My skin practically sizzled for a second, and I whipped my head around, my eyes hot, my mouth full of words too impossible to speak.

Vertigo descended on me again, then I was on my knees, gasping and struggling not to retch, my body racked with deep, rolling coughs and my need to vomit so violent and present that I was crying again, crying and shaking and unable to fight off the hands that clasped me. Hands that didn't hurt, hands that didn't pull, hands that--

My head came up. Dr. Sells stared back at me. "Hello, Sara. I'm Dr. Sells. Do you remember me?"

I opened my mouth. I knew where the girls from Kavala had disappeared to. I knew.

Her smile faltered, but not in fear or shock, merely concern. "What is it, Sara? You need to sit down now. Why don't we sit down?" Her words twisted and tumbled in my ears. I swung back toward Armaeus. He watched me, leaning up against the doorjamb now, missing nothing, as if I was his own personal hunting dog, his own prized pet. His own little finder to bring to his doorstep trinkets for the Council's pleasure.

"Where is she?" I managed. My voice sounded strained, garbled, the words foreign in my ears.

"Where is who?" To his credit, Armaeus truly did look confused at my question.

Dr. Sells was fussing at my side again, and I wheeled back, batting away her hand with its syringe.

"Get away from me."

"I need to take your blood, Sara." She grabbed my arm and steadied it. "The toxins in your system are not going to dissolve on their own. Until they do, you're going to be at the mercy of those visions you're having, not knowing what's real and what's not. You want to see a video of what just transpired in this room, you're welcome to it. Trust me when I tell you it's not a performance you'd want to repeat down on the street."

That quieted me long enough for her to plunge the needle into my arm. It didn't hurt. The electrical pulses chittering along my skin crackled and popped, but I couldn't feel the pain of a pricking needle. "Why don't I feel that?"

"Your nervous system is currently overloaded. That's the only thing keeping you upright." The Magician's words were almost curious, like a boy enthralled with his latest lab project. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"You shocked the crap out of me. With your hands."

"Who is it you wanted me to take you to, Miss Wilde? You said 'Where is she?' She, who?"

The urgency of my vision came back to me. I wrenched out of Dr. Sell's grasp and stalked toward him. With the cocktail of gas and electricity racing through my system, I suddenly felt invincible. "She, Eshe. The High Priestess. I know she's taken the twins out of the hospital, and that they went with her willingly. Where are they?"

He lifted an eyebrow, patently unimpressed with my show of anger. "You really think a hospital is where those girls most needed to be?"

"Well, they sure as hell don't need to be with her. They think she's a goddess, Armaeus. An Apollonite high priestess for real. Jesus."

"I think you're mixing your metaphors."

"This isn't a game. And we're not your pawns." I dropped my hand from my face. "I don't know what it is you're trying to do here, but the girls are not part of it."

"Are you, then?" His words were low, dangerous, and I could instantly sense the peril here, though I didn't fully understand it. "Are you willing to stand in their place, for whatever the Council needs?"

I stilled. "What do you mean?"

"I just watched you." Armaeus was calm, intrigued even. "Based solely on whatever you saw in your mind, you reached back into those girls' memories and pulled out their pasts, their present--things you couldn't possibly have known. You barely had seen the young women yourself before the explosion in Binion's. You certainly hadn't touched them. And yet you were able to pinpoint them, to see what must be seen." He leveled his gaze at me. "That's a very useful talent. And as you're so fond of pointing out, you're already on the payroll. With your additional ability, we won't need the young women."

"They're not yours to 'need' at all, Armaeus."

"Magic is the province of the Council."

"These are human beings, not specimens." I shook my head irritably. "Take me to the goddamned High Priestess. Those girls need to go home, and you need to make sure that 'home' is safe for them."

He shrugged. "As you wish."

"Fine."

He turned on his heel, and I followed. That all...seemed a little too easy.

I should have known that was bad.

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# Chapter Twenty-Four

The room Armaeus brought me to was definitely part of his complex. I figured we were probably hanging out somewhere over Las Vegas Boulevard, easy for anyone to spot with their transdimension setting turned to "on." If I was planning to spend any significant time in Vegas, I needed to get square with the whole displacement of time and space, but I had bigger fish to fry right now.

I'd been worried that Armaeus would walk me into some kind of Roman temple, given the whole "High Priestess" thing Eshe was working. Thankfully, I'd gotten that wrong.

What I saw was bad enough.

A full-on hospital suite had been set up at the end of a long hallway, the girls ensconced in matching adjustable twin beds, both of them dead to the world. Sure enough, Dr. Sells split away from us and went over to the monitors, and I eyed her with more than a little betrayal. She was supposed to be on my side, based on our very meaningful fifteen minutes together. Where was girl power when you needed it?

On this side of the glass, staring through it, stood the High Priestess herself. Eshe.

I'd seen her only once before, when Armaeus had agreed to meet me in public in Vegas, the first time I'd come to the city. I'd been nervous, on edge. I'd done the research, I knew where people lived.

But I was like the kid cutting school who was absolutely certain that the principal would be able to pick him out of a crowded club. Eshe had shown up, expecting to be introduced to Armaeus's "little courier," and my eternal enmity for the woman had been born.

There was no denying that she was patently stunning, though. It'd been months since I'd seen her, and she still appeared the same: long and lithe, with a waterfall of lustrous black hair tumbling down her back. Even standing in Armaeus's makeshift hospital room, she oozed power and influence, along with a curious sense of entitlement, as if all the world owed her its every adulation. Lean and mysterious, otherworldly and arch, she turned to glance at me with impatient authority, her strappy silver gown's fluttering sleeves revealing gold arm bracelets to go along with the silver and gold wrist cuffs, jeweled rings, diamond pendant necklace, and swooping earrings.

"Kind of overdressed, don't you think?"

"I suppose I should thank you. If these women recover, they'll be the finest oracles to serve me for over five hundred years."

"They weren't on the delivery order." I slanted a look at Armaeus. He didn't seem impressed. "They're not staying."

"Don't be absurd." Eshe turned around and scowled at Armaeus. "We need these women. I need them."

"For what? I thought you didn't interfere with the actions of the mortal realm. What could the visions of two seers possibly tell you that would be of any use to you?"

She kept her gaze on Armaeus. "Is there a reason why she's still talking?"

"Look, duckface--"

"Wake." Armaeus's voice echoed out through the room. Beyond the glass, the women stirred, rousing to consciousness. Eshe caught the movement and whipped back around. "How are their numbers?" she demanded.

"Thready," Dr. Sells said severely. "They should not be here. They should be in a fully functioning facility. With medical specialists." She scowled at her monitors, never glancing in our direction. I didn't know if I liked the woman, but I liked her attitude at the moment, anyway.

"I don't trust those facilities. Too many walls." Eshe's tone had turned petulant. "You should have everything you need here."

"I do, for life support." Dr. Sells flicked her hand across the screen, and the picture changed. "And congratulations, these two young women are going to survive. But I can't even determine the true impact of this Pythene gas on Sara right now, and she only inhaled it for about an hour. These women have been sucking down that concoction for the past several weeks. There's no telling the long-term neurological damage it's inflicted, let alone the state of their pulmonary systems. They should be under observation for weeks to be safe."

"Weeks?" It was my turn to be petulant. "I need to get them back to their family"

"Broken and incapacitated?" Dr. Sells looked at me through the glass. "If you truly feel that their systems in their home countries can outstrip what the Council's money and connections can provide them here, then I suppose that's a wise choice."

Son of a bitch. My opinion of Dr. Sells took a nosedive, but I couldn't fault the woman's logic. I felt Armaeus's smug glance at me. He was behind this, somehow. I couldn't quite believe that he'd orchestrated these women coming here--even I wasn't that paranoid--but he sure as hell would benefit from me being stuck in the city for a while.

"Fine," I muttered. "Then get them out of this hole in the sky and onto the actual earth, so if their parents want to come here, they can. I want them protected, but I don't want them hidden. There's too much of that as it is in the Connected community."

"What--again, why is the courier allowed to speak? The oracles go nowhere but here. If we need these specialists"--Eshe said the word with a flick of her fingers--"then we bring the specialists here. We've done it before."

"Not negotiable."

"And I told you to be silent." Eshe moved with such a languorous grace that a lesser person wouldn't have seen her attack coming. But I'd been working the back alleys of the black market for going on five years now. I knew the difference between someone working the grift and a sorcerer with real talent. Eshe, for all her bad manners, was the latter.

I dropped to the floor.

The wave of power surged over me, lighting up my nerve endings that were still in full-twitch from the Magician's electroshock therapy. The blast slammed into the back wall, getting absorbed harmlessly into whatever substance made up this structure. Somehow I didn't think it was drywall.

I rolled to my feet and danced to the side of another blast, not missing the fact that Armaeus stood aside, watching us both with keen interest but no apparent concern. Screw. That.

I didn't have magical powers, but I had something Eshe didn't, I was willing to bet.

A good right hook.

She rushed me, and I pivoted left, readying my body and tightening my abs as she screamed in frustration, her hand coming up to throw some reinforced spell at me point-blank. I brought my fist up--

And punched through air.

The momentum carried me forward into the arms of a man I swear hadn't been there two seconds before, a man whose embrace I'd already experienced once this day, the lingering effects of which were not completely forgotten. "I've so missed you already, Sara Wilde," Kreios murmured.

He turned me neatly in his arms, caging me so that I faced out.

The Magician stood close to me, too close, his hand on Eshe's shoulder, handling her far less roughly but with the same restraint. "Look at her," he said.

"I will not be--"

"Look at her, Eshe. She has agreed to substitute herself for the oracles. Look at her and tell me she cannot do what you need her to do."

"She can barely be trusted to speak in complete sentences." Eshe flicked a glance at me, then stilled. As usual, I caught on a second too late. By the time I decided to avert my eyes, I couldn't.

"What is this you have brought me?"

Her words were almost exactly what I recalled Kreios saying to Armaeus over the phone in Rome, and the odd phrasing caught at me as I held Eshe's dark-eyed stare. I felt her trying to peer into me, through me, but the twist of her pouty lips told me of her lack of success, before she shrugged off Armaeus. "I can't reach her mind. She's useless to me."

Armaeus let Eshe go willingly. Kreios did not seem to have the same agenda. His arms remained locked around me, pinning me to his muscular form. His chuckle was low, almost intimate, and it caused Eshe to look sharply at him. "I suppose you have something to add? Since you invariably do?"

"You don't need to wrench the visions out of her, Eshe. She will give them to you freely enough."

"I will?" I will? The idea of me giving Eshe anything except a hard time was difficult for me to imagine.

"She will." It was Armaeus who spoke now, and his lip curled with annoyance, as if he'd finally noticed Kreios's stranglehold on me. "She won't allow you to touch the women from Kavala. She knows they would go to you willingly, have already gone with you once before. You would not coerce them. You would not need to."

"Of course I wouldn't," Eshe sniffed.

"Accordingly, if she doesn't want the girls to get anywhere near you, she has to offer something in return. Something only she can do." Armaeus shrugged, eyeing me dispassionately. "And so she will."

I struggled against Kreios's hold a moment more before he let me go, though I could feel the energy of his touch even after he'd released me. I rubbed my arms, sensing his smirk, and irritation lashed through me. I should be more upset, I knew. I should be outraged. But Armaeus was right, and Dr. Sells was right, and Father Jerome, who probably didn't even know he was going down for this, was right.

"Fine," I said, staring daggers at Eshe as she boldly met my gaze. "You want me to look something up from your global Rolodex, I can do that. Until the girls are strong enough to leave the city. And that's not going to take months." I scowled at Dr. Sells. "That's going to take weeks. But if my newfound visionary ability suddenly goes poof, there's no bothering the girls. I want your word on that." I wasn't glaring at Eshe when I made this announcement, but Armaeus. He inclined his head gracefully. "Not your nod, your word."

"I give you my word as my bond. You will serve as Eshe's oracle until such time as the women leave Vegas to continue their recovery."

"I'll need her longer than that," she protested.

"Oh, bullshit," I snapped. "By that point, you'll have broken down the gas you've collected from Fitz's stash into its component parts. You can make your own little hallucinogenic cocktail. You won't need to crawl around in anyone else's brain at that point. You can suck down the gas yourself." I grinned at her horrified expression. "C'mon. Rub elbows with the little people, why don'tcha? Could be fun."

"You're revolting." She scowled at Armaeus. "How do we even know she can do what you say she can?"

"Oh, for God's sake." I waved down her theatrics. "What do you want me to see for you? What past or future do you want to view?"

"Tell me what really happened when Kreios was stuck in that abbey."

Behind me, Kreios stiffened. "That's hardly relevant."

"It's eminently relevant," Eshe shot back. "You certainly haven't been forthcoming, and this is information the Council needs to know."

"It's no good for another reason," I said, carefully pitching my tone to be nonchalant. Nevertheless, if Kreios wanted his secret kept, it was easy enough for me to do it. And if ever there was someone I wanted to owe me a favor, it was the Devil. "I was there, Eshe. I showed up about ten minutes after Kreios went underground, so I was privy to just about everything that happened to him. Not exactly useful as an oracular test. You're going to have to ask me something else."

"Fine," she snapped "Tell me something about myself that no one in this room could possibly know but me. That will serve."

I stared at her, but only partially in disgust. The other part rushed up too quickly, filling my mouth with words and thoughts and plans and expectations. I shook my head, but the pressure to speak grew almost unbearable. Finally I breathed out a long, ragged sigh. I swung my gaze back around to Eshe, and I could tell by her expression that she was surprised. Maybe a little worried?

Worked for me. "You killed to ensure that you--"

"Stop--that's enough!" Eshe commanded, shock suffusing her face.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure," the Devil drawled. "There are so many ways that sentence could end, and all of them completely entertaining. Do go on, Sara."

"And I said no. What she's said is sufficient. I can use her for my research." Eshe folded her hands demurely. "You'll remain with me in my domain until I have need of you."

I bristled. "I'm not your chew toy. I'll work for you the same way I work for Armaeus. On my own hours, and not until you've paid me a retainer fee."

"Unacceptable. Do you have any idea how long I've been without--"

"And do you really want to push me? You've already agreed to leave me alone the moment my senses return to normal. That could happen in the next thirty minutes if you're not careful. And thirty minutes is about all the patience I have for this science experiment right now. So you want a piece of me, then let's go. But I'm out of here after that."

"Out of here." She smirked. "You reek of Armaeus's touch. I don't think he's going to be letting you go anytime soon."

"Not your problem." I didn't miss Armaeus's cold stare at my profile. I couldn't figure him out. He'd just put me back together like Humpty Dumpty after the fall, then extorted me to work in this city for God only knew how long. Not for the first time, I began to suspect he had an end game that I wasn't going to like. Also, not for the first time, the itch to flee became overwhelming.

Flee this man, flee this city, flee this life.

Then my gaze flicked past Eshe's sneer and into the room next door. Once again, I was seeing the oracles of Kavala behind glass, like they were circus animals on display. That would have been their future with Jerry Fitz without question, and my heart twisted into a hard little knot. The girls were fully awake, their faces luminous with youth and frailty. Away from the smoke and filmy costumes, they looked like ordinary girls. Girls with a future. Girls with hope.

Like the little girls and boys whose pictures still haunted me. The ones I couldn't save when I'd been barely more a kid myself.

And they were staring out into the observation room, their eyes filled with wonder, as if they were viewing an actual goddess in their midst. Or a savior. Or the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

But now the twins from Kavala weren't looking at Eshe. They were looking at me.

I sighed, then glared again at the High Priestess. "Let's get this done."

"Of course," she purred, putting out her hand to draw me toward her. "This will only hurt a little."

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# Chapter Twenty-Five

I had to hand it to the Council. When they wanted to put on a show, they put it on with style.

Armaeus and I stood in an antechamber, waiting to be ushered into the Council's grand meeting hall. I was edgy, ready to go, since Armaeus had spent the last few hours annoying the crap out of me with delays. First I had to shower, then eat, then sit in a quiet room to "meditate." Read: "fall asleep." He'd finally shown up again, with a new set of clothes that apparently had been ordered up by Sister Fashionista. I was now wearing designer trousers over my boots, and my tank was covered by a shimmery white shirt with long sleeves. I looked like a receptionist at a high-end art gallery. Eshe had wanted me in a toga, but even I had my limits.

In the meantime, Armaeus had provided me with access to his computer. I'd declined his offer of a new phone. The entire point of a burner device was that it wouldn't be LoJacked by the Council, after all. Kind of defeated the purpose for them to make a gift of one to me.

Granted, what I'd seen on his computer had satisfied me. Namely, $30,000 being transferred to my bank account. I could find a whole lot of kids for thirty grand.

"Each time you agree to serve as Eshe's oracle, to provide her the answers she seeks, that amount will be transferred, Armaeus said. "You can make your arrangements with your own bank from this terminal as well--"

"I'll do it tonight." I shook my head. "On my own."

He didn't roll his eyes, but he might as well have. "There is very little about you I couldn't find out if I didn't want to, Sara. You really think I don't have an intimate understanding of how much money you have and where you spend it? How do you think I found you in the first place?"

"Boundaries, Armaeus." I waved a hand at him. "You want me to work with your little freak-show harem, you at least give me the illusion that you respect my limits. Otherwise, I'll walk."

"You won't walk." His smug smile couldn't have been curved more perfectly to piss me off. "You have the girls in Las Vegas Medical to protect. The phone calls have already been placed to their family, so you have them to protect as well. And as you pointed out yourself, the city is potentially about to be overrun by curious agents of SANCTUS, wondering how, exactly, Jerry Fitz managed to explode himself while wearing a cuff that bore their symbols. A cuff which, miraculously, survived the blast and made it into police custody."

I scowled at him. "I saw it, Armaeus. There weren't two pieces left of that thing larger than a dime."

"You're correct. But you weren't the only one to see the arm cuff. And Miss Dawes is not so careful with shielding her mind. We were able to create a reasonable facsimile and leave it at the bomb site. Queries are being made through the highest channels at the Vatican, and we've started slight ripples at Interpol. It isn't much, but it's enough to serve as some well-placed thorns. It won't take SANCTUS long to come investigating."

I stared at him. "You want them to come here. I thought you were all about noninterference."

"You mistake the role of the Council in the affairs of magic." Armaeus shook his head. "You'll have the opportunity to correct that error during your extended stay with us."

"Not with you." How many times did I have to make this point? "I'm not floating around in hyperspace while I'm here. I don't care where you stick me. Put me up at a casino, buy me an RV, I don't care. But I'm not staying here." He looked ready to argue, and I held up a hand. "I'm more useful to you out there than I am here, other than when Eshe wants to play Psychic Scavenger Hunt."

"It's not safe."

"You can't keep me here against my will." This too was something else I had figured out in the intervening hours between our little standoff in the hospital room and now. I might not know all the ins and outs of the Council, but I wasn't a complete idiot. That had been a carefully orchestrated scene by Armaeus. Down to the last impossible choice. "You had to get me to agree to stay on as your little windows on the world of my own free will. The girls had already agreed to it, and apparently even hallucinating yesses count as yesses in your book. But I hadn't. Why the hangup? What happens if someone says no?"

"We've not had to deal with that for so long, I wouldn't know."

The light, clear sound of a gong interrupted us, and the doors swung open. Without saying another word, Armaeus gestured me inside.

I went.

The great hall of the Council looked a lot like...a conference room. Fancier, of course, with a long center slab of marble instead of particleboard with cherry veneer, and throne-like seats in place of rollaway chairs. But the general effect was the same. Darkness hung heavy on either side of the table, which was illuminated by a bright central light, cast in such a way that everything seemed limned with gold.

"You guys are the best. Someday you're really going to have to tell me who does your decorating."

Eshe stood at the front of the table, and to my surprise, Kreios sat next to her. Sat, or more like sprawled, in one of the opulent chairs. He stared at me as I approached, clearly not a fan of my outfit. He wasn't the only one. Armaeus had been angling for the toga as well. Not going to happen.

Eshe pursed her lips as I approached. "You should be kneeling."

"A lot tougher to walk that way."

"You should--"

"The oracles that Fitz used were cooped up in a glass chamber, and they were able to respond, Eshe." Armaeus's voice was firm. "Miss Wilde can sit or stand. Whatever is her preference."

"I'll stay on my feet." From Eshe's little half smirk, I got the feeling I wouldn't be upright for long, but I was feeling lucky.

"Then we will begin."

Her words made me tense up, and I fixed my eyes on her, suddenly uneasy. With that short sentence, her voice had dropped several octaves, far past bass into something so elemental it seemed like the very murmuring of the rocks and earth. The lights dimmed over the table, and I vaguely had a sense of Armaeus seating himself beside Kreios. The High Priestess's gaze was locked on her hands. Despite myself, I glanced there as well.

And was caught.

A ball of fire had erupted between Eshe's palms, but not like any fire I'd ever seen. It crackled with blue and purple veins, green and gold and red, and it seemed to expand to fill my whole world.

"Are you ready to see and share all that may be seen?" Eshe's words were so quiet, they were almost subvocalized, but I felt myself nodding. Though whatever she asked me next, I couldn't have said.

Because there was the tiny problem of my brain exploding.

Without warning, pain radiated through my system, my body jolting into a tight arch of agony, breath crystallizing in my lungs. I wanted to vomit, but my bile was fire in my throat, burning through my esophagus. My blood vessels seemed to swell to six times their normal size, my pulse racing like traffic fleeing a storm after the roadblocks failed. I twisted away, desperate to escape, to find Armaeus, Kreios, anyone who could help.

Something sounded in my ears again, demanding my attention, and I realized my eyes weren't seeing. I reached up to tear away the obstruction, and pain lacerated my face.

Before me sat a group of men at a table, leaning close. Not just men--women too, all of them robed for surgery. The room didn't look like a surgical suite, though. More like a room in a crappy hotel. Not abandoned, not some sort of crack house, but a tired, beat-down room with cheap polyester comforters and old, faded carpet and tan walls that maybe once had been white.

They had a body stretched out on the table--not a bed, a table, like a portable gurney. A drip was attached to a pole, and the body was white, too white, too small, the legs and ankles protruding to the edge of the table but not quite reaching. A child? A teen? There was no way to tell until a knife slashed and the feet convulsed, and I realized this child was awake! Awake!

Another impossible pressure weighed on my brain, and I moved closer, closer when all I wanted to do was leave. I placed my hand against the shoulder of a man, and he shrugged me off, shivering, but the movement shuffled him to the side, and I saw the small form on the table. Not a child, but not quite a man yet either, judging by the sharp protrusion of his collarbone. His chin jutted up in a paroxysm of pain. Without thinking, I placed my hand on the boy's leg, and his pain became mine, suffusing me with a new wave of sharp horror that buckled me at the knees.

The boy on the table relaxed, and the men around me spoke in words I didn't understand, couldn't understand, but they passed into me and through me as I focused on the boy, sending him all my strength and taking all the pain that I could, watching with dead eyes as I saw the implantation of the device into his chest cavity, low and deep, up against his solar plexus, the center of his energy, I knew. I could feel the boy's power stirring, waking, an eye fluttering open that saw too much. It would see me!

Instantly, I was pulled almost physically from the scene, twisting away, and then I was in another place, another hellhole. There was only one person here. A woman, bound to a wall. I was forced toward her by unseen hands, though I could smell the rankness of her death. She was gone, but only recently, her life spirit still heavy in the air. I lifted her head, brushing her lank hair out from her face, and my stomach turned over again. Her eyes were gouged out, her tongue cut away. The sweat was not yet dry on her face, though. Her captors were close--close.

Pushing against the compulsion to leave this place entirely, I turned and raced through the corridors, slipping between the bars that kept this woman trapped underground. It didn't take me long. The men were hunched over their spoils, like pirates with looted treasure, and they didn't see me come upon them until I was already past. I whirled to face them, my eyes peeling open wide, and they blanched as they walked through me. But I saw their faces. Saw and remembered. Saw and reported.

The next and the next and the next place whirred by like a sickening storm. More violations. More experiments. A lab in the middle of a frozen landscape. A sacrificial ceremony in a swamp. A high-rise bristling with computers where maps of the star systems were overlaid with mathematical equations and ancient texts, while men and women hunched over their screens with a frenzied hope.

Then finally, a familiar face in an unfamiliar place. A face that turned to me, that smiled into the nothingness that was my presence, as if he could almost see me back.

I rushed by, not stopping, not speaking. I hadn't been sent to find Max; he wasn't supposed to be here. Instead I climbed the stairs of the palatial building with its austere, clean lines and moved quickly past guards and tourists, drifting down quieter and quieter corridors until I entered a room that was markedly different from all the others I had seen this day.

It was clean, it was orderly, and it was occupied by a group of businessmen who were wielding pens, not scalpels. There was something off about this group, though, something that breathed as much danger as any of the foul places I'd been before.

Then the doors opened, and I caught my breath. Darkness roiled into the room with an air of authority I had never before experienced, but the man it attended was familiar to me. He'd been the leader of SANCTUS, the figure I'd glimpsed in Binion's lair. But here, in this place, his presence was much stronger, much clearer. It was also not quite human.

In that moment, he looked up, and I felt myself yanked out of the room, out of the building, the same soul-crushing pain grinding against me like a cheese grater until I came all the way back to myself in the chamber, the blessedly dark chamber, with walls and ceiling and floor and table and chairs and--

I slumped, almost hitting the ground before I was caught in a cool, steadying embrace. I smelled of fire and blood.

"That," came the droll voice of the Devil, "was most unexpected."

My eyes flickered open as I was hoisted up again. To my surprise, Armaeus didn't carry me out of the room, which I heartily deserved, in my opinion. Instead, he poured me into one of the enormous chairs around the table. Eshe was seated as well, looking credibly shaken.

"Who are you?" she asked.

I stiffened. "Rich, or I'd better be." I scowled at Armaeus, who regarded me with that maddeningly contemplative stare. "What? What did I do?"

"What you said you would," he said. "You saw, and you shared what you saw."

"She did more than that." I blinked at the High Priestess's tone. For all of her animosity toward me, there was something new lining her words. "Where are you from? Who are your parents?"

"Okeedoke, I think the bonding moment is done, thanks. You guys going to tell me the import of anything I just saw?" At Eshe's new layer of surprise, I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I remember what I see. If that's not usual, let's give the dearly departed Fitz some props. He's improved on the original toxic fumes your little oracles inhaled. Though I gotta tell you, that hurt like a bitch."

"Molecular displacement," Armaeus said. "You literally came apart at the seams to travel the way you did, but retained sentience to report."

"Yeah, well, it stung."

"What you saw was the Connected community eating its own tail, if it matters." Kreios reclined back in his chair, his fingers steepled together. "The experiments have been going on for a long time, but the electronica angle is new. New and dangerous. And possibly exactly what's needed."

"What I saw was not needed, I can pretty much guarantee that."

He conceded that point with a nod. "But the idea was on track. Even doctors had a reason for leeching their patients, back in the day."

"Look..." I sighed. "I need some air. You guys keep talking. I'll be back when I've accounted for all my missing molecules."

"You can't leave." Eshe leaned toward Armaeus, but her tone wasn't petulant anymore. It was worried. "She can't leave."

"Watch me," I said.

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# Chapter Twenty-Six

Getting out of the Magician's lair was less exciting than I'd anticipated. Outside the Conference Room of Doom, an elevator bay lay dead ahead, and when I pressed the button, it opened right up, mercifully empty. I rode it down to a bright antechamber clearly announcing itself as the Luxor's front lobby, and wandered over to the bell desk, reviewing my options. I hesitated, keenly aware that I was being watched by two sets of staff members--from the Luxor and from Prime Luxe--both of which appeared to be clued into my appearance. It was like standing in the hotel lobby of The Shining.

I didn't have any preset plans. I just had to get out of there. Besides, something about the Council's coldness up in their hallowed heavenly halls had me thinking of Nikki and Dixie again, and the city's Connected community. And the girls from Kavala.

More to the point, if I was going to be stuck in Vegas for a few days, I needed to learn my way around. And where else should I start but the friendly neighborhood Welcome Wagon?

"Hello," I said to the small, faintly European-looking concierge standing there. "I'm trying to get the lay of the land, and I was hoping you could direct me to the Chapel of Everlasting Love in the Stars?"

"Love in the Stars? But of course, mademoiselle. You are a bride-to-be?"

The man's accent seemed legitimately French, and I blinked at him. "No--well, I mean, I need to go to the chapel, but I'm not--"

"It is the most romantic chapel in Las Vegas, you will see! But it is a bit of a distance. You would like a taxi, yes?"

"Yes." I smiled at him. Then I remembered: I had no purse. I had no plastic. I had no phone. I sighed. "Never mind. How far away is it from here?"

As the man peered at the screen, I heard the unmistakable hard stride of a giantess in steel-tipped stilettos. I turned around in time to see Nikki doing a double take as she scanned me from head to foot. She was back in a chauffeur costume, but, given the hour, she'd apparently upgraded to the fully sequined version.

"Whoa, girl. What the hell are you wearing?" She frowned at my art-gallery outfit, her scowl lightening briefly as I pulled off the shirt to reveal my tank underneath. "Well, now you're not just pitiful, you don't match at all."

"Says the woman wearing a sequined chauffeur's outfit."

"Says the woman rocking a sequined chauffeur's outfit." She grinned. "C'mon. I've been camped out here in this kitsch palace waiting for you for the last three nights. Sooner or later I knew you'd show up."

Something about her words struck me as wrong, but my brain became wholly occupied with the effort of movement. As we walked the short distance to the car, I could sense the vertigo sneaking up on me. We stopped at a potted plant in the shape of an enormous scarab beetle just as I was feeling the need for something to steady me. I held on to it as Nikki leaned against the valet station and made eyes at the young man standing there. "Please tell me you didn't park my car in the Nairobi desert," she said. "I gotta bounce."

Whether the valet was blinded by her sequins or her smile, he blinked rapidly, then took her ticket and dashed off. Nikki glanced back at me and frowned. "You feeling okay?"

I shrugged. "How are the psychics you recovered from Binion's? Are they safe?"

"Most of them didn't need to be admitted." Nikki pulled out her phone, scanning her messages as she talked. "The ones who did were admitted more for dehydration than for their wounds. It seems that Fitz kept his entertainment nourished enough to function, but ten hours a day in that smoke-filled hole-in-the-wall eventually wears a body down." She scowled, looking up at me again. "Their burns will heal, but some of them will be scarred for life. Shitty way to go for people who already had the cards stacked against them, pardon the pun."

"And their minds?"

One corner of her mouth kicked up in a wry grin. "At least there they've got a bit of an edge. Being an acknowledged Connected as a kid tends to toughen you up mentally, prepare you for the road ahead. It's us poor sons-a-bitches who don't figure it out until later in life that have the harder road. Fortunately, what the psychic network didn't prepare me for, the police academy did."

I blinked, not sure if I heard her correctly. Police academy? True, Nikki could handle a weapon with the best of them, and she had a certain no-nonsense style beneath her flash. But though I didn't know her well, I wouldn't have pegged her for a cop. Especially not as--

She laughed at my confusion. "Oh, I didn't look like this then, dollface. That was before the change. That was before a lot of things. Still, you don't really ever forget the pain, you know?"

Her tone was a little wistful, but before I could respond, her sleek town car cruised up the ramp and slowed to a stop. The starstruck young man leapt out of it as Nikki rounded the front of the vehicle. He handed over the keys--and his card. The latter Nikki tucked into her bra, and I wondered if she still had the Devil's card in there as well, or if her foundation garments were permanently lined with mementos from the streets of Vegas. "I love this town," she sighed happily as she slung herself into the car. She looked at me in the rearview mirror. "Dixie's, I heard you say?"

I shook my head. "Hospital first, since you saved me the trouble of finding you. Armaeus said that they'd moved the Kavala twins to a private room at Las Vegas Medical. I want to double check that for myself, before their parents arrive tomorrow." I drew in a shaky breath that I was sure contained some oxygen in it. "So, that was one heck of a distress call you piped into my brain earlier today. I didn't know you could do that. I got out of there as soon as I could."

Nikki's gaze, momentarily occupied by getting out into traffic on the boulevard, slanted back to me. "Um...'k. But the girls' parents have been here for over a day, sugar."

"What?" I'd seen those girls not five hours ago in the Magician's medical suite. Something wasn't tracking. Then something else clicked in: Nikki's words, about waiting for me for the last three nights... "Ah, how many days has it been since I saw you in Binion's, then?"

"That would be three. You went poof into the Cat in the Hat's limo, and I didn't hear another word out of you. Then the oracle girls disappeared from the hospital. Like, now you see them, now you don't disappeared. Their bodyguard was beside himself. And he's big enough on his own."

"That was all the first day?" My mind balked at trying to parse such simple information.

"Tuesday, yep." Another whiskey-eyed glance. "Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Not so you'd notice."

She shook her head. "I tried to contact you but got no reply. Good to know it worked, though, even if your connection is a little spotty." She grinned. "Then I got a message from one of the Council's couriers that you were safe and healing, that the Kavala twins were fine, and I should focus on getting anything I could out of the young psychics we liberated from Binion's. Their medical care was covered by the Council, by the way. Dixie let that slip."

She blew out a long breath. "Then yesterday, I get another call from the hospital, since somehow I've been assigned as the twins' ward. They were back in the hospital, and oh, yes, could I please come down and sign a bunch of paperwork. Which of course I did. The girls woke up midday, but while I'm given to understand they can speak English, they seem to need to be in a trance to do it. So we basically smiled at each other a lot. Their parents don't speak much English either, but I got them to the hospital in one piece. The Magician is putting them up at the Palazzo. Nice digs, but not cheap." She paused. "There are also more guards assigned to the family now. At the hotel and at the hospital. Someone cares about these girls, it seems."

I thought about what the High Priestess had planned for the sisters--what I'd taken on instead. My body felt like it was held together with Krazy Glue and chicken wire. "They're recovering?"

"The hospital is expecting a specialist in tomorrow to start doing a full tox study. They found enough trace remains of the gas to perform a chemical analysis, but not enough, apparently, to reproduce it for further study. I'm pretty sure there were more than enough canisters of that shit stored around Binion's that didn't go boom, though. And I'm not the only one."

That sounded ominous. "Who else is looking--oh." It hit me with the punch of a medicine ball dropping on my stomach. "The police."

"The very same." We turned the corner, heading off the Strip. "After your little disappearing act, the detective on assignment came looking for me. And while I always appreciate his pretty blue eyes and fine ass, I had to go full-on diva meltdown over the remaining girls to keep him off his balance until Dixie took over and I could split." She eyed me again. "He asked if there'd been a woman in the club, maybe someone who'd found the psychics. He called her Sariah Pelter."

Sariah Pelter. I hadn't heard that name in a long time. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him I didn't know what he was talking about, that there were two hundred people in that place, and that it was dark, it stank, and I wasn't doing a census. Then he pulled out a picture."

That did make me sit up straight. Something hard panged in my chest. "A picture? What sort of picture?"

"The sort you got from newspapers back when they still had newspapers. It was beat to shit too, despite the little laminated pocket thing he had it in. And it was you, dollface, circa age sixteen, not counting your eyes. Those put your birth date more at the creation of the world." We pulled into the parking garage at LVM, and I shuddered as we entered the concrete structure in an actual car vs. via the psychic highway. Traveling by limo hurt way less than traveling by brain waves. Or whatever it was I'd done. Nikki parked and half turned in her seat. "You wanna tell me that little story before I up and say the wrong thing at the wrong time?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but her phone beeped. She glanced down. "Hold that thought, honey," she said. "The girls just flatlined."

We piled out of the limo, Nikki bolting for the elevator for several long steps before she realized I wasn't keeping up. With a curse, she strode back to me, pulling one of my arms over her neck to carry some of my weight. "I thought you were supposed to be healing."

"This is me healing."

I couldn't fully hear Nikki's expletive as we made it to the elevator bay. She practically threw me up against the wall, bracing me as she punched in a button for the fourth floor. Then she scowled at me and also punched one for the fifth.

"They separated the girls?"

"They did not," she said. "Just hedging my bets given your awesome athletic prowess right now. I can't manage everyone collapsing around me at the same time."

"Great," I muttered. I couldn't seem to fill my lungs. I'd started out fine at the car, but within three steps, I'd needed a deep breath of air, and--it wasn't there. Whatever was pumping through my veins was high-test something or other, but it certainly wasn't oxygen.

The elevator pinged open, and Nikki punched it closed again, not moving until we'd hit the fifth floor. "Here we go." She hauled me out of the elevator and down the hallway. Room doors stood open, some with patients, some not. She stepped inside one and deposited me on a chair, then squatted until she was eye-level.

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to do. "What are you on?" She scowled at me, then pulled a phone out of her cleavage. "Burner. No passcode set. Do me a favor and don't set one now, not until you stabilize. Which ain't going to be anytime soon, sweetcakes."

She held out the phone, and I took it, wincing against another chest spasm. "I've got the number, and I'll text you if it's clear," she continued. "When you feel better, if you feel better, it's room 425. If you don't feel better, crawl into this nice bed here and tell the nurse I'm one floor down. It's not like they don't already know me in this joint."

I nodded, and Nikki gripped my shoulder, then stood. I couldn't see so well, but I heard her heels clicking down the long corridor. Twenty steps, then a pause, a door slam, and silence.

Stairs, I thought. I could get to the stairs.

I couldn't stay where I was, no matter what Nikki said.

What did the High Priestess do to me?

I closed my eyes and thought back to the events leading up to today's oracular gymnastics. I remembered the girls, the fight. The afternoon of preparation, a meal. Being left alone and nodding off.

Nodding off.

The meal.

I frowned. I'd been tired, yes. But I hadn't been ready to drop into a coma. Had Armaeus drugged me? Worse, was one of the side effects of that drug an even more enhanced capability for astral travel or whatever the hell it was I'd done?

Just whose side was that bastard on, anyway?

I struggled to straighten in my chair--which was a good first step, I thought. At some point, my phone pinged, and I glanced down at it. My eyes blurred with pain almost immediately, so I tucked my phone away. Nikki was supposed to text me when she had the all clear. Well, she'd texted. What she said didn't matter, I just needed to get to her.

I pushed out of the room and sighed, swaying closer to the wall. Walls were good.

Fortunately, the unit was all but empty tonight, and I made my way down the interminably long corridor mostly by breathing through my nose. The place smelled like antiseptic and citrus, which, surprisingly, helped stabilize me. Then again, I'd been in and out of a lot of hospitals, back in the day.

As Sariah Pelter. "C'mon, c'mon," I gritted out. "Not the time."

I made it to the door marked EXIT and pushed it, almost crying with relief as I staggered into the cool white stairwell. I pressed up against the wall and realized from the shock of contact that my skin was fiery hot. "Goddammit, Armaeus," I muttered. "What did you do to me?"

Only silence greeted me. I tried to remember whether or not the Magician had spoken inside my head since I'd entered Binion's. He had, hadn't he? But not since he'd "healed" me. And certainly not once I'd been prepared for the High Priestess's visioning work.

Man, all that had sucked. Still, if I hadn't stepped in, Eshe would have tried to force the girls from Kavala to perform for her, and they clearly weren't up for that kind of crazy. Then again, maybe they wouldn't feel it as strongly as I did. Maybe since they'd been doing it for years, the experience of being blasted apart and then put back together would feel like coming home.

I sort of doubted it.

The trip down the stairs was mercifully brief, since I had gravity on my side. By the time I pushed out onto the floor, I felt more or less steady. A controlled sort of chaos was holding forth at the far end of the hallway. But it didn't look like desperate chaos. More like happy, fluffy chaos. I needed more fluffy in my life.

Besides, that had to be where the girls were being held. I eased out alongside the wall, pausing a moment to rest. Because of the ruckus, no one noticed me. I was feeling better, I told myself. I could totally make it if I stayed pressed up against the wall.

Ten steps down the hallway, I began to rethink my decision.

Twenty steps, and my breathing gave out again.

But it was at step twenty-three that my good luck really took a nosedive.

A firm, no-nonsense palm appeared out of nowhere, pressing into the wall before my eyes. It was attached to a powerful forearm that disappeared beneath the sleeve of a rumpled white shirt rolled up almost to the elbow.

But I didn't get much beyond the hand, honestly, given what was dangling from it.

An LVMPD police detective badge. With a name I had imprinted on my cerebral cortex since the first time I'd heard it when I was twelve years old.

"Hello, Sariah," Brody Rooks said.

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# Chapter Twenty-Seven

Wincing, I flopped around so at least I had the wall at my back, then forced myself to look up. And up still farther. I'd remembered him being tall, intense, and mind-bogglingly hot but...I hadn't expected there to be so much of him.

Then again, I hadn't expected ever to see the man again.

What little shot I'd had at breathing normally was now completely dead.

Standing in front of me was six-foot-something's worth of heart-stoppingly gorgeous detective in a rumpled suit and a three-day beard. His eyes were rimmed with fine lines and ringed with fatigue, his hair looked like he'd been raking his hands through it, his body was as tight and coiled as a lion about to spring. Some of what I saw was new, but most of it was as familiar as my own skin, a million different details pounding at me, filling in a decade of memories.

"Hello, Brody."

He jerked back at the sound of my voice, as if he'd half thought I was a mirage. His hand dropped from the wall. Eyes the color of a winter sky took my measure, the smooth, tight lips and chiseled jaw assaulting the fading sepia-toned image I had carefully preserved in the scrapbook of my mind, inviolate and impenetrable.

I'd left that image behind the moment I'd picked myself up off a hot Memphis back lot ten years ago, the sound of my own annihilation ringing in my ears, the smell of copper and fire rank in my nose. Stumbling, coughing, and half-dead with shock, I'd walked away that morning from everything in my life that had turned to pure evil.

And I'd run from the only thing left that was good.

"That was you, I assume," he said coolly. "Four days ago at Binion's?"

I didn't bother answering that one, and his jaw tightened. The subtle movement unlocked a completely unexpected and unwanted flood of heat inside me, valuable at this moment only because it mortified me to the point of movement. I lurched off the wall, swaying, and began trudging down the corridor again.

Brody turned too, not touching me. Which I appreciated. Almost. "What are you doing here?" He didn't ask the second question, and the more obvious one: What are you doing alive? I appreciated that too.

"I'm here to make sure the girls are okay. There's no law against that, I assume."

He morphed smoothly into cop mode. "What's your connection to them?"

"Saw them on the street outside that terrible, terrible accident." We reached the knot of people in front of the girls' room. There were fewer of them now. Fewer was good. Apparently sensing that I was in no shape to be stopped, Brody let me keep going. I homed in on Nikki's glitter.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, you can't--"

"She's on the approved list." Nikki waved me in, her eyes rounding as she took in my new detective-size shadow. "Hello, Officer Hottie."

My gaze flew to hers, but her bright-green contacts were trained on Brody. Beside me, he sighed. "I thought you said you didn't know her, Nikki."

"I had no idea you meant dollface. But, Sara, look sharp. The girls apparently stopped their cardiac arrest dealio the moment you had your little fainting spell in the parking garage. They woke up crying out for you. We've only barely gotten them calmed down."

Leaving Brody behind, I pressed forward into the room. It had to be one of the nicest hospital rooms I'd ever seen, a double wide with two side-by-side beds and enough monitors to run the space station. "What is all this?"

"Experimental technology wing. Three guesses who underwrites it."

"Hello, Sara Wilde." The Devil's haunting murmur knifed through me, but I ignored it, focusing on the twins. Just like in the medical suite at Prime Luxe, they both turned as if they were tethered to the same string and fixed me with a double-barreled stare. Unlike any other medical team I'd ever encountered, the crew surrounding the girls actually stood back as I got close. Either these guys had been prepped on me, or they landed far more squarely on the "research" side of the spectrum than "caregiver." Worked for me.

"What're their names?"

"Jos and Prayim," Nikki supplied. "Translator at your elbow."

At the sound of their names, the girls' hands lifted, reaching for me, their eyes luminous with shared pain. Ah shit. "Did they--" I turned to the translator, a small man in linen trousers and a short-sleeved dress shirt. "Do they know what happened, ah, with me?"

He put the question to them in a melodic language--Greek, I assumed, or some variant close to that. The girls' faces clouded with sadness, their words coming thick and fast.

"They know that you--" The translator frowned. "They are saying you stepped into the mist? For them. They know you were not prepared. They know you're--"

"Okay, that's enough." I was keenly aware of Brody standing behind me, listening. "Tell them I'm fine, that they have to get better, that's the important thing. To heal." I flapped my hand at them. "Or do whatever they need to do. I'll be fine."

The translator spoke again, and the girls' eyes flashed back to me, too big, too haunted. Between them, their parents watched the two girls mournfully. "I don't suppose they've experienced what I'm going through?"

"Actually, they have," Nikki said. "Apparently, they've 'appeared to die' on a number of occasions since birth. Occupational hazard."

"Right." I knew I should leave, but I couldn't help but ask, "Does it get better?"

The translator put the question to the girls, and their smiles sent a warm wash of reassurance through me. Then the short man spoke again. "Not at all," he said. "But the pain is a gift to the goddess, for which they are honored."

Great. "Of course it is."

Nikki eyed me as Brody finally moved forward and grabbed my arm. A jolt of recognition flowed through me. Not the electrical pulse that I experienced with the touch of a Connected, but the rush of familiarity, of long-ago hopes and wishes and stupid emotions that really had no place surging up now, with a flash of heat so strong I wondered if I was going through the change twenty years too early.

"So this is your secret, Sara Wilde."

The voice purred over the heads of everyone in the room, and this time I did stop, turning to scan the room. Aleksander Kreios leaned against the far wall, watching me. No one seemed to notice him except Nikki, however. Nikki and Jos and Prayim, whose eyes grew large, their faces so rapt that even their parents looked over to the far wall, frowning.

"What is it?" Brody hadn't let go of my arm, but he wasn't stupid. His gaze went to the far wall, and he frowned. "What's with the wall?"

With a wink, Kreios winked out, apparently an illusion tuned solely to the Connected channel. The girls blinked and appeared confused again, and Nikki moved forward in a flash of sequins and swagger.

"Time to break up the party and let these girls get some rest. Detective? Sara?"

The research team stood mutely to the side, and I wondered at them again. Where had Armaeus found them? And what was he hoping to gain?

We shuffled out into the corridor, Nikki staunchly by my side.

"Saria--Sara," Brody corrected himself, as soon as we'd cleared the knot of people. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"Are you here in an official capacity, Detective?" Nikki asked, her voice dripping with Southern charm that was completely fake but somehow worked for her. "Or you want me to give Dixie a call? I bet she's probably in the hospital right now, looking after her other girls."

I blinked. Dixie?

Meanwhile, Brody winced. "Nikki, this isn't the time."

"No really, this is perfect." Nikki had her cell phone out, waving it around. It was as bedazzled as her uniform. "Since Sara here clearly isn't the person you asked about the other day, and no one else knows she could have been that person either, it probably makes sense for us to have your little chat with Sara another day? Not in the middle of a crowd while girlfriend here can barely keep her feet. But there's no need to waste the opportunity for you and Dixie to get together."

It was my turn to stare. Brody wasn't taking that well. His tired face now had two flags of color at the cheeks, and he grimaced. "We're no longer together, Nikki. You know that."

"Hmm. Well, not sure Dix knows that, word to the wise. What is definite fact, however, is that Sara here is about to faint. Let us go freshen up, and we'll be back in a jiff."

"Not happening." Brody turned and glared. "Beat it, Nikki."

"I'm not going--"

"It's fine, really," I said, reaching out to touch her arm. Her strength radiated from her, welcome and sure. "I can talk."

She blew out a long breath. "Fine." She swiveled toward Brody. "You've got three minutes, then we're outtie."

Not giving him a chance to disagree, she turned up the corridor, her booming voice loud enough to wake the dead. "Doctor! I need to talk with the doctor."

Brody half pulled, half carried me to the next open room, pushing me inside it, then stepping in himself. He didn't close the door behind him, but I still felt trapped. Not being a huge fan of being trapped, I welcomed the spurt of anger that cleared away most of my fog. I forced my chin up and braced myself against the wall. I was a big fan of walls at the moment.

Brody stood on the balls of his feet, like a predator about to pounce. "Let's start with an easy one, Sara," he said, his eyes cop hard again. "What brings you to Vegas? It's a long way from Memphis, don't you think?"

"I could ask you the same question." I shrugged. "I didn't think this kind of town would be your style."

As soon as I said the words, I knew I'd somehow misstepped. In my defense, it'd been a really long day.

"My style?" Brody's words were too careful, too quiet. "Based on what? Your oh-so-thorough assessment of my character when you were seventeen years old? The scene in your rearview mirror as you vanished into thin air?" Sharp brows lifted above his resolute gaze, and his lips twisted. "Tell me, Sara, was it my style that made you leave the city without informing the police that you were still alive the morning after your mother was taken? Was it my style that caused you to disappear completely, leaving us to assume you'd also been killed--or were kidnapped--by the same thugs who'd gotten to her?"

His words assaulted me, bringing back memories still too fresh after ten years. The explosion, the screaming, the nightmare of pain and rancid fear... I stiffened, turning away from him. "What I did and why I did it is none of your business."

"Wrong answer." Brody moved too quickly for me to evade him. My feint was more like a faint, and his hands locked on my shoulders, catching me up against the wall.

Heat pulsed through me as he shifted his hands to rest against the wall on either side of my head. Now I really did feel trapped. And intimidated. And overwhelmed by emotions I couldn't even process. Brody Rooks, the star of a million fantasies and a million nightmares, was in front of me now. Real. Alive. Leaning into me. I was afraid to even blink as he edged closer yet. His lips were so near, they brushed against mine, and a million jolts of completely non-Connected energy shot through me. I whimpered, my lungs suddenly forgetting how to work.

"Now this, Sara, really is my style," he murmured, his lips moving against mine, a hint of a kiss so intense that my bones ached for him to just do it already. "So I suggest you start talking."

No talking, no talking, my body screamed. "I don't have anything to say to you," I whispered.

"Oh, I think you do." He leaned back from me to study my face, and his hips torqued against mine. I might be unable to breathe, but Brody's body was as jacked as mine was, even if his words were still furious. "I think you have about ten years of things to say to me, Sara, starting with where the hell you went on the morning of May thirteenth."

I stared at him, memorizing his pupils for something to do while my brain flapped its hands around and bleated. If I could just get him out of this room, I would run. Fast, hard, and for as long as it took to get away. It had worked ten years ago, it'd work now. I couldn't tell him the truth--not then, and definitely not now. Not ever, really. Some things just couldn't be undone. "Can you give me some air, here?" I managed.

He hesitated, glaring at me.

I gaped back, channeling fluster. It wasn't all that hard.

Finally, as if it took him far more effort than it should have, Brody stepped back just far enough to reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a small, weather-beaten notebook, fastened with a thick rubber band and bookmarked with a pen. He opened the little book, sliding the pen free, then glanced back up at me. Once more, the cool, confident cop was on display--the hot, hard predator leashed. I didn't know which Brody was more dangerous. "Okay," he said, pen poised. "Where did you go?"

My lungs finally collapsed again, and with breath came defiance. "How can it possibly matter--"

He moved just a half inch closer to me, stopping my words mid-bitch. "Just answer the damn question, Sara," he said. "It's important."

"I left town. I hitchhiked," I said flatly. "I was picked up at a campground by a woman in an RV. End of story."

"Who was it?"

"Doesn't matter, she's dead now. Natural causes."

He made another notation. "Then what? Where did you go after she gave you a ride?"

"Around." I waved my hand. "We traveled all over the place. There was a bunch of retirees going from campground to campground, seeing the sights. That's where I went. Sorry it's not more exciting."

"For ten years." His gaze on me was level and hard. "You mean to tell me that you've been roaming around with a group of itinerant campers for ten years. No job, no school, no credit cards--"

"Last time I checked, none of that was a crime."

"I was looking for you!" he exploded, fury and disbelief raging over his face. "The morning of the explosion, we all thought we'd find you in that rattle trap of a trailer, and there was nothing--nothing! There were no calls, not one of your classmates knew where you'd gone, there wasn't one scrap of information. I tracked Jane Doe deaths and kidnapping reports for the next three years, expecting either you or what was left of you to show up. When nothing happened, I didn't know if that was good or bad."

So much death. Swirling all around me, so much death. "I wasn't your responsibility," I said stiffly.

"Your mother had been killed on my watch, Sara. That makes you my responsibility."

"Your mother...killed." Hearing the words rocked me in a way I couldn't have expected. Something inside me, the last fragile bud of disbelief, curled up and died. I'd known my mother was dead, of course. I'd known it ten years ago. But no one had ever said the words to me. No one had ever--

"Okay, Mr. Hide Your Witness in a Closet, time's up." Nikki had appeared in the doorway, reviewing the scene with the air of a woman ready to take a body down. "Unless you're going to arrest Sara for unlawful saving of everyone's asses, we're done here. You've got other work to do."

Brody growled as I pushed myself off the wall and scrambled to the side. "Not even--"

"Detective." A man in a white coat entered the room as well, waving an official-looking clipboard. "Having all these uniformed officers on-site is not part of our normal protocol. If you could just sign--"

Brody shot out a hand and caught my arm, turning me around to face him. His eyes were hard as flint, a mixture of anger and--something deeper, more primal in his face. "This isn't finished."

Nikki stepped closer. "It's not even begun, Sugar Lips. Now go do your manly business, and let me get Sara over to Dixie's."

He blanched. "That's where she's staying?"

"You know the number!" Nikki clapped her hands on my shoulders, steering me out the door as the doctor pushed his clipboard into Brody's hands.

Whether Brody watched us leave, I couldn't say.

Once again, I didn't look back.

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# Chapter Twenty-Eight

An hour later we were in a whole new world. With donuts.

Nikki had brought me to the Palazzo Casino and, after a brief stop at the front desk, had sent me into the megahotel's rabbit warren of shops and restaurants to secure provisions. My instructions were clear and simple: get donuts, wait about twenty minutes so we wouldn't be seen in the casino together, then head up to the room.

So now here I was, trudging through the Palazzo, the key card and a box of deep-fried goodness in my hands the only things keeping me going. A beefy security guy waved me through to the special bank of guest elevators. I'm not going to lie, I appreciated his extra muscles, though my problems weren't going to be solved by brawn.

I rode up to my floor alone, then shambled down the long, luxurious hallway past several double doors whose numbers I barely registered. My entire world had diminished to four very important digits. 2-0-1-5. I'd get there eventually.

After what seemed like an inordinately long time, the rooms dwindled to single-door dwellings, with doors spaced farther apart. Then, suddenly, Suite 2015 loomed in front of me. I slid my passkey home, somehow absurdly pleased with the green light that flicked on. I shoved the far too heavy door open, walked inside--and stopped short. "You've got to be kidding me."

Suite 2015 glowed in the warm, ambient shimmer of several discreetly placed lamps in the foyer, the light glinting off a white marble-inlaid floor that spilled out in pristine beauty across the foyer, down a short set of steps, and into a sunken living room area. The room was stuffed with every conceivable luxury: a giant flat-screen TV, unreasonably large plush couches, a prissy work desk bristling both with electronics and a huge bottle of champagne in a bucket, and...a floor-to-ceiling view of the most extraordinary world I'd ever seen.

Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas.

Mesmerized, I dropped the donut box on a table and walked toward the window. My eyes filled with the city's bright lights--and its enormous phantom casinos: The pristine white-and-black towers, the fairy-tale castle and its neighboring hulking keep. Above the Flamingo Hotel, Scandal's glass-fronted lightshow had changed to a pulsing neon burst of purple flames.

I leaned against the window frame, my gaze inexorably drawn yet farther south. Because there, of course, was the final casino, crouched like a predator at the edge of the city. Prime Luxe. It was larger than all the rest, more elegant and more barbaric by turns, its glowing metal spires thrusting up in a primitive and powerful cry to the heavens. I wondered if Armaeus was in there somewhere, watching for me, waiting.

Well, he can go screw himself. I was wrung out; feeling worse, not better, with each passing hour since I'd tripped the light fantastic in the Council's conference room and had my Brody showdown. God, that had all sucked. Even the parts that still sent my heart racing. Because I knew what I had to do.

I was staying as long as it took to get the girls out of danger, then I was out of Vegas. Permanently.

Even as I thought the words, the white spires of the Prime Luxe turned red--pulsed--then went dark.

I wheeled back from the window as if I'd been slapped. Jerking the curtains closed, I blanked the view of the city.

"You bring the donuts?"

I looked up, and Nikki stood in the doorway to the second bedroom of the suite, her hair in a garish turban and her body ensconced in an enormous kimono.

"Kitchen table." I pointed.

"You're the best. She padded over, and I realized that she was wearing giant poodle slippers. "I left you a change of clothes on your bed from my go bag. We gotta do something about your wardrobe, but not tonight. Tonight is for donuts and champagne. The latter is on the Magician. I'm sure he won't mind."

I smiled as I trudged my way into the bedroom. The thing on the bed looked like one long piece of hot pink satin, but I didn't care. I unbuckled my boots, then skimmed out of my shirt and leggings. Eventually I found a neck hole in the garment and pulled it on. It was some sort of weird caftan, and it smelled like bubblegum lip gloss.

Nikki hadn't wanted me to be left alone tonight, and I hadn't wanted to be left alone either. Nevertheless, I was a little out of my depth. It'd been a long time since I'd had anything approaching a girlfriend. Other than Father Jerome, it'd been a long time since I'd had anything approaching a friend at all.

She barked out a laugh when I went back into the main area. I'd knotted the garment to the side, and it almost cleared the ground. "Dollface, I swear, if I posted that on Facebook, you'd have to fight the boys off with sticks. C'mere. The donuts are top-drawer. The champagne sucks, but what're you gonna do?"

"Any port in a storm." Instead of going with conventional flutes, Nikki served the bubbly in giant glass tumblers. I picked up the bottle and read the label. "I assume this was the most expensive bottle?"

"I figured you needed it more than the sultan of Dubai."

I laughed. I couldn't remember the last time I'd done that, but Nikki grinned at me as I gingerly slid onto the couch. My mental inventory insisted that everything that was supposed to be inside my body remained inside. Even if it all was still a little scrambled.

"So." Nikki leaned back in her chair, her feet stacked one over the other at the ankle, the white fuzzy poodles wagging their pink tongues at me. She hoisted her tumbler, but her eyes were direct. Cop direct. And her manner was no-nonsense. "You want to tell me what's going on between you and Detective Sexy Pants?"

"Why--is he dating Dixie?" The words were out before I could stop them.

"Nope, but not for her lack of trying. That's a complication for another day, though, because he pretty much looked ready to eat you alive at the hospital, and pretty much all in a good way, once he gets over his pout. What'd you do to him?"

I grimaced. "Let him believe I was dead for the last ten years."

"Well, that would put a guy off, I guess."

I picked up my own glass and took a long swig. Nikki had opened up the curtains again while I'd been changing, and the entire swath of the Vegas Strip lay spread out in front of us like a sorcerer's playground. I sensed all the questions coming from Nikki, but I beat her to the punch. Now, this night, I wanted somebody to know.

"Back in the day, I wasn't Sara Wilde. I was Sariah Pelter, or Psychic Teen Sariah." I rolled the glass in my hand. There was no judgment coming from Nikki as I spoke. I suspected she'd been a pretty good cop at some point. "Your comment about knowing your gifts as a kid making it easier? It does and it doesn't. My mom knew what I could do, and she told her friends, who told their friends. I'd read cards for them when they came over to play poker. They all got a great laugh out of it. Eventually, I was maybe about eleven at this point, someone asked me if I could find her lost dog. God love her, she adored that dog." I shook my head, remembering it. "Little Jack Russell terrier, most annoying thing you could ever imagine. But my mom's friend was beside herself with worry." I let my words trail off, remembering the woman's lined face, her florid bottle-red hair, her heavy makeup. And her eyes. Her eyes had been the worst. She'd known from the start.

"Let me guess," Nikki interrupted my thoughts. "You found the dog in a neighbor's backyard."

"Put out in the trash. I didn't predict that part. She guessed when she went home that night and saw the trash cans all lined up along the street. She attacked everyone's garbage like some sort of crazed maniac and found Kiki within twenty minutes. My mom told me that later." I grimaced. Of all the terrible things I'd seen since then, it was that story that gave me the willies. Maybe because that was when everything had started. "It didn't take long after that for word to get around."

"And how long did it take for puppies to become kids?"

I glanced at her sharply, and once again, despite the kimono and turban and the thin film of facial cream, the eyes that stared out at me were dead-on cop.

She kept going. "You said ten years ago was when you were tangled up with Brody. For him to give a shit, he had to be working with you. Not a huge leap to have the community psychic brought in on an investigation, even if she's a kid. Especially if she's a kid." Her eyes narrowed. "Schoolmate of the victim, I bet."

I worked my hands around the glass. "Maryann Williams. She'd been gone three days. I didn't know her, not really. She wasn't in any of my classes. But her mom told someone else's mom, who told my mom and also the police that I probably knew something because I could find anything. And my mom, of course, was more than happy to march me down to the station to prove their stories true."

"She sounds like a prize." Nikki's words were slightly more judgmental now. "But you did your thing, I'm thinking. You found the kid."

"Yeah." I swallowed. "I was too late, though."

Nikki took another drink and considered that. "Bet you weren't after that."

"Not usually." My words were barely a whisper now. "I became sort of obsessed. I would pore over the missing persons reports, amber alerts. My mom kept bringing me to the station. I'd give information to anyone who would listen. They even investigated me as being an accessory once."

"Gotta love the system. They assigned you to Brody after that?"

"He was new on homicide, and they tossed him into Crimes against Kids or something like that. He got saddled with me before he could say no." I shrugged. "After a while, it just seemed natural, working together."

"And how long before it blew up?"

I looked out the window again. Scandal was lit up in pulsing purple and red. As I watched, it slid to blue, then green. Like a skyscraping lava lamp. "Five years. Then I just--I had to leave the city. For good. And I couldn't leave a trail. I was off the grid for a long time after that. But eventually, I sort of drifted back, I guess."

"We all do." Nikki rolled the champagne around in her glass. "And then, eventually, Brody transferred here, and you never came clean on the fact that you'd been alive all this time." She looked at me somberly. "Cops take that kind of thing personally. We lose too many as it is."

I winced, remembering the almost crazed look in Brody's eyes as he'd searched my face, unwilling to believe at first that I wasn't some hallucination. "I know."

"But that definitely explains why you've always been hell-bent on leaving Vegas almost before you touch down." She stopped moving her glass. "Until this time. Because of those girls."

"I made a deal with the Council." I sensed the slightest touch of Armaeus in my mind, but I ruthlessly shut him out. "Fitz pumped a lot of that Pythene gas into me, and it did something to me. For the time being, I have the same visioning skills that Jos and Prayim do. So they don't have to play Eye of God for the Council. I can."

"How's that working out for you?"

"About as well as it looks."

Nikki pursed her lips, her glass almost empty as she leaned down to scoop up another donut. "There's more to it, isn't there? The girls had one rough patch in the hospital before we could stabilize them, the only time they spoke in English. Said something big and bad was after us all. Hunting us down. And that it was coming here next."

I saw no reason to deny it. "Yeah."

She shook her head. "Well, Vegas is a great place to party."

I laughed again despite myself, and Nikki eased the conversation away from all the dark corners and sharp edges that were forming in my mind. At some point, she helped me to my feet, but the pain in my body had dulled from the alcohol and sugar. I stumbled into bed, telling myself that tomorrow, everything would work out. Tomorrow, I'd find out when the girls would be able to return home, assuming that Armaeus could ensure they would be protected. Tomorrow, I was one day closer to getting my own freedom back.

Sleep didn't creep up on me like a whisper in the night--it hit me like a baseball bat. I'd no sooner closed my eyes than my mind unhinged, and I found myself sifting and drifting through a flood of random, unconnected thoughts, sinking deeply into a profoundly subverbal bliss. Gradually, the mind-static firmed and a soft, familiar murmur slid over me, as intimate as a lover's touch.

Exactly that intimate, in fact.

Sweet Christmas, yes. I needed a really good dream right about now. I let the smile curve my lips, pleasure prickling along my skin, warming it, as I arched in response to the pressure on my body. I sighed with completely unfettered appreciation as the mattress beneath me shifted to accommodate the body of a large, delicious-smelling man, knocking my Sleep Number to an absolute 10. Not any delicious-smelling man either, but a beautiful, dangerous, lust-magnet muffin of stud who I wasn't entirely sure was trustworthy, but at this moment, I pretty much didn't care, because I was dreaming. And if a girl couldn't throw caution to the wind while she was sacked out for the night, when could she?

Except...except there was decidedly something non-dreamlike about the hand sliding up my thigh, about the soft murmur of breath along skin, the feeling of lips pressing to my hip bone, my rib cage, my shoulder. Despite my brain insisting that waking up was seriously not in my best interests, even if all of this was a dream, I pried my eyes open a slit.

Just in time to get bodychecked into the mattress by a full-frontal bronzed demigod.

"Miss Wilde," the Magician purred, his voice rich with sensual promise. Then his next words sent me spinning in an entirely different direction. "It's time for our work to begin."

***

THANK YOU FOR READING GETTING WILDE! Sara and the Magician continue to tangle in WILDE CARD, and run into far more trouble than they bargained for... Now available for only $0.99, you can join the adventure here!

Jenn Stark writes award-winning tales of urban fantasy and paranormal romance. To learn more about her other books, sign up for her newsletter, here: <https://www.jennstark.com/newsletter/> \- and may your world be filled with magic!

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# Wolves: I Bring the Fire Part I (A Loki Series)

by C. Gockel

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# Chapter 1

The gas station bathroom off route 44 is completely lined with white tiles. Overhead a fluorescent light buzzes and flickers. The bathroom smells like urine and Pinesol. A toilet with a cracked seat sits on one side of the little room. On the other is an ancient sink, hanging off the wall.

The toilet is unoccupied. The sink is not. In it is a writhing wet creature about the size of a dachshund but heavier set and tailless, with short, dark gray fur interspersed with tufts of light gray. Holding the creature under a cloud of foul smelling, antiseptic soap bubbles from the bathroom dispenser is Amy Lewis.

A splash of suds comes right at Amy's eyes. Blinking, she looks up at the mirror above the sink. Her long dishwater blonde hair is wet and plastered to her head where it isn't pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her wide blue eyes have dark circles from lack of sleep -- she got up early to start the trip from Oklahoma to Chicago. She's not wearing any makeup. She should not care; no one will see her out here. But she wishes she was wearing some under-eye concealer. Her nose has a large soap sud on it. Her wide lips are slightly chapped. She looks like she's been in her car for a week, not a few hours, and she looks far older than her twenty-four years.

Looking down with a sigh, Amy says, "Why, Fenrir? Why?"

Fenrir, the creature, makes a non-committal yip. Some of Amy's fellow vet school classmates insist that Fenrir is most likely a capybara, a large, tailless guinea pig-like rodent native to South America. But Fenrir's nose is far too narrow and rat-like for her to be a capybara. Other classmates have suggested that Fenrir is, in fact, a giant rat. However, her front teeth are not rodent teeth. Fenrir is a dog...and Amy and one of her professors did a DNA test just to prove it.

A few minutes ago Amy was walking Fenrir outside the gas station. Letting herself take a break from the long drive, Amy had idly watched the sparse traffic whiz by. When she felt the jerking of Fenrir's leash, it was too late. Fenrir was already joyfully rolling in something that would have been easier to identify before it had wandered onto the freeway, before whatever-it-was had cooked for a few days under a sweltering Great Plains sun.

"It's okay." Amy sighs. "I know why you did this." Animal psychology is somewhere between a hobby and an obsession for most vet wannabes. Lifting up the still soapy, still wiggling dog, she says, "You want to be a great big bad wolf. So you rolled on a dead thing to smell like your prey." It's a common behavior among dogs. And possibly rats.

Fenrir yips enthusiastically and licks Amy's nose.

"Ugh." Wincing away from the smell of roadkill, Amy sets the dog on the floor. As Fenrir tears around the little room, Amy pulls off her fleece sweater. She's just trying to wrap it around the little animal when a knock comes at the door.

"Just a minute," she calls, scooping up the animal. The knock turns to a pound.

Hurriedly opening the door, she comes face to face with a middle-aged man with a puffy face and blond, almost white hair. Fenrir immediately starts growling and tries to lunge out of her arms.

Despite Amy's ferocious guardian, the man's eyes go directly to her chest. It's something Amy is used to. She is generously endowed, which is why she tends to wear large shapeless shirts. They make her look fat, but it is better than the stares. Now she is only wearing a slightly damp tee shirt. Pulling Fenrir's wet body protectively in front of her, Amy says, "I am so sorry she's growling. Really, she hardly ever does this."

Hunching slightly over her growling protector, Amy goes to the side and makes to slip by. The man does not move.

Amy can tell from Fenrir's growl and frantic wiggling that the dog is close to foaming at the mouth. "Shhhh..." Amy says. "I am so sorry," she says to the man. "She's normally not like this."

Well, normally Amy's dog isn't actively trying to lunge at people, but Fenrir isn't precisely friendly, especially not towards males.

Outside a horn honks. The man looks over his shoulder and then steps out of the way.

As Amy walks by him, he calls out, "Are you traveling by yourself?"

The hairs on the back of Amy's neck stand on end. She turns to look at the man. He is smiling. It's a perfectly innocuous smile. She lies anyway. "No."

His smile widens as he closes the bathroom door. Fenrir makes a gurgling noise like she's choking on her own fury and nearly jumps out of Amy's arms.

Squeezing her tight, Amy says, "Really trying to live up to your namesake today?"

Amy's grandfather was a folklore buff. In Norse mythology, Fenrir was the wolf child of the Norse God of Mischief, Loki. The real Fenrir was so vicious that the gods bound him to a tree on a remote uninhabited island -- but someday Fenrir is supposed to be the downfall of Odin, the head of the Norse gods himself.

Eyeing the door, Fenrir just growls.

A few minutes later Amy's in her Toyota Camry, releasing the clutch, tearing out of the gas station and on her way.

It's 768 miles from Stillwater to Chicago, mostly open road and farm land. It's about a twelve hour drive most times -- and totally worth it.

The Oklahoma State University, Stillwater, is one of the best veterinary schools in the country and she's got a full ride. But she's spent every spring and summer since high school graduation with her grandparents in Chicago. There are lots of jobs in Chicago, and Amy's full-ride doesn't pay for things like rent, food, books, and the always mysterious 'miscellaneous fees' universities charge. Amy goes to Chicago to work during breaks. With occasional work as a tech for a veterinarian in Stillwater, she manages just to coast by.

Slipping a CD into the player, Amy cranks down the window. It's not so bad to have her fleece pullover off. Heat is beginning to rise off the freeway in waves. With the window down she's comfortable and the smell of wet Fenrir isn't as overpowering.

She glances over at her companion belted into a safety harness in the front seat. Fenrir's fur is starting to dry and she looks more like a rodent-like dog than dog-like rodent. As near as Amy and her vet-wannabe friends can determine, Fenrir is a mix of toy poodle and chihuahua, somehow minus a tail. Fenrir's fur couldn't decide to be chihuahua or poodle, so it's both, some places long and some places short. As it dries this oddity becomes more prominent. Her ex-boyfriend summed up Fenrir as, "Carlos meets princess, a love story gone terribly wrong."

You can't even say Fenrir is so ugly she's cute. She's just ugly. And with her less than charming personality, no one would have adopted Fenrir if Amy hadn't, which is why Amy had to.

Shifting into fifth gear, Amy says, "Well, despite the jackknifed semi in Tulsa that held us up 3 hours, and your little diversion, looks like we'll be home by midnight. Still on schedule."

Fenrir turns her panting muzzle in Amy's direction as though she's laughing at her.

After two more traffic jams, road construction, and some pit stops for Fenrir that might have been roadkill-induced, it's close to midnight and they're not even in Illinois. As Amy drives through Mark Twain National Forest, she is not the only one the road, but company is few and far between. Trees rise up on either side of her. The air coming in the open windows is humid and hot.

Beside her Fenrir whines.

Biting her lip, Amy says, "I told you...and I told Grandma, we'll stop for the night outside of St. Louis." She should have stopped earlier -- but she didn't want to deviate from her plan. Get home. Get a job. Work.

Granted, that careful planning could be undone by death. Despite the coffee she's been drinking all day, she's tired. She's getting to that stage of sleepiness when reminding her brain that if she falls asleep, she'll die, is no longer working. Her brain is rebelling, reminding her if she dies she'll be asleep. Blessed, wonderful sleep.

Amy grabs a CD from the armrest and holds it up near the steering wheel -- Nine Inch Nails, Pretty Hate Machine. Totally retro, but with enough angst and anger to do the job.

Glancing down quickly, she hits the eject button and pulls out her current disc. As she lifts her head, an orange light in the trees catches her eye. Almost certain it's a forest fire, she briefly turns her head. It is a jet of flame, reaching high up into the sky...

And then it is gone.

She turns back to the road and sees two small lights ahead on the road. It takes a few moments for her brain to register it's a deer's eyes.

Braking and swerving quickly, Amy lets out a quick breath as her tires skid across the gravel on the shoulder. An old memory kicks in and she turns into the skid, but not fast enough. Her car slides into a shallow ditch on the side of the road. The next thing she knows the world is turning over, her neck jerking back and forth, her seatbelt cutting into her chest and hips. There is the sound of crumpling metal from the roof, and a loud crack from the windshield as it caves inward. The glass doesn't shatter completely, but it cracks into hard splinters that knock into Amy's hands. With a cry she pulls her hands away from the wheel. And then it's just the sound of her breathing as she and Fenrir hang upside down by their seat belts.

Amy swallows. It's hard to think, her heart is beating so fast and so loud. Don't cars sometimes catch fire in the movies when they tip over? That's probably overdramatized. Or not.

Get out, she has to get herself and Fenrir out of the car. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she manages to hold onto the strap and not bang her head against the ceiling. Turning, she tries to release Fenrir. It isn't easy. Just turning her neck is painful, and the little animal is whining and twisting furiously. When she finally frees Fenrir, she realizes she probably should have found the leash first. She's got a wiggling little dog under one arm, and it doesn't make crawling out of the window particularly easy.

Her headlights are still on, so she has just enough light to assess her situation. She's actually only a few yards from the road, even though it felt like she rolled for miles. There doesn't seem to be any smoke coming from the car. Nodding to herself, she tells herself all of this is good. Someone will see her from the road and call for help.

Just as she has that thought, she sees headlights approaching. Pulling Fenrir to her chest to better control the dog and her own body's shaking, Amy walks towards the highway. A burgundy minivan approaches, slows, and then stops. Its lights go off. Amy's stomach drops.

Maybe it would have been better not to be seen. She nervously scratches between Fenrir's ears. She's being foolish. The risk of being killed by a serial killer is less than the risk of being hit by lightning, and that risk is less than 1 in 750,000. Most people are good.

Still, she freezes in her tracks.

A door slams on the opposite side of the van.

"Having some trouble?" says a voice that sounds familiar. Why should it sound familiar?

Fenrir starts to growl and jumps from her arms just as the man from the gas station rounds the front of the van.

The next thing she hears is a dull thud and a loud yelp of pain. "Nice try," says the man.

Amy has pepper spray on her keychain. Patting her pockets, she feels nothing. Her eyes widen. It has to be in the ignition. Spinning quickly, Amy bolts towards her car.

She hears footsteps behind her, and a low chuckle.

Dropping and diving through the open window, she tries to roll over to grab her keys. Before she can, she feels pressure on her ankles and the next thing she knows, she's being dragged out of her car on her stomach.

As she tries to claw her way forward, weight settles on her back and pins her to the ground. Something cold and round settles against her temple and she stills.

"Now," says the man. "You make a single peep, you struggle at all, and I'll blow your brains out."

Amy closes her eyes. She doesn't make a sound, but her brain is screaming. Someone, anyone, help me.

* * *

LOKI AWAKES WITH HIS cheek pressed to a cold stone slab, not sure where he is. This is not precisely unprecedented. What is strange is that he doesn't reek of alcohol and his mouth does not taste like vomit.

Blinking his eyes, he tries to focus. There is light, wan and diffuse as though from a northern window. There is a dull pain in his left temple, and the back of his neck is in agony. That is not so worrisome.

What is worrisome is what he doesn't see, feel, hear or taste. There is no magic in the room, no soft glow of light and shifting color, no slight tingle on his tongue and fingertips or murmur in his ear. He might as well be a dumb beast. No, it's worse than that. Beasts have some sense of magic in their whiskers, feathers, and flicks of their tongues. He might as well be a mortal human, blind to magic, and with no magic tricks save one.

His magical abilities cannot be taken from him. But magic can be removed from a place, folded back upon itself, held back for short periods of time in places of great power. Loki knows of only one such place in all of the nine realms. Which means...

Sitting up as quickly as he can with the pain in his neck, he looks around. The room he is in is lined with dull, flat, gray stones that stretch up to a high ceiling. The light is coming from a single skylight. He knows without looking there is a door made of iron bars to his left. There will be at least one sentry on guard beyond.

He's in his home, Asgard, realm of the Aesir, in the Tower. Again. But he can't remember doing anything wrong.

Loki hears the footsteps behind him again. He recognizes them. Loki smiles bitterly. "Thor, what is the charge?"

The footsteps circle around, and there is Thor, towering above him.

"You will be told in due time," Thor rumbles. Mjolnir, Thor's hammer, hangs at his side. But behind the shield of magic, it is just an ordinary piece of iron.

As are Loki's knives if...

Patting his body, Loki looks down. He is only in a shirt and breeches. His armor, boots and belt, and all his knives are gone.

"I don't know all the hiding places of your toys," Thor rumbles. "So I took away all the places they might hide."

Rubbing his neck, Loki winces and remembers Thor's fist connecting with his temple, and a blow to the back of his neck. "Surely I can know the charge?"

Bowing his head, Thor does not meet Loki's gaze.

Loki scowls up at him.

Thor and Loki look so alike they could be brothers. They are both red haired, though Thor's hair tends towards brown, and Loki's towards a brighter strawberry blond. Both are blue eyed, but Thor's eyes are as dark as a storm cloud, and Loki's are a pale gray. Thor has more generous features. He's slightly taller with wider shoulders, an expressive open face, prominent nose, full mouth and raging eyebrows. Loki is a bit more delicate, his chin a little narrower, and his frame leaner. Loki keeps his face clean shaven and his hair shorter -- though it tends to be uneven. Thor sports a red beard, and his hair is long, though neatly groomed.

The biggest difference between them is their skin. Thor's father, Odin, leader of the Aesir, is half Jotunn, the race of the Frost Giants. Thor's mother, Jord, is full Jotunn. Despite his dominant Jotunn blood, Thor's skin is a lovely shade of gold.

Loki's skin by contrast is so pale it is nearly translucent. He does not tan. Without ointments and spells he burns. By most accounts Loki is full Jotunn. Rumors in court say his mother was Laufey and his father Farbauti, and he was abandoned to die as a baby after they were murdered by their own kind. There are some who whisper that while Laufey was his mother, Odin is his father, and that is why he was brought to the court when Odin found him. Whatever his origins, Loki has the ability to cast illusions like a fisherman casts line -- when he has access to magical energy.

While Loki was raised by the servants of Odin and Frigga, Thor was sent away to be raised by the winged Vingnir and Hlora, and only came to court when he reached the end of his twenties. Thor and Loki were almost friends once.

That was a long time ago.

"I was told only to see you here. Not to discuss the reason for your confinement," Thor says with vehemence that sounds forced.

"You've been following the rules since your brother Baldur died," Loki says, gingerly getting to his feet. Smirking, Loki says, "Don't you think if there was any real hope of Odin granting you the crown he would have announced it by now?" Poor Thor.

"Watch your mouth, Silvertongue," says Thor.

Silvertongue is one of Loki's favorite nicknames. It's better than Trickster, Fool, or simply Liar. Thor isn't terribly mad at him. Still, Loki can feel a chill of worry creeping into his bones. Last time he was in the Tower, things did not go well. Smiling despite his fear, Loki says, "I can't watch my mouth, it's attached to my face. As are my eyes, which..."

It's a gentle jibe, but Thor's hands go to the front of Loki's shirt and he's shoved against the wall so hard his teeth rattle. Too winded to speak, Loki just stares at Thor's face, inches from his own. Thor's lips are turned down and his eyes are narrowed in anger...or in despair.

Feeling dread uncoil in his stomach, Loki whispers, "Oh, Thor. Has your daddy made you do something terrible?"

Loki knows something of the terrible things Odin would compel someone to do.

Releasing him, Thor drops Loki to the floor and backs away. For a moment Loki feels sorry for him.

From the door comes a sentry's call. "Visitor to see the prisoner."

Loki blinks. There are few people who would wish to see him.

Thor says quietly, "I was told there were to be no visitors..." but makes no protest as a slender form emerges with the sentry on the other side of the door.

"Sigyn," Loki and Thor say almost at once.

The sentry's key clicks in the lock and Sigyn, Loki's ex-wife, enters.

Asgard is experiencing a 13th century European revival. Sigyn's golden hair is held back by a circlet of braided gold at her crown. She wears a draping seafoam green dress. A cloak of moss green hangs back from her shoulders. But what catches Loki's eye is a large golden pendant on a chain around her neck. He wonders what man has given it to her, and his heart sinks a bit.

Sigyn says nothing until the lock clicks behind her. "Has Thor told you the charges?" Sigyn says.

"No," says Loki, turning to the other man. Thor actually looks a little afraid. Pain and death are not things Thor fears. Loss of honor, on the other hand...

Odin has convinced him to do something very bad indeed.

"They're not against you, Loki," Sigyn says, and Loki turns sharply to her.

Lips trembling she says, "Valli and Nari have been accused of treason by Heimdall and are to be thrown into the Void."

Valli and Nari are their sons.

Loki bites the inside of his cheek. He must stay in control; he must fight with his mind...that is how Loki always wins, the only way he wins.

But his hands are already going to Thor's cloak. As he pulls Thor so their faces are just inches apart, the words he means to say in a low whisper come out a scream. "You swore an oath to protect my sons as though they were your own!"

In the hallway he hears a sentry running and shouting for help.

Thor's hands go to Loki's shirt, as though he might push him away, but he doesn't. Instead he stammers, "Loki, I..." Thor stops, looks sideways, his hands fumbling at his belt.

Loki screams again. "Look at me when you lie to me, oath breaker!"

Thor's eyes go to him. There is so much shame there -- it verifies every horrible suspicion Loki has. His sons will perish, Loki will die unable to help them, and the mighty, valiant, honest Thor is to blame.

He isn't thinking clearly when he tries to twist and throw Thor. Thor's magic is partially responsible for his strength, but even without it he is bigger and stronger than Loki, more practiced at these things, and he isn't completely blind with rage. All Loki can see is red, and the only thing he can feel is his blood pounding beneath his skin too hot and too fast. Too quickly Loki is pinned on the floor, snarling at Thor and reaching for magic that isn't there.

And then Thor's body goes limp and slumps forward. Wrestling the large frame off him, Loki looks up to see Sigyn, Thor's hammer hanging heavy in her hands.

Loki's eyes go wide and his lips curl. A mortal might have died from even a non-magical blow from Mjolnir, but Loki knows Thor isn't dead. Scrambling up from the floor, he moves to take the hammer from Sigyn and finish the job.

Drawing back, she scowls. "No."

Loki wants to scream, wants to argue. His blood is pounding in his ears, his skin feels too hot and too tight and their sons are going to die. Killing another one of Odin's sons seems fitting retribution.

"He let us win," Sigyn says. "Let him live."

Clenching his teeth, Loki stifles his protest.

Sigyn presses firmly at the sides of the pendant around her neck, and the casing in front springs open. Inside is a human-style wind-up stopwatch. "Is it working?" she says. "Hoenir gave it to me; Mimir said he's been devising it since the last time you were here."

Loki is about to speak, something angry and unkind, but his eyes widen instead. The stopwatch is beginning to pulse with magic.

"Yes," Loki says, coming forward.

Staring down at it, Sigyn says, "He said that it..."

"Pulls magic from out of time," Loki says in wonderment. "I see it...how?"

"We don't have time," Sigyn says. "Your armor is at the guard station. I have a hairpin; maybe you can pick the lock?"

Loki can pick just about any lock with a hairpin, but there are faster ways. Clutching the stopwatch, he pulls the magic around him. Closing his eyes he lifts his other hand towards the door. The lock clicks and the door swings open with a creak.

Without hesitation Sigyn runs out, lugging Thor's hammer. Loki follows her into a hallway lined with empty cells. At the end of the hall is the empty guard room, a large ovoid booth set partially into a wall with glass windows on all sides.

Going forward, Sigyn says, "They found out about Valli and Nari's dream of a constitutional monarchy."

Loki's heart falls. Odin is an absolute monarch not interested in sharing his power...and most Asgardians are happy with things that way.

"You knew about that?" Loki says. He'd expressly told his sons to leave their mother out of that folly.

Glaring at him, she says, "I approve of that," and Loki looks quickly away.

As they step through the guard room door, Sigyn says, "Mimir talked the guards downstairs into letting me visit. And then he and Hoenir went back to their hut."

Loki swallows. Hoenir and Mimir have always been kind to Loki and his family, but this...

"Hoenir and Mimir will be confined to the hut until Ragnarok," he says, using the Viking word for the end times.

Glancing at him, Sigyn gives him a tight smile. This escape will spell death warrants for them all; he is not sure even Hoenir's hut can protect them. From down the corridor Loki hears the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Up ahead is a small guard room with a large window looking out at the cell block. Loki's armor and his sword, Laevatein, hang against the far wall. Entering the room, Loki and Sigyn move towards the armor as one. Without speaking, Sigyn sets down the hammer and helps Loki slip on the breastplate as he fastens his simple unadorned helmet. The helmet's most notable feature is a visor of dwarven crystal. With magic it is shatterproof, but without magic he can't trust it to protect his eyes. He flips it up.

Loki's hands never collide with Sigyn's as they finish the fastenings. They've done this many times before. As the last buckle is finished and Laevatein is on his hip, their eyes meet.

Since Sigyn opened the stopwatch, magic has been creeping into the tower. But his armor is still not fully enchanted, nor will his knives be. It's doubtful they'll make it out alive.

Loki can't speak, and Sigyn looks quickly away.

Down the hall, a guard shouts, "Come out of there! Hands above your heads."

Darting to the far corner, Sigyn says, "Hoenir said these magic eggs were yours, and they might help us...although the guards didn't detect any magic in them..."

"Eggs?" says Loki. He has no magic eggs. Going to the door, he peers quickly out and catches sight of four guards. A crossbow arrow whistles and he pulls back in.

Crouching on the floor, Sigyn holds up a drab olive green knapsack with the words U.S. Army stenciled on top. "They wouldn't let me take them to your cell -- insisted on keeping them here," she says.

Mementos from his last trip to Midgard -- Earth. Loki smirks. "Throw it here."

Sigyn tosses the bag. Catching it, Loki deftly pulls out one of six 'eggs'. They are thankfully not magical, and therefore fully operational in the dampened magic of the tower. Pulling on the pin at the top with his teeth, he tosses the Mk 2 World War II era grenade down the hall.

For a moment nothing happens.

The guards chuckle. One shouts. "Your magic tricks won't work here, you fool!"

Sigyn looks at him, eyes wide. Almost too late, Loki hurls himself towards her and covers her body with his. An earsplitting boom ricochets through the tower, and the glass in the guardroom window implodes and showers down on Loki's armor.

Getting quickly to his feet, Loki helps Sigyn up. Together they step out of the guardroom and towards the stairs, avoiding the bodies of the guards, Sigyn clutching Thor's hammer in both hands. Neither speaks.

At the top of the circular staircase, Loki takes out another grenade, swings the knapsack over his shoulder, and gestures for Sigyn to stand back.

The staircase has an echo. He hears more guards but can't tell how far away they are. The sound of his and Sigyn's breathing seems unnaturally loud.

"Loki, they were already taking Valli and Nari to the Center. There isn't much time," Sigyn whispers.

"Shhhhhh..." Loki says, trying to determine just how far away the footsteps are.

Close enough. Pulling the pin he throws the grenade at the far wall. He watches it bounce down the stairwell and out of sight. He hears footsteps, and breathing, and the grenade....plink, plink, plink down the stairs. Loki pushes Sigyn back behind him so his armor will catch any shrapnel.

"An egg?" someone says. Someone else out of Loki's line of vision shouts.

There is another explosion accompanied by the sound of falling rock, groans, and screams. And then Loki hears a telltale whistling in the air. Before he can move, or even think, Sigyn's body slumps against his, and Thor's heavy hammer falls to the ground.

Lifting his head, Loki sees a guard at the top of the stairs. His face is bloodied, and he has an upraised crossbow.

A knife is in Loki's hand and whipping through the air before he even thinks about it. There is just enough magic now that when the knife hits the guard, it explodes, and the guard crumples to the floor.

Throwing Sigyn over his shoulder, Loki looks at the hammer on the stone step. It is a powerful toy -- but as soon as Thor wakes up it will rebound to his hands. Cursing silently, he turns and goes as quickly as he can down the stairs.

"Put me down," Sigyn mutters into his back. "You have to save them, Loki. My boys...my beautiful boys."

He's too busy pulling out another grenade to even tell her to shut up. He hears guards mustering in the open chamber at the base of the tower. Pulling the pin just before the bottom of the stairs, he waits for the explosion and then rushes forward. Magic is thick enough in the air now for him to pull it to them and wrap them in a blanket of invisibility.

Outside the tower he sees men gathering near Sigyn's steeds. Less well protected is Thor's chariot. Thor favors attaching it to goats so he always has something tasty to eat, but the chariot is perfectly capable of flying on its own, and there are no goats today.

Loki slides Sigyn from his back and lays her on her side in the chariot. She is invisible to those around him, but in Loki's eyes she shimmers and glows, as does the arrow protruding from her back. He breaks it as close to her body as he can.

"Leave me," she whispers as he sits her up.

Glaring at her, Loki climbs into the chariot and seats himself next to her, facing the back. "To the Center," he shouts.

The chariot rises in the air with the crackle of magic. Shouts rise up, and Loki hears the thunk of magical arrows in the floor beneath them. Flames dance near his feet as the arrows catch fire, but Thor's chariot was designed to withstand lightning -- a little fire from magical arrows won't hurt it.

Moments later, Loki and Sigyn are whisking forward, over and through the illusions of flying buttresses and steeples that are part of this decade's 13th century revival. There are faster ways for Loki to travel, secret ways that he alone knows. But they would leave him too drained to fight -- and he can't use them to transport others.

He'll need all his power to fight soon. He lets the invisibility spell drop.

Narrowing her eyes in his direction, Sigyn says, "Must you always make things difficult? I'm as good as dead. You should have left me!"

Her lips are horribly pale, and the color has left her cheeks. She is full Asgardian, but looks nearly Jotunn. Leave it to Sigyn to waste her last breaths berating him. Smiling with brightness he doesn't feel, Loki says, "My dear, have you forgotten that among some humans I am regarded as the patron god of lost causes?" Not that he believes he or any of the Aesir are gods.

Sigyn's head lolls to the side, and she makes a sound like, "Pfffttt." She heaves a ragged breath and Loki does his best not to look concerned. "What are you planning?" she whispers, her eyelids slipping closed. "To swoop down, pick them up, and carry us all away in this bucket?"

That actually was close to Loki's plan, but he says nothing, just glares at her one more time before standing to look out of the chariot. They are close to their destination. Nearly below them is a wide plain. In it are eight circles of white stone, each about 50 yards in diameter, with wide gates and toll booths around and between them. The white circles are where the "branches" of the World Tree connect with Asgard. Not "branches" at all, they are places where the fabric of space and time tears easily, and the largest, most efficient, gateways to the eight other realms.

The white circles themselves form a larger circle around a small raised dais, its surface unnaturally dark. It is the entrance to the Void, where the Asgardians dump their trash, their spent potions, hopelessly broken magic tools, and the condemned.

Normally most of the circular gateways would be buzzing with merchants and delegates to visit and barter with the Aesir and each other. However, all the white circles and the toll booths at their peripheries are empty; instead, a crowd is gathered in the great dark circle at the center, their attention focused on the black dais.

From aloft, Loki can see Valli and Nari at the base of the dais, their blond heads bent, their hands bound at their backs. Behind them stands Odin, the staff Gungnir in his hands. A great armed host stands in a circle around Odin, Loki's sons, and the dais. A crowd of civilians from the friendly worlds mill about in a dense crowd just beyond the warriors.

"Have you forgotten the Valkyries?" Sigyn asks.

There is a stirring below among the armed host. In the distance Loki sees Heimdall, the guardian of the gates, pointing in their direction. Around Heimdall, the Valkyries, winged warrior women, rise. Bolts of fire hurtle toward the chariot from the staffs in their hands. Loki slumps down next to Sigyn.

"Actually," he says, "I did forget about them."

Sigyn takes a deep, ragged breath. Clutching the edge of the chariot, Loki tries to clear his head as they rock under the Valkyrie onslaught.

"Chariot, down!" he says. He nearly loses his seat as the chariot falls. "Gently," he cries and the descent slows. "Move to hover just above the crowd!"

As Loki suspected, the barrage of fire stops as they get close to the civilians.

"What are you doing?" Sigyn whispers.

"I can't help you," Loki says, pulling a grenade from the olive green bag. "I'm no good at healing...and this bucket will never get close enough to Valli and Nari."

He looks down. They're close enough to the ground. Smiling at Sigyn, he says, "Chariot, to Hoenir's hut!"

"What!" says Sigyn, the anger in her voice nearly blood curdling.

Loki jumps out just before the chariot takes off, and Sigyn's scream fades away. The crowd parts only enough for him to land. Straightening quickly, he holds the grenade above his head and smiles across the crowds in Odin and Heimdall's direction.

"What do you have there, fool?" someone says.

"A rotten egg," he responds with a grin.

The crowd closes in around him. From where they stand, now on top of the dais, Loki hears Valli or Nari shout, "Father!" The crowd starts to roar, but then Odin's voice rings out, "Let him pass!"

Odin knows Loki is no fool.

The crowd parts and murmurs. Loki walks forward, still smiling, still clutching the pin of the grenade. He is within a few paces of the dais when Odin thumps the black stone beneath his feet with Gungnir and shouts, "Stop." The rich velvet blackness that is Odin's magic whips out across the plain.

Loki's legs suddenly feel like lead. He feels like the gravity in Asgard has increased by ten, as though he's consumed vast quantities of magical energy, enough to set a world on fire. He blinks, takes a breath, and moves onward. It takes him a moment but then he realizes that the crowd is dead silent, and except for Odin and him, no one seems to be moving.

"Nice trick," he says. An incredibly powerful trick. Odin must be using nearly all of Gungnir's power for this. Not for the first time Loki wishes he'd never given Odin the damn thing. Loki's eyes flit nervously to the side. Just beyond the plain he can see Odin's raven messengers, Huginn and Munnin, soaring through the air, and he almost sighs with relief. Not everything has stopped.

He looks up to Odin. Unlike the other Aesir who all chose to appear closer to the age of 25, Odin appears to be near the human age of 50. He wears a patch over a missing eye; he purportedly exchanged that eye for wisdom. As Loki draws closer, he sees Odin's one eye widen, as though in alarm.

Loki blinks, and Odin's gaze is its normal steely calm. "You have something you wish to discuss?" Odin says.

Walking up and around until he stands just a pace from Odin, his back to Valli and Nari, Loki says, "Let my sons go."

"I don't think you understand how dangerous Valli and Nari have become," Odin says, his one eye unblinking.

Scowling, Loki says, "You're wrong." They aren't strong in magic, not like Helen.

"No," says Odin. "I am not." Sighing, Odin says, "You know I will do anything to preserve the safety of the nine realms."

Loki waves a hand. "Yes, yes, I know. Even allowing the death of your own beautiful son." Tilting his head he sneers. "I'm not that selfless."

"Loki," Odin says. "There are things happening now, new passages opening between the realms that should remain closed, branches from other realms approaching ours. Asgard cannot afford to be divided by this idea they have...this democracy..."

Rolling his eyes, Loki says, "It's more of a proto-democracy, hardly a threat."

"Heimdall and the Diar demand this," Odin says, thumping his spear again. "For the stability of the realms, for order, I must do what must be done."

Loki's eyes flick to the immobilized figure of Heimdall, the "all seeing god" of order. He and Loki do not get along well.

Loki looks back at Odin. How long has he carried the weight of Odin's desire to preserve the nine realms? How long has he carried Odin's secrets? How often has he, as the Christians say, turned the other cheek...after Helen?

For Helen alone Odin owes him. "Let them go," Loki whispers. "Or you make me your enemy."

Odin blinks, and for a moment Loki imagines he sees hesitation. The other man's face softens, perhaps in compassion or understanding. Odin certainly can't be afraid of Loki. For a moment everything is worth it: obeying Odin, playing the fool, letting himself be cast as the coward, the shirker. But then Odin bangs his spear down three times and Loki feels the air pressure behind him drop.

"Hurry and you might catch them," Odin says, his face flat.

With a cry of rage, Loki pulls the pin from the grenade, hurls it into the air, and rushes up the stairs of the dais. The sky is already opening up to the Void, a long tear in space time, like the funnel of a tornado twisting downwards.

Loki sees Valli spin so his back is to Nari's side, and then they are gone, sucked up into the blackness. With a cry Loki follows, dimly aware of the ring of the grenade behind him.

In the glow of starlight, and nearly spent and broken magical objects, Loki sees his sons hovering before him, their mouths and eyes open wide, Vali's hands desperately clasped around Nari's scabbard. They've never been in this place before, but Loki has. Fifteen seconds. They can survive 15 seconds in the vacuum of space. Loki tries to use the threads of magic to move towards them, for what purpose he doesn't even know. So they can all die together?

It is the only plan he has, but as he tries to implement it, something sucks him backwards.

Loki looks down in panic. A renegade branch of the World Tree, another tear in space and time has caught him...but there shouldn't be one here. He looks back up for an instant and sees his sons vanish. Were they pulled backwards by another renegade branch? Suddenly there is a flash of color, and then he is blinded by sunlight, gasping in hot, humid air and falling backwards to the ground.

He failed. His world is gone. Blackness overtakes him.

* * *

LOKI HEARS A VOICE, like a child's, say, "Zd`rastvuyte," and then, "`Kak `Vas za`vut?"

He opens his eyes. Loki has the gift for tongues, but it takes him a moment to recognize the language. A very powerful magical something is saying, "Hello. What's your name?" far too cheerfully in Russian. He looks around -- he's in a forest on Earth. Instead of Russia, the stars overhead suggest the continent of North America. There is magic in a thick red glow around him like a mist. Whatever it is, the magic is very powerful. But there are no magical creatures on Midgard anymore, just beasts and humans, with their one, very weak, though intriguing, magical trick.

"Loki," he says. Whatever the Russian speaking mist is, he doesn't want to annoy it.

"You hear me, Comrade!" says the thing, still in Russian. Its voice fades; the mist dissipates.

Loki is alone on the ground. He is too filled with despair to worry about the magical Russian-speaking creature. Sitting up, he pulls up his knees, leans forward and buries his face in his hands. He sees Sigyn slumped in the chariot, he sees his sons' terror-stricken faces in the Void flash before his eyes. He remembers the way they clung together, Valli clasping his hands to Nari's scabbard.

...The scabbard! Nari's scabbard. Long ago Loki gave it to him as a gift. Nari is an anglophile and the scabbard comes from that isle. It is enchanted to protect the bearer from harm. Is it powerful enough to save its bearer in the Void? Perhaps it could suspend them in time, just as Odin did to the crowd with Gungnir?

It is such a slim hope that Loki drops his hands and laughs. But he has to believe it. Not because it's likely, but because he must believe it or he might stay here, in this spot, in this forest for a millennium.

He swallows and assesses his situation. Physically he is unharmed, but he's very hungry. Using magic always makes him famished, and resisting whatever Odin did with his staff drained Loki tremendously.

He opens the knapsack quickly and pulls out the grenades. When he stole the grenades he also stole C-rations for their novelty. He scowls. The C-rations aren't there. Belatedly he remembers discarding them decades ago. But there is something else, something wonderful. A small book, bound in white leather, the size of his palm. It is the Journal of Lothur. Hoenir must have packed it. Loki presses the book to his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut. More than a journal, it is a book of magic with maps of many of the secret back road branches of the World Tree. Having it is a small miracle.

Not that he can open space-time to travel any of those branches now. He is famished, and exhausted.

He sees a far off glow in the distance. Perhaps it is a human habitation where he can steal food. Climbing to his feet, he starts trudging towards the glow. There is the cry of a raven above his head, and for a moment he panics. But when he looks up at the shadows of the trees he sees only common ravens, not Odin's messengers.

He hears a roar not far away. He hasn't been here since the 1940's, but he recognizes it as the sound of a roadway. It will be far easier to travel if he walks along it. That thought is just through his mind when he trips over something. Nearly falling to the ground, he curses, and a spurt of flame rises from his hand to the treetops. In the flame's orange glow he sees an outcropping of stone rising at his feet.

His flame dissipates, and he does his best to walk around the rocks in the dark.

His brain, as it is wont to do, starts to scheme. After he gets to the human village and eats his fill, then what? How will he find Valli and Nari in the Void? No, not the Void, they disappeared before he did. To what realm? He'll have to search them all.

Swallowing, he tries not to let the enormity of the task overwhelm him. He is rather good at achieving impossible things. Even Odin will give him that. Scowling at the thought of the would-be executioner of his sons, he feels his body go hot.

From up ahead he hears the sound of tires screeching and some loud noises he can't identify. He's too hungry to be curious. He just steps onto the gravel on the side of the road. Concentrating, he creates an illusion of the attire that was popular the last time he was on this planet. His armor is still on. If anyone touches him they will feel it, but he will look like he belongs. With a deep breath he starts walking towards the lights of human habitation.

An automobile approaches him. It has a shape he's never seen before, trapezoidish, large and boxy. Thinking perhaps that the driver will give him a lift, he raises his hand. It slows for a moment, and Loki sees a flash of white hair, but then it speeds away. Loki scowls and keeps going, every step dragging more than the last.

Far up ahead the boxy, trapezoidish automobile slows and stops. Loki hears a voice in the distance and something that sounds like a growl and maybe a yelp.

A few minutes later he feels something. Something that makes every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It's something he has not felt in centuries, the one, small, intriguing human magical trick: A prayer.

Someone, anyone, help me.

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# Chapter 2

Amy lies on the ground, one side of her face pressed in the dirt, the other side with the cold end of a gun to her cheek. She can hear her breath in her ears, or is that his breath? The guy's knee is on her back. He's silent. The hand is trembling. In fear...or...she swallows...or excitement.

Closing her eyes, she tries to remember her self defense courses she took with Grandma. The first rule was to verify that your attacker's weapon is genuine.

Licking her lips, she says, "Is that a...a...real gun?"

He laughs. "You want me to take it away from your cheek, don't you? Don't you?"

He pushes the muzzle more tightly against her, and Amy screws her eyes shut.

From the grass towards the road there is the sound of a high-pitched growl punctuated by occasional whimpering.

Fenrir! Screwing her eyes tighter, Amy desperately thinks, Fenrir, please, just distract him...

From the direction of the man's van comes another voice. "Fenrir?" Amy's heart stops. There are two guys? Oh, no.

"Who's there?" shouts the man that's holding her down. The trembling of the gun's muzzle stops and steadies.

Amy hears the snap of a twig close to her and Fenrir's pathetic growl and tiny yips a little further off.

"I'm not moving this gun from her face!" the man says.

The whimpering disappears. The high-pitched growl changes and deepens.

"What the..." her captor stutters and pulls the gun away. Amy darts into the car, rolls over and tries to yank her keychain out of the ignition, but it's jammed. Fumbling, she manages to detach the pepper spray.

She hears the sound of gunshots and the man cursing. Looking out the window, she sees an enormous wolf the size of a small pony, muzzle white with foam, crouching as though about to spring. The bullets seem to have no effect on it, and Amy draws back further into her overturned car.

And then there is a shadow over the window, a dull thudding noise over and over again, and then the sound of a crack. The deep growling is gone. There is just Fenrir's pathetic whimpering.

The shadow moves away and Amy blinks in confusion. And there, just visible in the indirect light of her headlights, is the man who was attacking her. He's face down on the ground. The white hair on his head appears slick, black and shiny. Just beyond him is Fenrir, licking her tiny jaws, and wiggling forward on her belly.

A new face pops too suddenly into the window, younger, clean shaven, with sharp features. He's wearing a fedora. "It's going to be all right -- ."

It's the fedora that freaks her out. Amy fires the pepper spray. In slow motion it arcs towards him in a long stream.

The stranger throws up a hand just before it reaches his face. He blinks and then screams. "Aaauuuggghhhhhh!!!!"

Jumping back from the window, he shouts, "That stings!"

Unable to bear the sound of Fenrir's whimpering, Amy scoots forward and out of the car. The man is shaking his hand. He seems to be shimmering. It looks like he's wearing a fedora, a white shirt and dark, well-tailored pants that are sort of retro looking. And it also looks like he's wearing a suit of weird armor, a sword waving at his hip.

Shaking his hand, he turns to her, "That's how you reward someone, anyone, who saves your life? Firing snake venom at them?"

He slumps to the ground, still shaking his hand. The fedora, white shirt, and black pants seem to solidify around him. "I don't know why I bothered."

A shape wriggles towards him on the ground, whimpering and wagging its body.

"Fenrir!" Amy says.

Looking in the little dog's direction, the man says, "Fenrir," his voice sounding a little far off. Still shaking his one hand, he holds his other out to Amy's dog. Fenrir tries to lick it.

Running forward, Amy holds up the pepper spray. "Don't you dare hurt her!"

The look he gives her. It is such a look of what-are-you-some-kind-of-idiot that it actually makes Amy think he really won't hurt Fenrir -- or her. Also, Fenrir is licking his hand. Fenrir doesn't lick men's hands.

Fenrir is limping, actually almost crawling. Forgetting all about the stranger, Amy goes into full diagnostic mode. The angle of her leg, the way her hip is jutting..."Fenrir," she says, "You've dislocated your hip. Oh, poor Baby."

Fenrir turns to Amy and pants. She was trying to save Amy a few minutes ago...with a dislocated hip. Sitting down next to her, Amy says, "You are the best doggie in the world, thank you, thank you, thank you." Fenrir wags her body and whimpers again.

"I am so sorry about this," Amy says to Fenrir. She looks at Strange Man. "She likes you. Would you hold her front steady?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"Hold her," says Amy, her brain going into fix-the-injured-little-creature mode.

Sighing, the man wraps his hands around Fenrir's torso.

"I'm so sorry about this, Fenrir," Amy says. "She may bite you," she says to the stranger.

Before he can withdraw his hand, Amy's already got her hands on the dislocated joint. It takes only seconds to relocate Fenrir's hip. The dog yelps pitifully, but amazingly doesn't bite. As soon as Amy's done, she wiggles and jumps into Amy's arms.

"That was well done," says the stranger.

"Thank you," says Amy. Her eyes fall on the man lying prone in front of her overturned car. The enormity of what has happened suddenly catches up to her. Looking down, she says, "And thank you."

"Do you have any food?" the man asks. "That would be thanks enough."

Clutching Fenrir to her chest and rubbing her sore neck, Amy looks towards her car. She has a cooler in the back seat if she can get it out, but... Her eyes fall to the man on the ground.

"I don't think you have to worry about him," the stranger says.

Amy's eyes widen and she squeezes Fenrir a little tighter.

The stranger is silent. Somewhere an owl hoots.

"Your first time to see a corpse," says the stranger softly. Amy looks quickly at him. "No," she says, "I've seen plenty in the anatomy lab."

He stares at her for a moment. His face is young, he can't be much older than she is, but his expression is weary. "Do you have food in your automobile?" he says.

Amy blinks at the non-sequitur. "Yes, in the back seat. In the cooler."

"Cooler?" he says.

Nodding her head towards the car, she says, "Just the cheap Styrofoam white box you get at the convenience mart..."

The stranger stands up quickly and goes to her car. Amy's not really paying attention to what he's doing. She thinks she hears a car on the road. Running up out of the ditch she just catches sight of a car's retreating rear lights. She almost swears. They didn't even stop!

Putting Fenrir down, she goes back to her car and crawls through the window. The stranger is already pulling the cooler out of the backseat. It takes a while, but Amy finds her iPhone.

She tries to dial 911 but gets the no-service message.

Scowling in frustration, she stares at the man on the ground. She doesn't want to stay here, not with the dead or dying man -- oh, God, should she check if he's dead? Will she be charged with manslaughter if she doesn't? Will Strange Guy be charged with murder?

Crawling out of her car, she feels for a pulse. She can't find anything and is both relieved and disgusted by the fact that she is relieved.

She has to get out of here. She begins frantically patting down the dead man's body.

"What are you looking for?" Strange Guy says.

Amy glances up to see him sitting on the bank of the ditch, a box of Life cereal between his knees, Fenrir sitting in front of him. He throws a handful into his mouth and tosses a piece to her dog.

He looks so much calmer than she feels, and it's not fair. She begins patting down the man again.

Not finding what she's looking for, she murmurs, "They're not here."

"What?" Strange Guy says.

Amy looks up at the minivan. Getting up from the ground she runs around the corpse and out of the ditch. She lifts the latch on the passenger side door. It's open. Maybe his keys are in here. She can drive the minivan to find help.

Stranger's voice comes from close behind her. "I don't think you should go into that man's automobile."

Ignoring him, Amy opens the glove box. There's a narrow folio in there, long and leather bound.

"Don't," says Stranger, and his hand is suddenly coming from behind to grab it from her. But it's too late. Amy's already opening it, and pictures are spilling out. There are pictures of women in there, but mostly of children. For an instant the pictures shake in Amy's bloody knuckles, and then she screams.

The man behind her says something, a curse or a swear or an exclamation. Whatever, he sounds shocked and horrified and the photo album bursts into flame.

Amy drops it, and the man says, "I'm sorry...I didn't..."

Some sense finally coming back to her, Amy begins to stamp out the fire with her foot. The people in the pictures...their families will need to know.

When the last of the flames are out she backs up -- right into Stranger Guy's chest. He feels weird, too hard. She's in shock. Obviously. He brings a hand to her shoulder; it is warm and comforting and normal.

In the distance she hears sirens -- maybe the car that drove off didn't belong to an ass after all. Stranger starts to pull his hand away. "Don't," she says, turning to him and looking up. He is really tall, maybe 6' 3" or 6' 4". She's not afraid of him anymore. She presses his hand more tightly and wills him not to go.

His jaw goes tight. And then he says, "All right, I won't."

When the man had a gun on her, she was terrified. But now, after seeing the pictures and what she almost did not escape... Her whole body trembles. The sirens in the distance get louder. Clutching Stranger's hand to her face, she begins to cry. She's safe now, she knows it. The words, "I am so afraid," are on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't say them.

"I know. I know," the Stranger says. And in the pit of Amy's stomach she can feel it. He does understand. He does know.

* * *

LOKI IS ABOUT ELEVEN years old. He is in Asgard. Odin is off on a campaign in the realm of the dwarfs and Loki's snuck off to play with Hoenir -- Odin discourages Loki's visits to Hoenir's hut when he is home. Odin claims he doesn't want Loki disturbing Hoenir while he works. Hoenir never seems to be disturbed by Loki. In fact, Hoenir always seems happy to drop whatever he is doing when Loki comes about.

At the moment Loki and Hoenir are squatting in the grass outside Hoenir's hut. The hut is in a meadow between a copse of trees so high they completely shield the rest of Asgard from view. The trees are a gift from Frigga, Odin's wife and Loki's adoptive mother. She calls Hoenir's hut an eyesore.

Unlike all the other dwellings, buildings, and monuments in Asgard, Hoenir's hut isn't touched by any illusions that would make it conform to the current fashion for Egyptian architecture from the Old Kingdom. It looks as it always has. Made of rough wood, it leans slightly to one side. The chimney is made of natural stone and is crumbling slightly. The roof is thatch, and there are always little creatures peering out from the straw. Sometimes the creatures are recognizable, sometimes they are Hoenir's own invention -- squirrels with bird beaks and peacock tails, snakes with butterfly wings, and birds with cat faces. These creatures are real, unlike the illusions created by Loki and Odin.

The hut normally has a glow about it, golden white, the color of Hoenir's magic. All magical beings have a color to their magic, but one can never see one's own color. Loki's been told, though, that his own magic is white, blue, orange and red -- like a flame Mimir says. Or, as Odin says, because Loki is too fickle to pick a shade.

Loki isn't thinking about magical color, or paying attention to the denizens of the thatch. He is peering over Hoenir's shoulder and through a magnifying glass, a magical device Hoenir is holding over a small twig.

Hoenir, like Odin, doesn't look particularly youthful. He is balding and is a little round around the waist. Next to Hoenir is the severed head of Mimir the giant, propped up on top of an overturned crate. Like Loki, Mimir is wearing a wide brimmed hat to shield him from the sun.

Since Hoenir is mute, Mimir speaks for him. "Now you see, Loki, the magnifying glass captures and concentrates sunlight and turns it into heat."

Loki bends closer to the ground. He can see the concentrated beam of light Mimir speaks of. He waves his hand through the beam but only feels a disappointingly faint amount of warmth. The normal yellow golden glow of Hoenir's magic isn't present though, which means the glass needs none of Hoenir's magic to work. That is something, Loki supposes.

"The way a magnifying glass captures, concentrates and transforms sunlight is very much like how magical creatures capture, concentrate and transform magic," Mimir intones.

Loki nods at Mimir's head. Loki knows about magic. Most men of Asgard don't deign to toy with it, believing it makes them unmanly. But Odin and Hoenir are both powerful magicians, and Odin is king, and Hoenir is -- Hoenir is Hoenir. Loki respects him as much as Odin. And he wants to be like them. At eleven he sees and feels magic everywhere, and is nearly as good at creating illusions as Odin. Loki gets the feeling that most people are uncomfortable with that, but Hoenir and Odin encourage his ability.

Looking back down to Hoenir and the magnifying glass, Loki asks, "May I try?"

"Ummmm..." says Mimir. "That might not..."

Hoenir hands Loki the magnifying glass.

Just as Loki takes the worn wooden handle in his grasp, he hears a loud shout, "Loki! Loki! Loki!!!"

Standing up in shock, Loki sends the concentrated beam of light dancing across the grass and the overturned crate Mimir sits on. In its wake, flames flare to life.

"Helllllppppppppp!" shouts Mimir.

Dropping the glass, Loki jumps over and pulls Mimir from the rising flames.

"Wow," Loki says, momentarily forgetting the shouting that distracted him. "That magnifying glass has powerful magic!"

"Ummm...no..." says Mimir. "Thank you, Loki. Turn me so that I face Hoenir."

Loki does as he is bidden and instantly regrets it.

"Hoenir, you had to expect that would happen if Loki touched the glass!" Mimir says, his voice so accusatory Loki feels pain on Hoenir's behalf.

Stamping out the flames, Hoenir just raises an eyebrow in Mimir's direction.

"What? He should know!" says Mimir.

Hoenir shrugs. Mimir says, "Pfffttt to what Odin says."

"Loki! Loki! Loki!!!" come the shouts again. Dropping Mimir on the ground, Loki spins around. "What was that?"

"What was what?" says Mimir, eyes staring at the sky.

"The voices calling my name!" says Loki. He doesn't recognize them. They sound almost like a chorus.

From Mimir there is silence. Loki looks to Hoenir. A quiet look is passing between the man and the severed head on the ground.

Blinking, Mimir says, "I suppose we might expect you to hear them early..."

"Hear what?" says Loki.

"Close your eyes, Loki," Mimir says. "What do you see?"

Loki tilts his head. Magic. He smiles. Closing his eyes, he finds he does see something. "I see the village by the lake from our camping trip this spring."

"Are you sure?" says Mimir.

How could he forget the place? Odin, Hoenir and Loki had gone camping on Earth. Their trip had been interrupted by some humans. It was the first time Loki had seen the creatures. In person they were smaller and more pathetic than he could have imagined. It seemed horribly cruel that Hoenir and Odin hadn't gifted them with magic.

The humans had spoken to Hoenir and Odin at length, and then Loki had been sent home under the watchful eyes of Huginn and Munnin, Odin's ravens. Nothing more had been said of the incident.

The scene behind Loki's eyelids changes, and he gasps. He sees something more. "I see a man with skulls around his belt!" Loki swallows. The skulls are too small to belong to adults.

"Do the voices in your head...do they say anything else?"

Loki's eyes open. "Yes, they say the giant's body has knit itself together, and he has sent a messenger from his fortress. In the morrow he will come to claim his sacrifice."

Hoenir's jaw drops. Mimir's eyes go wide. Swallowing, Mimir says, "Loki, the giant calls himself Cronus. I don't think he is the Cronus; he was Greek, and Odin, well, Zeus, well...Odin sort of..."

Loki's brow knits together.

Licking his lips, Mimir says, "Anyway, Cronus is not Aesir or Jotunn, but something other. He has been terrorizing humans for generations. Last fall, Hoenir hid the boy that Cronus chose to be a sacrifice as wheat in a field -- and Cronus found him. Odin disguised the boy as a swan, and Cronus found him yet again. Fortunately, Odin was able to kill Cronus."

Loki nods. Of course, Hoenir wouldn't have been able to kill Cronus. Loki's never heard of Hoenir killing, or even hurting, anything.

Swallowing, Mimir says, "Or so we thought. If what your peasants say is true, Cronus was able to reassemble himself and seeks to claim his sacrifice again."

"Odin must come back!" Loki says, looking to the skies. He was sure he saw Huginn and Munnin, Odin's raven messengers earlier. If he gets their attention they can alert Odin.

Mimir sighs. "Loki, Odin is busy saving multitudes of children. He cannot come back for just one."

Loki swallows. In his head the voices rise again. "Loki! Loki! Save our son! Save our children!"

Loki starts walking to the Center and the World Gates. "I have to go." He feels as though the voices are pulling him by a thread.

"You won't be able to use your tricks of illusion against him!" Mimir says.

"I'll think of something," Loki says. He has to. The voices in his head...

He hears footsteps, and then Hoenir is at his side, Mimir in his hands. "You always do," Mimir says.

Loki blinks and Mimir winks at him.

Loki, along with Hoenir and Mimir, arrives at the village well after nightfall.

Even though Loki is only eleven, he is nearly as tall as the tallest man in the village -- though that man is broader in shoulder, and probably stronger. The humans smell less than pleasant. Their clothes look like rags. Many are missing teeth, and some have horrible scars. He is horrified by them, and at the same time, when they look at him their hope is palpable. It makes Loki feel older, wiser, and more powerful than he has ever felt before.

And the boy that is to be sacrificed, Jonah...he is so small, he hardly comes up past Loki's waist. His eyes are so wide, frightened, innocent and trusting; Loki simply has to succeed.

Loki scans the horizon. As he does, the old man, who had talked to Odin and Hoenir last year, says, "We have tried to fight him, but our weapons bounce off, and he is terribly strong."

Loki blinks. Loki can't make weapons bounce off of him, but he knows it takes immense concentration. A surprise to break Cronus' concentration is needed.

A boathouse on the bank of the lake catches Loki's attention. He looks at the small stature of the humans and, to his own wonderment, he does think of something.

"Jonah," Loki asks, "can you swim?"

The boy nods.

Standing taller and trying to look important, Loki begins to tell Jonah, Hoenir, Mimir, and the assembled villagers his plan. When he is done, Jonah is quaking with fear.

Loki bites his own lip. He is very nearly a child himself, and he can relate. Kneeling down, he puts a hand on Jonah's shoulder. "Don't worry. All the time you are with Cronus, I'll be there with you."

Next to him, in Hoenir's arms, Mimir says, "Wait, now -- " but Hoenir slaps a hand over his mouth.

In the morning before Cronus arrives, Loki casts an illusion over Jonah so he looks like a fish and commands him to go swim in the lake. Loki knows that Cronus will eventually see through the illusion, but he needs to buy the village men some time to enact their part of the plan.

As soon as Jonah is in the water, Loki goes off to meet Cronus. Cronus isn't tall for an Aesir, Vanir, or Jotunn, but he can see why the villagers think him a giant. Compared to the humans, he is immense. He has white hair and a face that is disturbingly pleasant, almost baby like in its roundness. It is in stark contrast to the belt of children's skulls that hangs at his waist. The belt is terrifying, but what is more frightening is the blanket of magic that hovers over him.

Cronus doesn't get angry when the villagers don't bring Jonah forward. He just smiles. And then he says, "I think I will go fishing." With that he turns around and walks to one of the boats on the shore. That was faster than Loki anticipated. Racing after Cronus he shouts, "Wait, I'll come with you."

"Of course, Little Giant," Cronus says with a laugh.

When they get in the boat, Loki says, "Let me row for you, Sir."

Narrowing his eyes, Cronus says, "Very well, Little Giant."

Loki takes the oars and proceeds to row in the wrong direction...as slowly as he can.

Smiling again, Cronus says, "You'll have to row faster than that, Little Giant, if you want your death to be an easy one."

Loki sits bolt upright and nearly drops the oars.

Laughing, Cronus says, "Oh, come now, you're a little bigger than I like, but you are very pretty. You don't think I'd let you get away?"

Fear unravels in the pit of Loki's stomach; it's all he can do not to quake in his seat.

With a wave of his hand, the oars fly from Loki's grasp and fall at the bottom of the boat. With another wave, Cronus sets the boat in motion again -- this time in the right direction. Loki swallows. The sun is bright, and its cheerfulness feels like a mockery of Loki and Jonah's plight.

Loki tries to confuse Cronus by illusioning schools of fish beneath the boat, and it does work somewhat. Cronus sees the fish, slows the boat, and drops the net that sat at the boat's stern. But after a few empty hauls, he sees through Loki's scheme. He weights the net down and dredges along the bottom.

By late morning he has Jonah in the net, and as soon as he lifts him into the boat, the illusion drops. With a gasp, Jonah runs to sit by Loki. Taking the smaller boy's hand, Loki squeezes -- not sure who he's trying to reassure.

Cronus just smiles at them, waves a hand and the boat heads toward shore. As soon as the boat hits ground, Loki waves his hands and an illusionary wall of flame rises up in the middle of the small craft, a few hands lengths away from Cronus' nose. Pulling Jonah from the boat, Loki yells, "Run!"

They tear as fast as they can through the shallow water, out of the bright sunlight, into the boat house. Cronus, in a frenzy, follows right behind. He is nearly on them when his head runs straight into the trap Loki had the men set for him, a spear at just the right height to hit a full-grown Aesir, Jotunn or Vanir squarely in the head.

Dazed, Cronus takes a step back. "Now!" screams Loki. From the shadows village men come forward with axes. One presses an axe in Loki's own hand.

Loki has received a warrior's training. And he has killed animals in the hunt. But now, when he needs it most, he seems unable to fight. He just stands frozen. The human men do not hesitate. They begin furiously hacking at Cronus' limbs with their axes, and the boathouse fills with the thick smell of blood. Loki sees a leg separate at the knee. Almost instantly it reattaches. Loki's eyes go wide and Cronus laughs.

"Think you're clever, Little Giant? I disguised how quickly I can heal from your brother, Odin! But I don't want you to get away."

With a roar he heaves one of the villagers through a wall.

Loki's mind uncoils. He doesn't know if it is fear or bravery which sets him in motion. "Keep going!" Loki shouts to the remaining villagers, running to the wall and grabbing several iron nails.

A villager separates the other leg with an axe, and this time, Loki stabs a nail into the severed knee, preventing a clean bond of the severed flesh. Cronus gives a cry of rage and tries to bend down to remove the nail, but the humans sense his weakness and redouble their efforts. An arm falls away, and again Loki is there, stabbing another iron nail into the wound.

They can't get to the head before all the limbs are severed and the joints secured from reattachment. Cronus is unaffected by loss of blood, and he manages to throw a few more villagers off of him with the power of his mind alone. But at last, when he can barely move, when he's just a torso and a head, he looks at Loki and his eyes open wide. "You," he says. And then he sneers, "Plan to flush me down the river like you did your brother?"

Loki feels like he's been struck. He wants to demand to know what Cronus is talking about but then a villager's axe falls down on Cronus' neck and his eyes go blank.

Loki falls back gasping. He starts to shake; he's not sure why. He's safe now...safe...

|  |

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# Chapter 3

Sheriff Ken McSpadden sits in his office, the driver's license of Thor Odinson in his hand. It's an Oklahoma driver's license, just like Amy Lewis' license. The picture on this license is definitely the man who saved Amy Lewis by killing Ed Malson -- a name that was soon to go down in serial killer history.

On his computer monitor Thor's license information is displayed again. It took a while to pull the record up. They had some computer problems first.

Thor's social security number checks out...but that's a little weird, too. Like the license details, before Thor's social security number cleared they had computer trouble, a flicker, an error...and then...everything was okay.

Thor's got a clean record as far as the criminal databases are concerned. McSpadden tried Googling him, too -- but all he got was a comic book character.

Leaning back in his chair, McSpadden taps the armrest in agitation. It's not the comic book name, the computer glitches, or the girl's story about a wolf distracting Malson that's really putting him on edge. It's Deputy Patches, the station cat.

Patches is a very fat cat. Sometimes the officers affectionately refer to her as a bowling ball. She's famously lazy, but right now she is rubbing her head vigorously against the edge of his computer monitor. McSpadden puts the license down. Patches begins batting it with her paw, and then chewing its edge. Abruptly she hops down from the desk and begins chasing an imaginary mouse around the room.

McSpadden sighs. Patches hasn't been this excited since they found that crazy carpet at the edge of the road. Darn thing kept rolling and unrolling, and then it would levitate a few inches off the ground before collapsing. Patches had scratched and rolled over every part of it until the thing was covered with fur.

Nix that. She had been more excited by the monkey paw. McSpadden's dogs had found it while he'd been out coon hunting with the boys. The dogs had formed a circle around it and growled up a storm. McSpadden picked it up and put it in his pocket. It had been a long evening, he was hungry, and he found himself wishing for a pastrami sandwich. Not five minutes later he and the boys discovered the hiker -- dead for days, a rotting pastrami sandwich miraculously not eaten by scavengers in his hands. That's when McSpadden remembered reading a horror story back when he was a kid about a monkey's paw that granted its bearer's wishes -- but at a price.

McSpadden feels a chill run up his spine at the memory. He wouldn't have put two and two together, but after the carpet incident and all the damn unicorn sightings in Mark Twain National Forest, he had the sense to bring the paw back to the station and call it in. Patches had thrown a hissing fit. She has a sense for these...weird things. Some of the boys call it magic.

"Yo, Colbert!" McSpadden calls through the open door.

Deputy Colbert tears himself away from CNN and comes into McSpadden's office. "Give this back to Thor," says McSpadden.

Colbert opens his mouth to speak, but McSpadden points to Patches. She hops up onto McSpadden's desk again and starts rubbing her head against the computer.

Colbert's eyebrows go up at Patches' unusual display of activity. Nodding, he takes the license and leaves the office, wisely not saying a word.

McSpadden picks up Patches and carries her outside. It's 4 a.m. and still dark. He walks over to one of the cars in the parking lot and sets Patches down on the hood. She sprawls out and does what she normally does best. She sleeps.

Feeling a little more confident and a little less watched than he did inside, McSpadden pulls out his cell phone. He clicks on a contact he's never actually met, but he's all too familiar with.

After three rings the call's picked up on the other end. "Laura Stodgill here, U.S. Department of Anomalous Devices of Unknown Origin. McSpadden, what do you have for me in your vortex of weirdness?" Her voice sounds sleepy and a bit disoriented.

"You mean this shit isn't happening all over?" McSpadden says.

Suddenly sounding very alert and awake, Laura says, "I can neither confirm nor deny that. What do you have?"

"The question is who do I have," McSpadden says.

Laura sounds distressingly nonplussed by that response. "Does he or she have pointy ears or green skin?"

"Uh...no," says McSpadden.

"Speak English?"

"Yes," says McSpadden.

"Do you have a picture?"

"On my phone, sending it now," says McSpadden. He actually took it by accident when they first brought Thor and Miss Lewis into the station. Damn camera button was too easy to hit -- he has hundreds of pictures of the inside of his pocket.

"Got it," says Laura, "Sending it through the proper channels. Now tell me everything that happened."

When McSpadden is done, Laura says, "Get his signed statement and go through the usual rigmarole. I'll be back to you within a few hours. Don't treat him like a criminal...he may be one of the good guys, and even if he's not, you really don't want to tick him off."

"What?" says McSpadden, but Laura's already gone.

* * *

LOKI SITS IN A SMALL room in the sheriff's station. Next to him is the comely wench of the extraordinary bosom who he had rescued -- and the dog inaptly named Fenrir. At his feet is the knapsack. His sword is invisible at his waist. Killing the man-beast they've identified as Ed Malson would have been far cleaner with his sword, but since swords have fallen out of fashion here on Earth, it raises too many questions. Hence he settled for beating him to death with a small log.

The snake venom and hunger made him irritable, and he'd slipped out of character right after rescuing Miss Lewis. But now he sits with his shoulders slightly slumped, his face schooled into an expression of solemness and a bit of intimidation -- just like a 25ish year old man who had never killed someone and found himself in a police station would look.

He's not sure a human 25 year-old would be eating from a bag of Ghirardelli 60% dark chocolate chips -- a gift from Miss Lewis -- but he is so very hungry and these chips are so very good.

He looks over to Miss Lewis. Her knuckles are bandaged, but she still is tapping away at the little device called an iPhone. She's called her grandmother in Chicago and is now "texting agents of insurance." He's learned a lot about her from the things she's babbled to the police so far. Primarily that she is of no import to this world whatsoever.

But he heard her praying, three times. Before he killed Malson when she was begging for help, when she commanded Fenrir to distract him, and afterwards, when he wanted to leave before the police arrived -- he heard her asking him not to go, and telling him how afraid she was.

He understands her fear. He thought the memories of Cronus were buried deeper, but something about Malson -- his sadism, his white hair, even his baby like features, brought the memories to the surface.

He shakes his head. He hates remembering himself as so helpless and vulnerable.

Scowling, he pops another chocolate chip in his mouth. Why did he hear her prayers? None of the Aesir, or Loki, for that matter, hear all the prayers sent to them. Only some filter through. Odin believes that only requests relating to the receiver's higher purpose are heard. So she's important to Loki, in some unfathomable way. Maybe just to see that he eats something?

He looks down at the chocolate in his hands. He's too weary to World Walk right now. He might as well be here. Maybe he'll learn something about how their latest technology impacts criminal investigations. It will be very helpful if he and his boys are forced to stay on Earth for a while and need to rob banks to support themselves. Bank robbing was very lucrative for Loki in the 1940s. Granted, it was more bank burglary -- no humans were harmed, or even noticed his presence. Hoenir is fond of humans, and Loki wouldn't purposely upset Hoenir.

But would his sons even accept burglary? Valli might...he is a bit twitchy, but since Nari infected him with his idealistic zeal for political reform even Valli might be repulsed by the idea of a life of crime...unless Loki somehow managed to convince him it is for "the greater good." How could any children of his be so fatally idealistic? Where did he go wrong? He warned them Odin would turn a blind eye to all sorts of mischief unless it threatened the throne.

For a moment his boys' faces, frozen in that instant in deep space, hover before his eyes and he blinks. He can do nothing right now.

To distract himself, he looks over Miss Lewis' shoulder. The small device called an iPhone has no resemblance to a phone at all. It is, in fact, a small computer that has phone-like capabilities -- it doesn't work everywhere, apparently. Last time he was on Earth, computers occupied whole rooms and had to be tediously programmed with punch cards. The boxes on the sheriff's desk are impressive enough, but this one fits in her palm. It has a calculator in it, a location device, a camera, music, flickering little games, and a way of connecting with other computers all over the world through a thing called the Internet. All these "apps" interface with a tiny keyboard that disappears and reappears at her touch. It's fascinating, and the sort of thing he could ordinarily be very distracted by.

A noise at the office door catches his attention. He looks up to see Deputy Colbert walk in. "Here's your driver's license...Thor," he says handing Loki a little card. Loki takes it and taps it against his knee; he can feel the deputy's suspicion in the air. It's actually Miss Lewis' card; Loki has made it look like it belongs to his current alias: Thor Odinson. Choosing the name of his sons' betrayer was just a little game -- to tick Odin off, to test the humans, and to give himself a quiet laugh.

It turned out to be not such a great idea. Thor Odinson, that bastard, is apparently a hero in a "comic book" and "movie franchise" and they thought he was lying. Hence, stealing Miss Lewis' ID after they'd "photocopied" it -- whatever that meant -- and proffering it to the sheriff with an apologetic smile and a smooth excuse of "thought I lost it in the scuffle." The fake social security number he gave them wasn't enough.

They ran the license and the social security number he provided through their computers. It was an interesting challenge, making the computer screens appear as though his alias' info checked out. Fortunately, Loki can project his consciousness -- even create immaterial doubles of himself if he wishes to. He hovered over their shoulders while they used their devices to pull up Miss Lewis' info. He was able to create the same screens for Thor Odinson. The magic involved put the station's cat in a happy tizzy, but he's sure the humans are oblivious to the reasons for the cat's joyful frolics.

As Colbert leaves the room with a small nod, Miss Lewis turns to Loki. "I heard you tell them that you..." Taking a breath she licks her lips. "...don't have a permanent address. And I want you to know, if you need it, my grandmother has an apartment over our garage that isn't occupied. You're welcome to it...until you get on your feet."

Loki blinks. What an utterly naive, far too trusting offer. For some reason it puts to mind a childhood story about a wolf, a little girl and her grandmother.

...But he isn't really the wolf, is he?

Trying to keep the bemusement from his features, he says, "Thank you... Miss Lewis."

She flushes, and looks down at her phone. "You can just call me Amy."

Loki raises an eyebrow. And then, taking a purposefully loud breath, he says, "I will consider it." Smiling softly and as non-threateningly as he can, he adds, "Is there food there?"

Glancing back to him, Amy smiles...just a little, and says, "My grandmother will feel it's her duty to make sure you're positively stuffed."

Well, that sounds promising. But he doesn't want to seem too eager. He looks at the device in her fingers. "What are you searching for on your iPhone?" he asks.

"Oh," she says, turning to it. "I'm trying to find bus schedules. My car isn't going to be repaired for at least a week, and I can't stay here."

What a wonderful device! "That information could be useful to me as well," says Loki. "Perhaps I can lean over your shoulder?"

"Sure," says Miss Lewis -- Amy -- and Loki watches with fascination as she navigates through the iPhone's many screens.

He jerks his head up with a start when Sheriff McSpadden and Deputy Colbert come back in. Colbert has the cat in one arm.

"We're going to need to get your statements. Miss Lewis, you can stay here. Mr. Odinson, will you come with me?"

They're going to question him. He isn't surprised by this; he spent a little time with the police in the 1940s. Humans have fallen so far since the early days when they'd just throw you a party when you killed a monster. But it can't be helped.

Nodding, he scratches his leg and uses it as a distraction to grab his knapsack. Cradling the chocolate chips in the other hand, he stands. "Of course."

As they leave the room, the cat perks its ears in Loki's direction. Walking down the hall, he hears Amy say, "He's not going to be in any trouble, is he? He saved me." It's a bit touching, actually.

The room he is taken to has no windows, only a single table with a small gray mechanical box on it, and a mirror that undoubtedly is a window to another room. McSpadden inclines his head towards a chair, and Loki sits down. He's not afraid. The sword is in easy reach, he has enough magical energy left to make himself invisible if he needs to, the lock on the door is a non-issue; and actually, he's very curious.

Before they begin to talk, the sheriff presses a button on the small box on the table and says, "We'll record this whole conversation." Loki watches with fascination as two little wheels in the box start to turn, and the man says, "You kids, never seen a cassette recorder before..."

The question and answer session that follows goes as well as these things can. Loki fabricates details of "Thor's" past from his last journey to the realm.

And then they get to the immediate present.

"So, after the trucker you were hitching a ride with kicked you out of the cab, you heard Miss Lewis call for help?" says the Sheriff.

"Yes," says Loki.

"She says Malson said he'd kill her if she opened her mouth," says the Sheriff.

For a moment, Loki thinks he's being cross examined and feels the corner of his lip start to tug upward into a cruel smile. But then he realizes McSpadden's body language is still non-confrontational. He seems almost...confused.

Loki schools his features into a look of sympathy. "Yes." He blinks. "She thinks she saw a wolf, too. But..." he shrugs. "There was only her little dog. She is understandably distraught."

"Yes," says McSpadden. "The wolf..."

There is a knock at the door, and McSpadden excuses himself from the table. The door opens and Colbert is there with the cat. "She's clean, but Patches didn't like the dog. Thought you might like her..."

Before Colbert can finish the sentence, the cat launches itself out of his arms and walks over in Loki's direction, tail swishing madly back and forth.

Loki's eyes go up to the two men in the door. Both of their mouths are slightly agape.

"Do you want me to stay?" Colbert whispers.

They know the cat senses magic! But how have they even come in contact with magic before? Loki closes his eyes a moment. Of course. The same branch of the World Tree that sucked him here from the Aesir magical dump. They've had other things drop in...possibly very unpleasant things.

Loki looks back to Patches. Holding out a finger, he says, "Here, Patches, no need to worry. The Sheriff and I are just having a little chat." Patches approaches Loki slowly. She sniffs his finger carefully, and then rubs her head against it.

Loki looks up to McSpadden. The Sheriff straightens. Loki restrains a smile.

"I'll be alright, Colbert," says McSpadden.

Loki tilts his head. As the door closes and McSpadden sits down again, Loki projects a warm cloud of warmth around his hand. As he expects, Patches' caution quickly evaporates. She begins purring and rubbing her head and body against his fingers.

With a smile Loki reaches down and puts her on his lap, settling another warm bubble of air around her. Patches lies down on his knee and begins purring loudly, kneading her claws, and staring in McSpadden's direction. Cats are utter whores for a warm lap.

Loki can't restrain his smile. "You have more questions?"

* * *

IN THE INTERROGATION room McSpadden's phone buzzes with a text message. He looks down. It's from Laura Stodgill. He carefully peeks at it beneath the table.

Positive match. In discussion as to what to do. Don't make him angry.

Well, that's comforting. Tilting his head, he looks back up to Thor.

"...and so you are on your way to the Dakotas to take part in the oil boom," says McSpadden. It's plausible; in fact, out in the main lobby CNN has been running a show about just those very jobs this evening. McSpadden scowls -- is that a coincidence?

"That's right," says Thor. Popping a chocolate chip into his mouth, he smirks slightly. It's a smirk that says, I know you know I'm lying, and it doesn't bother me at all. In Thor's lap Patches is rubbing her head against his stomach, purring so loudly that McSpadden knows the tape recorder is going to pick it up.

On the one hand, he's glad she's not hissing. On the other hand, he can't even imagine he's in charge of the situation here.

Before Patches came into the room, Thor had every appearance of a vaguely disoriented, slightly frightened young man who had almost inadvertently saved a young woman from terrible tragedy. As soon as Patches started acting up, he seemed to pick up exactly on what was going on. Apparently he decided a facade wasn't worth maintaining anymore.

Now Thor sits straight up, eerily light blue eyes focused down on McSpadden. McSpadden isn't a small guy at 6' 2", but Thor's got a couple of inches on him. Thor isn't cocky, not like a petty thief. No, he's confident, like he knows he can get up and leave at any moment; he's just playing along because this is some sort of amusing game to him. Before the weirdness in McSpadden's neck of the woods he would have written Thor off as crazy. Now with Laura's response, and Patches' response...McSpadden sighs. Ah, for the good old days.

"I don't suppose you have any idea how the pictures caught on fire?" McSpadden says.

Thor's jaw goes hard. "They were very disturbing."

Which isn't an answer but is definitely true. McSpadden had gotten to the point in his job where he thought he couldn't see anything worse than he already had. He'd been wrong.

"Well," says McSpadden. "We'll need to type this out, and then have you sign it and then..."

Thor raises an eyebrow.

...and then normally it would be McSpadden's call to decide whether the guy should stay or go.

Frustrated, McSpadden turns off the tape. Thor blinks and bends over to look closer at the cassette player. It's the first time since Patches came in that he looks even slightly less than in complete control.

Thor looks up at McSpadden and straightens. "You have no say over my being allowed to stay or go, do you?" says Thor.

McSpadden rubs his eyes. He should lie, but frankly, he's a little fed up -- fed up with not being in charge of what went on at his station, and fed up with the Department of Anomalous Devices of Unknown Origin for not filling him in on what the Hell is going on.

"Nope," McSpadden says.

Thor cocks his head. "Thank you for that bit of honesty." He reaches a hand into the bag of chocolate chips, and then scowls down at it. Picking it up, he peers inside and the scowl intensifies.

And suddenly McSpadden has a bit of a quantum leap. Maybe The Department of ADUO won't talk to him, but maybe Thor will.

"I was told to be nice to you, though," McSpadden says.

Thor looks up.

Standing up, McSpadden says, "While we get this and Miss Lewis' statement typed up, you're welcome to have breakfast with us."

Thor's eyes widen. "I would appreciate that, Sheriff."

McSpadden smiles at his own guile. "Just bagels and cream cheese -- maybe some lox if Sherrie is feeling like going all out." Patting his stomach he says, "Gotta fight the stereotypes."

Thor just blinks at him.

"Come on," says McSpadden, opening the door.

Thor puts Patches down and walks with McSpadden towards the break room, Patches at their feet.

"I don't suppose you can tell me where you're really from?" McSpadden says.

A mischievous smile comes to Thor's lips. "I already have."

McSpadden can sense he's not going to get any more of an answer than that. Instead of pressing he says, "Could you at least tell me when the weirdness will stop? The carpet was kind of funny, but the monkey's paw..."

Thor stops walking, and his eyes widen. "You found a monkey's paw?"

McSpadden nods.

Shaking his head, Thor says, "I knew there had to be at least four of them..." He eyes McSpadden. "What did you do with it?"

"Gave it to the proper department," says McSpadden.

Thor's jaw goes hard. "And you'll give me to the proper department?"

McSpadden's stomach drops. He swallows.

Thor's eyebrow quirks. "You mentioned breakfast?"

McSpadden nods and starts leading him down the hall again. "I suppose I shouldn't worry about the unicorns..."

"Unicorns? There shouldn't be unicorns." Thor says.

McSpadden shrugs. "We've had a couple of sightings. I suppose they are harmless enough."

Thor stops abruptly and takes McSpadden's arm so quickly McSpadden spins around. Expression very serious, Thor says, "Sheriff McSpadden, in deference to your honesty with me I will tell you this. Unless you are especially pure, never, never, think a unicorn is harmless. If you value your life."

"Uh...." says McSpadden looking at the hand.

Dropping his arm, Thor turns his head and sniffs. "Do I smell smoked fish?" Without waiting for McSpadden to take the lead, he heads straight to the break room and McSpadden jogs to keep up. Miss Lewis is already sitting there with Colbert. She's reading over a statement in front of her. Her dog, Fred, or something, starts growling at Patches and the cat takes off. Amy looks up at Thor. The man's face suddenly takes on the look of bewildered young man again and he nods at her. "Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yes," she says, smiling softly and then turns back to her statement.

"I'll get your statement for you in a few minutes," says McSpadden.

Thor looks at McSpadden and gives him a wink.

McSpadden blinks. Thor is definitely dangerous. Clenching his jaw, McSpadden remembers the half burned pictures from Malson's van...and other things they'd found in the back.

Being dangerous isn't the same as being evil. Turning on his heel, he leaves the room.

When he comes back Colbert and Miss Lewis are gone. Thor is sitting with his feet up on the table, munching on a bagel with lox. Patches is on the ground, pawing at his lap.

"Where -- " says McSpadden, looking around the room.

"Miss Lewis had a bus to catch," says Thor.

"Well -- " McSpadden starts to say, when his phone starts to buzz with another text.

He picks it up. It's from Laura. He clicks on it.

Word on high is he's the good guy. He's free to go. Jameson furious.

McSpadden scowls. Jameson is the director of ADUO -- how can anyone be higher than him?

Thor's voice comes from just over McSpadden's shoulder. "Well, that is interesting."

McSpadden jumps away fast and turns. He almost draws his gun.

Thor takes a bite out of his bagel and looks towards the window, his face vaguely contemplative. "The good guy," Thor muses aloud.

McSpadden goes over and picks up Patches. She is utterly uninterested in his phone -- so the message from Laura is not just enchanted...or magical...or whatever. Wiggling out of his arms, she hops to the ground and runs over to Thor.

Smirking at McSpadden, Thor picks up a bottle of water off the break room table and takes a swig. "Sheriff McSpadden, I thank you for your hospitality, but waiting for my statement at this point would be superfluous."

"Uh, I gotta keep you here until you sign it," McSpadden says, straightening. "Procedures and all that."

Rolling his eyes, Thor says, "Remember what I told you about the unicorns."

And then he disappears. McSpadden looks around the break room. The bagels, cream cheese, and lox are all gone, too. For a brief few moments Patches does an impression of a whirling dervish, running like mad in circles. Then she stops abruptly in a beam of morning sunlight, licks her back once, and promptly lies down and goes to sleep.

* * *

LOKI MAKES HIMSELF and all the food in the break room invisible. Holding the bagel he is eating between his teeth, he stuffs the rest into his knapsack, right in front of McSpadden. Patches hops madly around his feet. He's a little worried she'll try to follow him, but when he runs for the door she doesn't pursue.

He exits the station, the door swinging on empty air behind him. He glances at the sky. Not a raven in sight -- Odin's messengers or otherwise, but he remains invisible anyway. Seeing Amy and Deputy Colbert in the distance, he runs to catch up. His hunger is nowhere near sated, and it takes more effort than he expects.

Amy is just stepping up the bus' steps when he can't bear the strain anymore. He drops the invisibility and gasps for breath. Fortunately, he's behind Amy, the deputy has already turned away, and the bus driver's facing away.

Amy spins with a start.

"Thought I'd take you up on your offer," he says, swallowing and trying to appear pathetic and non-threatening. The effect may be slightly undone by his heavy breathing.

Her mouth opens. For a minute he thinks that maybe his illusion of Earth fashion has dropped, but he looks down and it's still there. Then in his mind he hears, Please don't be a bank robber or anything. The fact that he hears her is disturbing; the fact that she's praying that he doesn't rob banks is very disturbing.

"All right?" he says slowly, not sure if he is agreeing not to rob banks, or asking if her offer is still good.

She swallows. "Do you need me to buy you a ticket?"

He winces.

The bus driver says, "Buy it for him online when you sit down! We've got to get a move on!"

"Okay," she says. From a shapeless bag on her shoulder, Fenrir gives a happy yip.

"Is that a dog in there?" says the bus driver.

"No!" say Amy and Loki in unison, quickly hurrying up the steps.

As they settle into their seats which are a might bit cramped, Amy complains about being in a "cattle car." Loki says nothing. He actually thinks the vehicle is fairly amazing. It's not one of the litters of Odin's wife, Frigga, and the seats are not proportioned for someone his size, but even with his legs splayed wide, one knee awkwardly out in the aisle, it is much more comfortable than a horse.

His brain churns with questions. Why did Odin's spell leave him so drained? And how did he escape it? How is he the good guy? Could they possibly mistake him for the real Thor? And unicorns... How in the nine realms are they slipping over here? They certainly didn't come from Asgard's orbiting garbage heap.

He closes his eyes. He should pull out his book and look for branches of the World Tree in the vicinity of Chicago.

Instead he falls asleep.

|  |

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# Chapter 4

Maybe it is the steady hum of the engine. Maybe it is that there are people all around. Or maybe it is just exhaustion. Whatever, even though Amy wouldn't think it possible, in the bus, just a little before St. Louis, she dozes off. She wakes up with a start, vague memories of darkness and Ed Malson in her mind.

She takes a breath. Fenrir pushes her nose out of the bag in Amy's lap and licks her hand. Amy pats the dog's head. She is safe. Thor Odinson saved her. She rubs her eyes. His parents must be lunatics for giving him a name like that. Lunatic parents may be something they have in common. Thinking about Thor, she blinks. Wincing from the pain in her neck, she rolls her head to look at him across the aisle. Her eyes widen. Thor's head is bent down against his chest; his eyes are closed. He's shivering, his lips are moving, a scowl is on his brow. She can tell instantly he is having bad dreams, too.

But that isn't what's making her eyebrows touch her hairline.

He's wearing armor. What looks like the handle of a sword is poking out of the knapsack that sits on the floor between his feet.

Another passenger walking by looks down at him and blinks and then walks back to his seat, a confused expression on his face.

Amy's heart starts to beat fast. This is too weird. Not just that he is wearing armor, but that he was dressed like a rock-a-billy, hipster, wannabe when he got on the bus. Where did he stow the extra clothes? Not in the little bag. But she saw the armor before, didn't she, when she hit him with pepper spray?

Her train of thought is interrupted when Thor whispers something strange and guttural. Fenrir pushes herself out of the bag, runs across the aisle, and hops into his lap.

Amy looks up and down the aisle. No one seems to have noticed. She looks at Thor. His eyes are blinking open. Fenrir pants on his face and his head jerks up, in surprise or because Fenrir's breath has been especially bad since the road kill incident.

Raising an eyebrow, he puts a hand on the wiggling Fenrir. "Hello beast that looks like a dog," he says in the proper East Coast tones she first noticed in the police station, when the shock of everything had started wearing off.

...or maybe the shock didn't wear off. He's wearing armor.

The Art Institute of Chicago has some suits of armor from the middle ages. They look like barrels with metal tubes for feet and arms. What Thor is wearing is very different. It fits like a second skin. It seems to be a dull metal that picks up the colors around it -- it almost blends into the seat. There is a chest plate, and some interlocking horizontal strips about the width of a finger that fall to his belt. The same thin strips rise up his neck. There are more plates around his legs and arms, between them more of the interlocking finger-width pieces of metal.

Thor glances at her. His eyes open a little bit when he sees she's awake, and then he looks back to Fenrir, who has rolled over on his lap. Wrinkling his nose and scowling a bit, Thor gingerly scratches Fenrir on the chest with a finger.

Thor is very pale, and at the moment very scruffy, his hair is disheveled, and it looks like he hasn't had a shave in days. His face is narrow, and his features are somewhere between sharp and delicate. He's definitely not unattractive, but you wouldn't mistake him for the rugged actor who plays his namesake in the "Thor" movie franchise.

She stares at him. As he scratches Fenrir, the armor makes no sound at all. She would expect the metal to clink or something.

Turning to her, Thor scowls a little bit. "Is something wrong?"

Amy opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Yes?" he says tilting his head.

Biting her lip, she points at him. "Ummm..." she says. "You're wearing...armor. Kind of weird SWAT meets elven Lord of the Rings armor."

His eyes go wide and he looks down. Almost to himself he says, "Well, that's never happened before.."

"Am I still asleep?" Amy says. "Is this a dream?"

He looks at her and the corner of his lip twitches. Tilting his head he says, "You are dreaming." Reaching down into his knapsack and pulling out a bagel, he says, "Close your eyes. Enjoy the comfort of this magnificent vehicle."

That doesn't help the moment feel real. "It's a bus," she says.

He scowls a little. "I know that."

"It isn't magnificent," she says. And it brings back bad memories of other bus rides she's had to take.

He blinks. "Go to sleep. When you awake, I will be wearing the normal attire you saw me in earlier."

"It wasn't normal."

"What?" he says, brows rising.

"It was totally retro, 1950s-esque," Amy says.

His mouth twitches. "Was it really so conspicuous?"

"Well..." Amy says. "Sort of... I mean some people wear that kind of thing, but it isn't precisely normal."

He stares at her a moment, and then he says, "Go back to sleep. When you open your eyes I'll be totally retro again."

Amy settles back against the seat, takes a breath, and closes her eyes.

Someone says, "Is that a dog?!" in a very accusatory tone.

Amy's eyes bolt open to see an older man glaring down at her lap. Her fingers tighten around Fenrir. "Ummmm..." she says.

The man backs up. "Oh, I must have been mistaken."

Amy looks down. In her lap is a shaggy gray teddy bear that looks immobile -- but she feels a wiggling Fenrir in her fingers.

Amy looks across the aisle. Thor is wearing retro clothing again. "You are dreaming," he says softly.

Staring at the seat in front of her, Amy scowls. "That is the logical explanation."

She doesn't feel safe anymore. She has this horrible feeling that she didn't escape Malson, that she is dying in a ditch somewhere and her brain is making up this long dream to save her from the pain.

"Close your eyes," he says.

She doesn't want to know if this is real or not. Squeezing her eyes shut, she says, "I'm not opening them until we reach Chicago."

"Shhhhhh...." he says softly. "When you wake up, things will return to normal, and when they're normal you'll know you're safe."

His voice sounds so confident, so sure, as though he knows exactly how she's feeling.

* * *

THE VILLAGERS PICK up the pieces of Cronus' body. They laugh and smile. Loki is still sitting on the floor of the boathouse, arms wrapped around his knees. Hoenir and Mimir haven't entered yet. Both of them would have been useless, of course.

A villager comes up and hands Loki a flask of something. Patting Loki on the shoulder, he flashes a smile missing several teeth. "Well done, Loki! Drink this."

Loki takes the flask; it smells strongly like alcohol. Loki's had watered down mead before, but not often. Frigga's handmaiden, Eir, is talented in the healing arts. Eir has Frigga convinced that alcohol is particularly harmful for young developing minds and livers.

Odin says in his day everyone drank. Brusquely taking the flask, Loki takes a long swig.

It burns, and he has to fight hard to keep it down. The man laughs again. "We are burning his body, building you a throne, and will kill a calf in your honor! Come! Celebrate with us."

He pats Loki on the shoulder and offers him a hand up. Loki accepts and tries to hand back the flask.

"You keep it!" says the man. "You've earned it."

Loki looks down at the flask. He knows as soon as he exits the boathouse, Hoenir will take the drink from him. That seems unmanly. Tipping the flask back, he proceeds to drain it, even though tears run down his cheeks and some of the liquid runs down his chin. When he's done, he wipes his chin and hands the flask back to the villager.

Eyes wide, the villager says, "You are a god."

Loki smiles triumphantly. Suddenly humans are streaming into the boathouse, men, women, and children. They throw their arms around Loki and then hoist him onto their shoulders. Warmth spreads through Loki, and he sees Hoenir and Mimir over their heads and waves happily.

Soon the bonfire is roaring, and Loki is sitting on a rough chair that is too wide for him. They call it a throne. He would call it branches, but he smiles, and the villagers smile, and it's all like a wonderful dream. He calls the little boy Jonah over to sit with him, and the villagers seem to think that is hilarious and fantastic. They bring over some weak beer; Jonah accepts it readily, so Loki does too. Nearby Loki hears Mimir say, "Well, I suppose one little drink won't hurt him..."

Soon after, there is food and more beer, and then there is music and dancing around the fire. Hoenir and Mimir try to pull Loki away, but Loki tells them something to the effect of, "in just a minute," and dives into the dance with the villagers. Someone must have thrown some new kindling on the fire just then because the flames seem to rise halfway to Asgard. Or maybe he is just drunk. But he is happy. And after today, and the boat, and Cronus, and staring into the faces of the humans around him who are so kind, so fragile, so mortal, and who love him so much it is almost a physical pain...

Someone hands him another flask. Hoenir is nowhere in sight and he takes a long swig. He spins around the fire with the humans and the flames leap.

It is dark when someone says, "Loki, our God of Gods!"

Laughing and quite drunk, Loki stands upon the throne. "No!" he shouts. " I am the God of Fire!" The fire chooses that moment to send a shower of sparks into the air. The villagers howl in delight. "The God of Spirit," he says, shaking the flask. The villagers laugh again. "And..." A group of three young girls standing near him giggle. It's not like Loki hasn't noticed girls before, but at that moment it seems for the first time he really sees them. They look so soft, so inviting...and what they are inviting him to isn't so vague and abstract anymore. "...girls," he says. Jumping from the throne, he takes a spinning step in their direction. A piece of wood in the fire breaks with a thunderclap, and the villagers gasp.

A heavy hand comes down on Loki's shoulder, stopping his spin. Somehow he knows without looking who it is, and the dream-like quality of the night comes crashing to an end. He feels his cheeks going red with embarrassment. He also feels an odd sense of relief, as though if that hand weren't there he might spin so fast he'd leave the ground.

The music stops. A hush comes over the villagers. Only the fire is still crackling. Odin's voice rings through the night. "The God of Mischief is more like it!"

Loki's legs crumple beneath him, and there is some laughter from the villagers that sounds far off and uncertain. Before he hits the ground, Odin catches him. Hoisting Loki up in his arms, Odin cradles him like he would a babe, or a woman. Loki scowls. And then he realizes if Odin did throw him over his shoulder like a proper warrior, he would probably throw up.

"Come on, Loki," Odin says, not unkindly. "We're going home."

Loki smiles and waves at Jonah, and the villagers, and the girls. He is embarrassed. A little. Or maybe a lot. He is too drunk to properly gauge the emotion.

And Odin coming to spoil his schemes is so normal...he suddenly knows at last he is safe.

* * *

WHEN THE BUS DROPS them off at the intersection of Canal and Lake Street, Loki's head immediately turns to the south east and downtown. Chicago is hot, sticky and tall. Very, very, tall. Across a dreary parking lot and the river, skyscrapers tower. It's all he can do to keep from gaping. Every single building seems to be as tall or taller than the Empire State Building. And nearly all of them seem made of glass. Some of the windows are darkened, but others are bright mirrors that reflect the large white clouds in the Midwest sky -- they seem to Loki to be gigantic moving canvases. And to think they're all solid, and real, not dependent on illusions like the buildings of Asgard.

"Yes," says Amy. "Lovely parking lot. You can see the pollution on the horizon. But it's Chicago. What can you do?"

Loki blinks. There is a bit of haze low to the ground, but... "It's cleaner than I remember," he says. And it is certainly cleaner than Victorian England. For a place that doesn't have a Void to dump the garbage from their misspent magic, Chicago is doing rather well.

"Huh," says Amy. "Let's catch a taxi."

She holds out a hand, and a white vehicle that is very similarly shaped to the chariot of her would-be-abductor screeches to a stop.

As Amy and the driver wrestle her bag and a rather large trunk into the back, Loki slips into the interior. It is blessedly cool inside. He stops and peeks between the seats to the front. The dashboard is alight with glowing numbers. One is clearly the time, another is the temperature, but all the others are completely incomprehensible. He blinks. Computers are everywhere.

The buildings, the computers -- Earth is turning into a place that is almost magical. It temporarily makes him forget about the hunger that is beginning to gnaw at his stomach and the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. Odin's spell to stop time drained him more than he thought possible -- how Loki resisted it is a mystery.

He shakes his head. He won't solve that puzzle now. Leaning forward, he tries to get a better view of the numbers on the dashboard.

The driver and Amy slip into the car and put on their seat belts. "814 N. Hermitage," Amy says and the cab driver steps on the gas so fast Loki falls backwards in his seat. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Amy staring at him with a look of pure confusion on her face. Even Fenrir is cocking her head in his direction. For a moment he thinks that his illusion of totally retro clothes has fallen again, but he checks, and it's still there.

As they speed away from the center of the city along Chicago Avenue, the buildings get noticeably lower. Many are also noticeably older -- two and three story row houses of stone and brick that are visibly sinking into Chicago's soft soil. These familiar buildings are interspersed with newer abodes with tremendous windows that can't be sensible for temperature regulation or for warding off potential intruders. It really is a good thing that Asgard put a stop to the Jotunn plans for a new ice age on Earth -- and took care of the troll situation.

As they drive further west along Chicago Avenue, shops and restaurants begin to appear. Many of the names are in Spanish, and Loki notices a great many people who seem to be of South American descent walking among the natives of European and African origin.

They turn up a green, leafy street. About a third of the houses seem to be very new, a third are old and decrepit, and a third look old but lovingly maintained.

Amy says, "This is good," and the cab stops so fast that Loki braces his hands on the front seat.

The cabbie, who had been so solicitous when Amy got into the cab, doesn't do much more than throw Amy's bags on the street after she pays him. As he speeds away, Loki watches as she tilts the trunk up and tries to drag it while simultaneously trying to heave a large cylindrical cloth sack.

It occurs to him that he's probably supposed to help. He is from Asgard. Centuries ago, Asgardians would occasionally take humans as servants. It never works the other way around... But plenty of Asgardians have mocked Loki for his lack of pride before.

"May I help you?" he asks solicitously.

Shaking her head, she says, "No...that's okay...I can manage it." Dragging the trunk along the ground, she bumps into the curb and nearly topples over. The trunk and the bag fall to the street.

He tilts his head. She seems to know her Norse mythology, so he says, "Don't be such a Valkyrie." The winged warrior women are always so touchy.

"What?" she says. Apparently his gentle jibe didn't translate well. Rather than explain, he just bends down and grabs the trunk by both ends.

"Don't..." she starts to say, coming forward.

He swings it over one shoulder with ease.

"It's heavy," Amy says, touching his free arm before he can move away.

She stops and looks down. He looks where her hand is. She feels his armor, even if she can't see it. Her gaze meets his and her brows come together.

He's saved from having to say anything by the sound of a woman's voice. "Amy! Amy!"

They both turn to see an old woman coming down a narrow walk from an old brick two-story house of the lovingly maintained variety. Ivy climbs nimbly up the walls and spills out over the yard.

Loki tilts his head. He isn't used to the elderly. Their wrinkled papery skin and white hair remind him pleasantly of gnomes, but the old have a brittleness to them that gnomes don't share. Aging seems such a terrible affliction.

The old woman is wearing a dress that wouldn't be out of place last time Loki was here, but she wears the same leather-like shoes with stripes and laces that Amy wears.

She wraps her arms around the girl and Fenrir begins yipping up a happy storm.

"I'm so glad you're home! Don't ever travel alone again! Take a plane, take a train, take a bus!" the old woman says.

"Oh, grandma, it was a freak incident..."

Pulling back, the woman says, "Don't go quoting me statistics about lightning strikes and how unlikely this is ever to happen to you again. It happened once! That's enough."

"Grandma..." says Amy.

But the old woman is coming towards Loki, arms outstretched. "You're the man who saved my darling granddaughter!"

Loki's eyes widen. She'll embrace him. Loki's not squeamish about physical contact with humans, unlike some Asgardians...Asgardians like Heimdall, that stuck up stickler for protocol and station, but she'll feel Loki's armor. Picking up Amy's remaining bag, he says, "Careful, I don't want to drop these on you."

She stops and closes her hands together. She beams at Loki. His head roars with the sound of She's all I have left in the world, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Loki blinks. More human prayers in his head? But the saving of lives is done. This is so very odd.

Despite the torrent in Loki's mind, all the old woman says is, "Oh, yes, of course." But she continues to smile at him, and something in his gut constricts. He's always thought of prayers as a weak trick, but he's beginning to think they're deceptively powerful. He's not sure he likes it.

"Thor, this is my grandmother, Beatrice," Amy says.

Shaking her head, Beatrice says, "Such an unusual name. My late husband would have loved it." And then turning she says, "I hope they lock up that horrible Malson man and put him away forever."

Loki looks at Amy. Apparently she hasn't been entirely truthful with Beatrice. Catching his gaze, Amy winces and holds a finger to her lips. Loki raises an eyebrow. There was a time on Earth when even grandmothers would have reveled gleefully in stories of heroics, no matter how gory.

Up ahead Beatrice says, "Come inside out of the heat!" and waves them both up the narrow walkway. "I can have food on the table in thirty minutes. Everything's ready; I just have to heat it up."

Mouth watering at the word food, Loki follows them in. Looking very uncomfortable, Amy says to him, "Um, if my bags are too heavy you can put them down..."

He's tired. He's hungry. But they're not heavy. "Where do you want them?" he asks.

Amy jumps a little at the sound of his voice. Being hungry always makes him cranky; it's beginning to show, evidently.

"This way," says Amy. He follows her up a narrow staircase to a small sleeping room.

Setting them down on the ground, he says, "Whatever your grandmother is cooking smells deli-- "

A tiny ping rings through the room.

He stills at the sound.

Ping.

There it is again, and the most infinitesimal of pressures on his back. Scowling, he spins around. Amy has her fingers outstretched, a guilty look on her face. It takes him a moment but he puts it together -- she pinged his armor with her finger.

"What do you want?" he says, the words coming out harsher than he intends.

Backing up a little, Amy looks down. "To know I'm not dreaming."

Loki sighs and rubs his eyes.

Ping. Ping.

He feels a light pressure now on his lower arm.

He opens his eyes and Amy has her fingers outstretched again. This time she doesn't look guilty. Just confused.

"You shouldn't go ping," she says. "I have to be dreaming."

He stares at her a moment, beyond irritated. He's saved her life, sat through a tortuously long questioning session, carried her bags for her -- and he's hungry. Yet she has the gall to question her good fortune, to question him, and to ping his armor.

He suddenly has the desire to be a little cruel. "You're not dreaming," he says. Dropping the illusion he stands before her in his armor. "Does this help?" he says with a smile.

"No!"

The sound of footsteps on the stairs makes the girl turn her head. "Change back," she says. "Don't frighten my grandmother."

Loki would rather not frighten anyone who will feed him. He slips back into the illusion of "totally retro" clothing.

Beatrice comes around the corner, a stack of linens in her hand. Loki smiles benevolently at her.

"Amy, why don't you show him the spare room?" Beatrice says.

Taking the load from from her grandmother, Amy says, "This way."

As she leads him out of the house, Loki looks up at the sky. He sees no sign of ravens, the spies of Odin. He doubts Heimdall can see him. Heimdall has to know where to look first. Just in case he puts on his helmet, disguised as a fedora, before he follows her across the tiny lawn and into an alley behind the garage. Amy unlocks and lifts the garage door. Inside, off to one side, is a large vehicle. It reminds him vaguely of a Jeep.

Amy leads him past the vehicle to a door. She unlocks it and says, "It's a little inconvenient," and then leads him up a flight of stairs. Every step upward the heat becomes more and more oppressive.

Loki lets the illusion of Earth clothing drop again. It's a game, and she started it.

At the top of the stairs she turns around and jumps at the sight of his armor. She does have one of the lovelier bosoms Loki has seen on this or any other world, and the bounce does rather nice things. He smirks.

Thrusting the pile of linens at him, she says, "Here." And turning around again she walks into a medium-sized room. There is a bed in one corner, and a couch. "The shower is that way," she gestures towards a door, "And the swinging door takes you to a kitchenette. I think there are glasses. There isn't any food, though. Do you need me to show you how to turn on the air conditioning?"

That's it? No more questions?

...Air conditioning?

He is a Frost Giant, and the room is rather uncomfortable, even if his armor does have some temperature control.

"I would like help with the air conditioning," he says.

She walks over to a boxlike thing in the window, plugs it into the wall, and shows him how to operate the dials. And she hands him some keys, and walks towards the door. Just before leaving she turns. "See you in about 20 minutes."

He tilts his head and looks down at his armor. He blinks. "You're not bothered?"

Her eyes go wide, and she looks down. "I'm probably going crazy and dying at the bottom of a ditch somewhere, but you know, this is an interesting dream, a better dream than that reality, and you're responsible, so I'm grateful and I'm just going to go with it until I wake up..." She swallows. "Or not wake up...or whatever."

Well, now he actually feels like a heel. And a little foolish. Really, she's quite lovely and just his type. Although he's currently not in the mood, he certainly has no issue with indulging in passing carnal pleasures with a human. No use burning bridges.

Going forward, he takes her hand. "Miss Lewis," he says in his calmest, most reassuring, most courtly tone -- he is in armor, no use disguising his origins anymore. "You are not dying. You are home, you are safe, and the gentleman from the forest is no more. I do regret that my lapse in control has caused you to doubt this. If I believed it were prudent, I would offer to erase your memories and allow you to forget seeing Fenrir as a wolf, the portfolio pictures bursting into flames,and my armor. But memory erasing is a tricky business, and..."

He looks down at her hand. It is shaking. Pursing his lips, he says, "This is not reassuring you."

"Not at all," she confirms.

"Damn." With a sigh he makes to kiss her hand. It is a courtly gesture, one he would bestow on a lady in Asgard had he distressed her accidentally.

To his shock, she rips her hand away before it even touches his lips. "That really doesn't help," she says.

Eyes wide, Loki holds up his hands. "No offense meant."

Scowling and looking away, she says, "See you in a few minutes." And then she turns and disappears down the stairs.

Tilting his head, Loki turns in the direction of the shower, thankful that he knows what one is.

He's just rinsing his hair when he sees the red mist again. It wraps around him in the shower, and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. The child's voice comes again in Russian. "The petty bourgeois are keeping the grander house to themselves and leaving you the meaner accommodation."

Blinking the water from his eyes, Loki restrains a shudder. "I'm grateful I don't have to rob banks again for food and a place to stay," Loki says. Stepping through the red mist and out of the shower, he grabs a towel.

"My Josef robbed banks, too," says the child voice. "For the revolution." In a voice that sounds slightly ashamed, it adds, "And food...and soft ones."

"Josef?" says Loki. Obviously, the mist wants to talk to him, and Loki isn't so foolish as not to comply.

"He woke me. He touched me. But he wasn't like you. He couldn't hear me."

Slipping on his breeches, Loki says, "You have a corporeal form?"

"Yes," says the mist, its voice sounding fainter, the red magic ceding to pink.

"Where are you?" Loki asks.

"It is impossible to know position or momentum with certainty," says the voice, barely audible now, the mist almost invisible.

Leave it to a magical creature to stumble over the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. Magic really was just expanded quantum theory.

"Yes, that's true," Loki says, trying to remain patient. "But you can think of your position in relative terms to mine and then give an estimate of location..."

There is no response. Loki exhales heavily in frustration. He is very curious. But he doesn't have time for this right now. He needs to eat and sleep to give himself enough energy to open a gate to the World Tree. He needs to find Valli and Nari.

He slips on a shirt that was in the pile of towels and sheets. Stepping out of the bathroom, he looks at his armor and sword laid out neatly on the bed.

Beatrice is going to touch him. He just knows it. He goes to his knapsack, pulls out his book and slips it into his pocket. Closing his eyes, he briefly projects his consciousness out of the small room, through the roof, and into the sky. There are no ravens in sight.

Jaw tight, he heads for the stairs.

|  |

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# Chapter 5

Thor, the weird maybe figment of Amy's imagination, shows up for dinner wearing a chambray shirt that used to belong to Amy's grandfather. Her grandfather was a tall man, but it still barely comes to Thor's waistband. He's rolled up the sleeves so they don't look too short.

He's shaved and his hair is clean and combed back from his eyes. It's disturbing, but he of the inappropriate King-Arthur-esque come-ons cleans up nicely.

She shakes her head. Remember the armor, Amy. Remember the ping when you flicked his back.

Remember he saved you...

She sighs. She is probably just imagining all of this. It's too much to think about, so she focuses on the spread on the table.

Beatrice has pulled out the stops for Amy's rescuer. Amy's grandmother is of Ukrainian descent, and the table shows it. Stuffed cabbages, sausages, boiled potatoes, and homemade sauerkraut. Amy prefers to eat vegetarian, and in deference to that her grandmother has also laid out some cheese sandwiches and mushroom soup with dumplings.

Thor sits down with a big smile and proceeds to eat everything. He doesn't eat fast, doesn't shovel food in his face, but he's like a machine. He just keeps going, and going, and going.

Her grandmother asks him questions, and he answers quickly and vaguely and turns the conversation back to Beatrice. He asks all the right questions about the neighborhood, and Beatrice is happy to expound on how it had once been predominantly Ukrainian but now is filled with yuppies and Mexican "foreigners" -- Beatrice doesn't quite catch the irony in her being from the Ukraine and a foreigner. Thor doesn't comment.

He seems so much like the nice, kind of shy awkward guy she remembers from the police station. Beatrice seems utterly enchanted by him. It takes nearly half an hour for her to turn to Amy and say, "How did your final exams go, dear?"

Putting down her sandwich, Amy says, "Oh, great, Grandma. I think my exam for Equine Theriogenology went really well." Her grandmother looks at her pointedly, and then tips her head in Thor's direction. Amy belatedly remembers it's not nice to use words people probably don't understand. Licking her lips she prepares to explain theriogenology is the study of animal reproduction when Thor says, "Oh, really? Was the curriculum theoretical or practical? I'm no expert on theriogenology myself, equine or otherwise, but I have had the opportunity to be present for a foaling here and there. And my friend...Homer...was always hatching odd things."

Amy blinks. "The class was theoretical and practical..."

"Oh, excellent," says Thor. "It's so lovely watching foals clamber up on their wobbly little legs, isn't it?"

"Yes," says Amy, her mouth threatening to pull into a smile.

"Did you grow up on a farm?" Beatrice asks Thor.

"No," he says. "But there were stables nearby." Helping himself to the last of the stuffed cabbages, Thor says. "What are in these cabbages? They are delicious!"

Beatrice giggles like a young girl and Amy restrains a sigh as her grandmother begins to tell Thor exactly what's in them. Instead, going to the stove, Amy ladles another bowl of mushroom soup for herself. Actually, listening to her grandmother talk about ground pork and seasonings is beginning to make her feel like this isn't a dream.

Didn't Dream-on-the-bus Thor tell her she'd know she was alive when things became ordinary again? And maybe Armor-in-the-garage-attic Thor was just another dream? She hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in days now. Maybe she drifted off to sleep when she came out of her shower and lay down on her bed? Of course! That must be what happened.

She's just going back to the table when the CD player, which had been playing some mellow shoe gazing electronica, switches to her grandmother's Glenn Miller CD.

Thor sits up straighter as the opening bars to "In the Mood" comes on. "I know this song," he says.

Sighing, Beatrice says, "I learned to dance the Swing with this song."

Thor grins. "So did I!" Setting his napkin on the table, he stands, bows slightly and holds out a hand. "Beatrice?"

Beatrice puts a hand to her mouth. And then she smiles and says, "Oh, why not? But let's go to the living room. There's no space in here."

Taking Thor's hand, she leads him to the other room and Amy follows.

"No dipping or throws!" Beatrice says, "Remember, I'm old!"

"Nonsense," says Thor, putting a hand on her back as they step in front of the fireplace. "You don't look a day over 65!"

Beatrice laughs and holds up her hand for him. "I'm closer to 85, young man!"

Taking her hand in his, Thor pauses. "No, really, I meant it, you don't..." The look on his face is genuinely perplexed. But then he blinks, says, "Good on you!" and they begin to dance. Thor is very gentle for such a huge guy and Beatrice smiles from ear to ear -- if she feels anything weird beneath Grandpa's old shirt Thor's wearing, she's not showing it. Amy leans against the mantle and just watches. She hasn't seen Grandma this happy since Grandpa died, and it makes her a little misty eyed. Even if this is all in her head, for Beatrice's sake, she doesn't want it to end.

And then it almost does. The light in the living room flickers and goes out, and there is an instant of darkness. But then, all at once, every single candle on the mantle lights up. Amy jumps, as her hair nearly catches fire.

"Oh, candles! Lovely!" says Beatrice.

Thor smiles at Amy. "Thanks for lighting those!"

Amy decides not to say anything. Aren't hallucinations part of sleep deprivation?

As the music winds down, she just follows her giggling grandmother and Thor back into the kitchen.

Breathing a little heavily, Beatrice sits down and smoothes her hair.

Thor slides into the seat across from her and starts helping himself to the last of the boiled potatoes and sausage.

"You are too much fun to be Thor!" Beatrice declares.

Thor's body stills, a spoon full of potatoes hanging in the air. "Oh?" he says. His voice has just the barest hint of an edge to it, and Amy tenses. "Who am I then?"

Something mischievous enters Beatrice's eyes. "I'd say you're more a friend to Hoenir than you are a Thor."

Thor puts the potatoes down. "Friend to Hoenir..."

Winking, Beatrice says, "It's a kenning, young man. You can Google it later."

"Google?" says Thor.

"I'm a very tech savvy Grandma!" says Beatrice. "I email my granddaughter every day! It's so wonderful."

"Email..." says Thor.

"Kenning?" says Amy.

Looking at Amy, Thor says, "A kenning is a conventional poetic phrase used in place of the name of a person or thing. For instance, storm-of-swords means battle."

Beatrice blinks, "Very good! How about whale-road?"

Putting a potato in his mouth -- the whole thing, but it really isn't that big a mouthful for him, Thor smiles, chews a moment, swallows, and then says, "The sea!"

The next half hour or so consists of Beatrice throwing kennings at Thor. Thor gets all the old obscure ones, like gore-cradle for battlefield, and battle-flame for the light on a sword, but he misses the new ones, like beer-goggles. When Amy explains it he laughs heartily. He doesn't get surfing-the-net either; when Amy tries to explain that one, he only looks befuddled.

Thor's cleaning up the last of everything on the table when Beatrice says, "Well, I think I'll offer you dessert and then call it a night." She looks at Thor's plate. "Unless, of course, you still would like more meat and potatoes..."

She's just being polite, of course; anyone can see it.

But Thor nods vigorously. "I could eat more meat and potatoes if you've got them."

Beatrice blinks at him. "Well...I do have a cold smoked ham in the fridge I was thinking of serving my church group..."

Smacking his lips, Thor says, "That sounds delicious! I love ham!"

Beatrice stares at him, then shaking her head, gets up and says, "I forget how much young men can eat!"

Amy helps her grandmother put a huge ham on a serving plate in the middle of the table. Beatrice hands Thor a carving knife -- and a loaf of bread for good measure, and then excuses herself. As she is leaving, she turns and says, "Friends of Hoenir are always welcome in this house."

Thor smiles. "Well, Hoenir is a lovely man. I'm sure any friend of his is exceptional."

Beatrice laughs. "Hoenir's friend did put the gods in their place on more than one occasion," and Thor looks absolutely befuddled again.

Beatrice leaves the room, the old floorboards, and then the stairs, creaking as she goes up to her room.

An awkward silence settles on the table. Thor rips off a piece of bread, looks down at his plate and says, "Friend of Hoenir..."

Amy whips out her iPhone and Googles it. She sits up straighter. "It's Loki," she says. She swears the lights flicker just a bit. At her feet, Fenrir makes the same noise she makes when she spies a rabbit.

She looks up and sees Thor staring at her, as though gauging her reaction.

Amy doesn't move. She feels like pieces of a puzzle in her brain are falling into place, but the picture that is forming is too weird and too impossible to be real.

He looks down at his plate. "Hoenir was a good friend. From the beginning...even willing to risk his life..." Thor stirs the food on his plate, but says no more.

* * *

LOKI IS 12 YEARS OLD. A mist is settling over the gardens outside the palace in Asgard. It is early evening, and he runs as fast as his legs can carry him down dark garden paths, his breathing loud in his ears.

He doesn't stop until he gets to Hoenir's hut. As he bangs at the door, a little gray mouse with eight black insect legs and no tail drops down from the eaves on a silvery trail of spider silk. Loki loves spiders. Ordinarily he'd pet the little creature, but now he's too flustered to even raise a finger to it.

The door opens and golden light spills out. Hoenir is wearing an apron and gloves of the kind falconers wear. He steps silently aside and Loki bolts in.

Loki never knows what he'll find when he comes into the hut. On the outside, it looks like a single room just a few paces wide, but on the inside it has many rooms, and is much larger than it looks from the garden. He never knows which room he'll step into. Sometimes it's a sitting room with comfy chairs and a roaring fire, sometimes an enormous library grander even than Odin's, sometimes a kitchen, or sometimes, like tonight, he enters a workshop. There is a long workbench as high as Loki's chest and some tall chairs next to it. From the ceiling hangs a large lamp-like thing that glows orange and nearly touches the bench top.

Mimir is standing on his neck by the lamp. "Ah, Loki, we were just about to do a hatching. Would you like to select an egg for us?"

Hoenir gestures towards an enormous basket, as big as Loki, filled with eggs, all rather long and oblong instead of the regular shape of a bird egg. Loki finds one that is about twice the length of his outstretched hands and about half as wide. It is leathery and soft.

"Excellent," says Mimir. "Why don't you bring it here and set it beneath the lamp."

Hoenir leads Loki to a tall chair close to Mimir and the lamp. Loki climbs up on it and puts the egg beneath the light. The lamp gives off a lot of heat.

The three of them sit staring at it for a long time. At last Mimir says, "So, Loki. What brings you to our hut at this time of night?"

Loki shrugs.

For a few moments Mimir says nothing, and then he says, "So have you seen baby Baldur? I'm not such a fan of babies myself, but Odin and Frigga's child...why I've never seen such golden curls on a newborn. And even his cries sound musical."

Loki scowls. "His curls aren't golden. His hair is thin and black and straight. And his cries sound just like every other baby's cry. They're loud and I wish he'd shut up."

"Now, now," says Mimir. "I've seen Baldur, and he most definitely has golden curls, and rosy cheeks and..."

"No," says Loki, staring at the egg. He thinks he sees it moving. "His hair is black. And his skin is pale and nearly blue...like mine. He looks more Jotunn than Aesir. And there's magic all around him...gray magic, so dark it's nearly black."

What Loki doesn't say is how just being around Baldur makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. How he feels a chill just being near the baby.

"Did you tell Odin what you see?" Mimir asks quietly.

Loki can only swallow.

"Oh, dear," says Mimir, and Loki glances up to see Mimir looking at Hoenir. Hoenir looks very distraught.

"I'm afraid to ask..." says Mimir.

Loki stares as the surface of the egg rips apart and a tiny hole appears. "Odin told me to leave the palace and never come back."

It was the only time Odin has ever screamed at him -- usually there have been maids and governesses for that. Loki has taken his designation as "God of Mischief" rather seriously. Mimir and Odin have stressed the Aesir aren't really gods -- more gardeners of the World Tree, but Loki likes his moniker. It's great fun to make an illusion of a snake in a laundry basket and then explain it to Odin as his "sacred duty." Such things never fail to make Odin chortle.

But telling Odin what Baldur looked like to him...that had not gone so well.

Beside him he hears Hoenir scoot back in his chair. The egg starts to shake.

"What sort of creature's in the egg?" Loki asks. He doesn't want to talk about Odin or his exile from the palace.

"A hadrosaur," says Mimir, his voice soft.

"One of Hoenir's creations?" asks Loki.

Mimir raises his eyebrows, "No, well, only distantly. It was created by evolution."

Loki wonders who Evolution is but asks the more pressing question. "What is a hadrosaur?"

"It is a sort of herbivorous dragon," says Mimir.

Loki puts his hands down on the counter and rests his head on them. The egg starts to shake some more; a tiny hole splits into a tear.

The tear splits down the side of the egg, and then a tiny dark green head peeks out. The creature has eyes set in the side of its head; its mouth is slightly agape. Its teeth look strangely sharp for a herbivore -- maybe they're just baby teeth, sharp for splitting the egg's leathery shell?

"Wait a minute..." says Mimir.

Loki and Hoenir lean closer.

Blinking hawk like yellow eyes, the head emerges on a long ungainly neck, followed by two tiny little arms with little hands and long sharp claws. Powerful hind limbs follow and a long thick tail.

"That isn't a hadrosaur," says Mimir.

The little creature tilts its head towards Mimir, then catches Loki's eye. Seemingly changing its mind, it looks back to Hoenir.

"No!" Mimir screams.

Hoenir backs up, but too late. The creature springs from the counter and sinks its claws and teeth into Hoenir's arm. Hoenir stares at it wide-eyed as though in shock.

"Loki! Stop it! Stop it! " Mimir shrieks.

Jumping forward, Loki grabs it by the neck like he would a snake. He pinches its jaws on either side, pushing the gums into the creature's own sharp teeth. It releases Hoenir with a hiss and thrashes in Loki's hands.

Mimir sighs. Loki holds it at arm's length. "What should I do with it?"

Putting a hand on his chin, Hoenir looks around the workshop, seemingly unconcerned with the blood dripping from his arm.

Loki readjusts his grip so one hand is on the neck and the other is wrapped around the creature's writhing torso. It really is quite interesting. He squints to get a better view of its tiny, razor teeth when the door to the hut bursts open.

Odin stands in the door frame for an instant. Then he walks over to Loki with quick strides that leave Loki paralyzed with fear.

Ripping the little dragon from Loki's hands, he wrings its neck and throws the lifeless body across the room. Hoenir's eyes open in horror. When Odin speaks, the hut's windows rattle. "A velociraptor! I thought we discussed this. Never. Again!"

"We thought it was a harmless hadrosaur," Mimir says. "We were hatching it for the elves -- "

Odin grabs Loki by the collar and shakes him so hard his teeth rattle "It's your fault," he says. Heaving Loki against a wall, Odin says, "What did you expect, Hoenir, inviting this little agent of chaos into your workshop? He should never come here!"

Loki can only gasp for breath. With a sneer Odin tosses him to the side.

"He can't help what he saw!" Mimir shouts as Loki falls to the floor.

Hoenir runs between Loki and Odin, and Mimir says, "You can't kill Loki, Odin. Not really. Not without killing Hoenir, too."

With a cry, Odin tips over the workbench. Mimir's head lands with a crack and then goes rolling across the floor. Laughing maniacally, Mimir says, "Oh, come now, don't be paranoid of Hoenir and Loki's friendship! They can't help it."

"Shut up, Mimir!" Odin roars.

"I won't shut up! We don't agree with how you treat him! Calling him the God of Mischief! You trivialize him!"

"I'm trying to give him a childhood! Doesn't he deserve that?" Odin yells.

"You're trying to control him!" Mimir shouts. "But as soon as he sees something you don't like..."

Odin goes stomping in Mimir's direction. Next to Loki, Hoenir meets Loki's eyes and then looks towards the door. Loki nods. As Hoenir runs between Mimir and Odin, Loki darts out into the night.

The last thing he hears as darkness falls upon him is Mimir saying, "It's not just chaos that gives birth to monsters."

Hours later Hoenir comes for him. In one hand he carries a lantern with a flame that he holds aloft. In the other hand he has a lantern hanging at his side, but where the flame should be is Mimir's head.

"Come with us," Mimir says. "Odin will recover, but you'll be staying with us for a while."

Loki scampers up from where he'd been huddled on the ground. He's relieved, terrified, and confused. He says nothing that night. But a few days later, when he is sitting in Hoenir's kitchen, he says to Mimir, "What did you mean, Odin trivializes me?"

Mimir sighs. "Nothing, Loki. I said it in anger. Odin is very good at what he does...tending the branches of the World Tree, and keeping things running smoothly. I should not have questioned him in that way."

"I like being the God of Mischief," Loki says. He does. There is a freedom in being a mischief maker; he can skirt rules and expectations. Sometimes he does it for fun, but sometimes he does it because it feels right. Like when a group of boys were saying cruel things to Sigyn, a girl Loki fancies. He sidled up beside her and made it appear as though both he and Sigyn were Valkyries with wings and flaming spears. To most male Aesir pretending to be female, even a Valkyrie, would be shameful. But it was so much fun as the boys ran away to shout, "What's wrong! Afraid of girls?"

Mimir says nothing for a few moments. But then he says, "Loki, about Baldur...It is alright for a man to be enchanted by his newborn baby." Sighing, Mimir says, "And...Odin grieves for him."

"But he's not dead," says Loki.

Mimir does not respond.

* * *

"I DON'T REMEMBER DOING anything for Hoenir except causing trouble," Thor says, the words tumbling out suddenly after a long silence. His eyes flick up quickly to hers.

"You don't remember doing anything..." Amy blinks. The puzzle pieces that fit together in her head, they're just crazy. He isn't Loki. The police let him go, he has a clean record, he's got a social security number that checks out, for heaven's sake. They're obviously playing a little game here. She can play along. Raising an eyebrow, she says, "You're Loki now, not Thor?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, but his eyes are glued to hers and there is a wicked glint there. "So you say," he says.

Shifting her eyes back down to the iPhone she says, "Here it mentions you saving Hoenir while he was held captive by some dwarfs."

"That never happened -- it was Lopt who rescued Hoenir," he says, too forcefully to be funny.

Tapping her screen with her thumb she says, "According to Wikipedia -- "

"Wikipedia?"

Amy feels a chill go down her spine. "How can you know what a kenning is and theriogenology and not know what Google or Wikipedia are?" She shakes her head. He is really good at this game. She blinks.

Or wait. Maybe he was raised by one of those fundamentalist religious groups that home school and don't allow modern technology? She remembers how shy and polite he was at the police station. Even his awkward clothes. Yep. Rural religious fundamentalist home school escapee. It all makes sense.

Smirking at her he takes another bite of ham. "We don't have Google or Wikipedia in Asgard," he says.

Okay, now the game is funny again. "Uh-huh," she says.

"So really," he says leaning toward her from across the table. "What are they?"

Amy smiles. "Wikipedia is an online encyclopedia that everyone can contribute to."

His eyes widen and a happy smile plays on his face, as though he's just worked out something monumental. "Online means the internets?"

She does not snort. But it is a near call. "Yeah, the internets."

Brow furrowing, he says, "If anyone can contribute, doesn't that put the authenticity of the information in question?"

She smiles and looks down at a picture captioned, Loki as depicted on an 18th century Icelandic manuscript. "Yeah, you wouldn't believe how unflattering the first picture of you is." It really is hideous.

With a scowl he holds out a hand.

She passes over her iPhone.

His scowl deepens and he says, "The artist makes me look like a dwarf!" His irritation seems so genuine, she almost laughs aloud.

"And they gave you such a big nose."

He pushes the iPhone back to her. Without taking it she says, "The picture of you and Sigyn isn't so bad." It isn't a good likeness of the guy in front of her, but at least it isn't ugly.

He stares down at the iPhone.

"Scroll with your finger," she says.

He blinks. "Is any sort of special concentration needed?"

It takes her brain a little while to comprehend the randomness of the question.

Leaning forward, he says, "It's like magic, isn't it? Don't I have to picture what I am doing in my mind?"

She purses her lips. "No," she says softly. "You just have to move your finger."

Swallowing, he gingerly puts his finger on the surface of her iPhone and then drags it down. Smiling, he says, "It works!"

His joy seems so real, it makes Amy's eyes widen.

And then his smile vanishes. "Ah," he says. "My 200 year imprisonment. It wasn't as bad as depicted here. There was snake venom, but no snake, and I was shackled but could walk around a bit." Squinting at her phone he says, "This looks nothing like me. Nice likeness of Sigyn, though...although I don't remember the Bible-esque robes being in fashion then..."

Holding the phone up he smiles wryly at it and says, "Ah, yes, memories."

And that's a little too much. Who knew homeschoolers could be such great actors? She takes the iPhone from him. "Okay," she says. "Enough of this game."

Shrugging, he says, "You started it." And then he picks up his fork and starts to eat again.

Amy looks down at the iPhone and the Wikipedia entry on Loki. "Says here you are a shape shifter."

"Um..." he says.

She glances up and he looks distinctly nervous.

She grins and reads aloud, "Loki gave birth--in the form of a mare--to the eight-legged horse Sleipnir. Says the dad was some special stallion..."

Putting his fork down hard, he says, "Now, how can shape changing even possibly work? We are all formed by immensely complex instructions coded into our cells and by the environment. It's hard enough to just create simple elements, and so energy consuming. But for living things, the concentration, the imagination involved...How could anyone -- well except maybe Hoenir and I'm not sure about that -- ever hope to match the splendid complexity of all the subtle interactions -- "

Grinning wider, Amy says, "I'll say you have a little experience foaling."

He rolls his eyes and she snickers.

Glaring at her he says, "It's not true."

Amy snickers, "Of course it's not true."

Narrowing his eyes, he says, "I can only create illusions of other forms."

Amy blinks, Fenrir barks, and across from her is a woman with Thorish strawberry blond hair wearing Amazonianesque armor that is more of a glorified girdle squeezing in an impossibly small stomach and supporting enormous breasts.

The woman gestures to said breasts and says in a voice that sounds exactly like Thor's, "I mean, if I had these, would I ever leave the house?"

Amy stares at her hallucination for a fraction of a heartbeat, and then she bursts out laughing. She laughs so hard she convulses around her middle and hits her head on the table.

"It wasn't that funny," says Thor.

Rubbing her sore head she says, "No, no, no, it's just, this dream is too wacky happy and unoriginal for me to be dying in a ditch somewhere. I'm at home and I'm hallucinating and I'm going to be fine."

"Unoriginal?" says Thor, back in his more Thor-like form.

Snickering at how scandalized he sounds, Amy stands up and stretches. "I'm going to go to bed, or slip from REM to Stage 1 sleep. Why don't you go now...if you're even here."

He stares at her a moment. Turning to the food on the table, he says, "May I take the ham?"

Shrugging, she says, "Go ahead." She looks towards the living room. Flickering light is coming through the door. "I should put out the candles even if I am only dreaming." Just to be on the safe side.

"Good idea," he says. "How did you light them so quickly? Electricity?"

Turning back, she points at her head. "With the power of my mind."

Brow furrowing, he says, "Don't toy with me," and waves a hand. Beneath the table Fenrir barks.

Amy turns around; the other room is dark. She peers around the corner; all the candles are extinguished. She's not even bothered anymore.

She looks back at the table. Thor is already standing up with the plate of ham in one hand, and the loaf of bread in the other. He's not smiling.

"Pleasant dreams!" she says.

He nods at her. "Likewise."

She shrugs. "They already are!"

After Thor's out the door, she heads up the stairs to her bedroom. To her surprise, her grandmother is standing on the landing in her pink nightgown, looking towards the door Thor just exited.

"Sounded like you had a lot of fun chatting with Hoenir's friend," she says, eyes narrowing to slivers.

Amy just snorts.

|  |

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# Chapter 6

Amy has more dreams later that night. They aren't as pleasant and she has trouble falling to sleep again. In desperation, she pulls Fenrir up near her pillow. Still, she doesn't go to sleep until the very early morning. When she wakes up, it is to Fenrir whimpering by the door. She blinks at the light and then does a double take. It must be nearly noon.

Amy gets up quickly, dresses, and heads down to the kitchen. Beatrice has her apron on and is leaning over the sink washing dishes. She smiles up at Amy. "Good morning, Dear."

Thor is sitting at the table, in his retro outfit, a Chicago Transit Authority map spread out in front of him. How did he get invited to breakfast? Or brunch, or whatever.

"Good morning," he says. He looks like the guy she remembers from the police station. A little rumpled, shoulders not quite square, expression soft. The sort of shy guy who filled her with trust. He doesn't look like the mischievous guy in her dream last night, the one who turned himself into an Amazon, or the guy in the armor.

She blinks as she lets Fenrir out the back door. The kitchen is flooded with warm yellow light. Thor is complimenting Beatrice on her cooking; there is a bowl of freshly scrubbed strawberries on the table; the room smells like coffee, bacon and toast.

...and it feels even more dreamlike than Amy's dream of Thor the Amazon.

"Amy? Amy?"

Beatrice is suddenly standing very close to her.

"Are you all right?" her grandmother says.

"Yes," says Amy.

"Sit down," says Beatrice. "I'll get you some coffee."

"No," says Amy. "I'll make some myself."

She goes to the cupboard and takes out a cup. It crashes to the counter but doesn't break. Amy shakes her head and rights it. She lifts the coffee pitcher off the base and starts to pour. The stream of hot fluid bounces around, some spilling on the counter. She wipes it up quickly with a dishtowel and goes to sit at the table.

Taking a sip, she notices that her grandmother's and Thor's eyes are on her.

"I'm alright," Amy says.

Her grandmother tilts her head. "You've had quite a shock."

"I'm alright," Amy says again, more forcefully this time.

"I'm sure you are," says Thor. Turning to Beatrice he says, "Thank you for the map -- and of course, for breakfast."

Picking up a cup Amy knows contains chamomile tea, Beatrice nods, "You're always welcome at this table, of course." There's something about the way her eyes are narrowed and the way she peers over the cup that tells Amy something isn't quite right.

Thor doesn't seem to notice. "I think I better go now," he says with a warm, sunny smile. He stands up from the table, the Chicago Transit Authority map and a tiny white book in one hand. "Oh," he says suddenly. "You must have dropped this last night. I found it on the floor." He puts her driver's license on the table and slides it towards Amy. She doesn't remember taking it out of her wallet since the police station.

A few minutes later he's gone. Amy scowls. "Did you invite him in?"

Beatrice nods and looks towards the door. "It's better to make sure he's always invited."

Amy stares down at her coffee. What does that mean?

Tilting her head, Beatrice pulls the tea bag from her cup. "Of course, it is nice to be able to cook for someone again," she says brightly.

Amy reaches over and grabs her license. "I need to get ready for an interview at a new temp agency." The one she used to work for went out of business.

Beatrice blinks. "Are you sure that's wise? You don't seem quite yourself."

Amy stares at her coffee. She isn't herself. But she just has to get over it. It's not like this experience is completely new; it is just extreme. She's dealt with creeps before. What woman hasn't? She'd been felt up on the 'L' one time -- and had elbowed the guy so badly he'd sputtered and nearly puked. Some really lovely gentleman had followed her home from the bus stop one night and she'd unslung her backpack, screamed at him like a banshee, and chased him away.

She puts her head in her hands. She didn't escape this time. She was rescued. It turns out maybe there is a big difference. And if she hadn't been rescued...She screws her eyes shut and starts to sob.

"There, there," says Beatrice.

"Grandma," she says. "If it wasn't for Thor..." she can't talk about the pictures, can't say what she saw in them -- or them bursting into flames. That part was real, the fire, wasn't it?

She takes a big gulp of air. She isn't sure of anything anymore. "Should I have invited him home?" she says. "He, he, he..." What? Has featured prominently in some weird dreams, or... "Maybe I trust him more than I should because he saved me, but he could be crazy, too." She shakes her head.

Beatrice's hand stops. "Oh, I don't think you or I have anything to worry about from our guest." She looks around the kitchen, "Other than that he might eat us out of house and home. Always better to invite him to the party, though..."

"Grandma?" says Amy.

Beatrice blinks. "Oh, nothing."

Amy stares at her grandmother for a few moments. She looks tiny and frail. But she's not -- or she wasn't.

Beatrice's parents put Beatrice and her two brothers on a boat to the free world back in 1940, just before the Nazis invaded. Before they left they'd already lost family members and friends under Soviet rule -- some disappeared in the middle of the night, others simply died in the great famine of the early 1930s.

Beatrice lost her entire world. Amy feels like her world has changed forever, that she's lost something precious -- but compared to Beatrice, Amy has lost nothing.

"How did you do it, Grandma? When you got on the boat..."

Beatrice blinks. "What?"

Swallowing, Amy looks down at her hands and plays nervously with her fingers. "I was just wondering how you kept going...after you lost everything."

Beatrice sighs and looks down at her tea. "You just do."

Standing up, Amy wipes her face. "I'm going to get ready to go."

Beatrice looks at her for a moment and then nods.

Amy manages to get ready for her interview, and she gets out of the door with plenty of time to spare -- even though leaving her home shatters her sense of security.

What she doesn't manage to do is drive. She stares at her grandmother's Subaru Forester, keys in hand, and decides she'd rather take the bus. She's not sure if it's because of the rollover, or if she just wants to stay around other people.

As she walks out to the front walk and heads towards the 'L', she sees an older man, perhaps in his 50's, buying an ice cream from one of the Mexican ice cream bicycle carts that frequent her neighborhood. He's got a stern square jaw and is completely bald on top. Amy notices him because he's wearing a gray suit despite the heat. The suit looks too nice to belong to an old timer from the neighborhood, but he isn't young enough to be a yuppie. As she walks by, he tips his head at her over his drumstick ice cream cone. Not wanting to be rude, she nods back.

* * *

LOKI CONSULTS THE CTA map and his book. The location is right.

The building in front of him looks to be about 100 years old. It has not been maintained very well. The facade of brick and cement is crumbling. Cutting straight through the heart of the building is a covered brick alleyway that leads to a dismal inner courtyard. There is a decorative iron gate that is rusted and blood colored. Loki scowls -- it is strange that mortals tend to erect physical gates where World Gates reside. Another strange bit of human magic? He tilts his head; fortunately the iron gate is now open and won't be in his way. Beyond the iron gate, on the far wall of the courtyard in peeling paint, are the words, "Graphic Arts Co." Set into the walls are boarded up doors and windows covered with graffiti.

Loki looks around. He sees a few men down the street unloading a small van. They don't seem to notice him. Loki has altered his Midgardian attire considerably. As he walked here -- only a few short miles -- he observed the natives and gradually modified his clothing. He now appears to be wearing a gray tee shirt, breeches of a thick blue fabric, gray shoes with laces and stripes, and dark glasses. And he appears to have a black rectangular bag slung over one shoulder.

He is actually wearing his armor, with his helmet on, visor down. Over one arm he's slung his army knapsack filled with the two remaining grenades, some of last night's ham and bread, and a large bottle of water he nicked from a store on the way.

Moving beneath the overhang towards the iron gate he closes his eyes. An instant later he is invisible to anyone who looks in his direction.

Loki walks until he feels a shiver snake its way up his spine. The World Gate is here. He can feel the tug of magic in the place where time and space are weakly defined.

He begins to murmur a childhood rhyme he used to recite to his children. It isn't a spell, per se; but it helps him focus his mind. Lifting his hands, he closes his eyes and begins to imagine pulling back a heavy curtain. The gate opens surprisingly easily, and a swirling vortex of color spins before him.

Loki steps forward...

...and feels stone beneath his feet. He takes a deep breath, drops the invisibility spell to conserve magic, and opens his eyes to the bright white-blue sunlight and silvery hues of Alfheim, land of the Elves. He looks down; beneath his feet is a silver road. That is right. The realm is right. But...

Scowling, he spins around...On both sides of the road is dense forest. On one side of the road the tree trunks are light lavender; the undergrowth is sparse and dotted with blue and yellow flowers. On the other side the trunks are deep indigo and nearly black; the undergrowth is dense and dark. Above the dark trees is an ominous swirl of dark gray magical clouds. He is certain he sees eyes peering at him from beneath the dark branches.

Unsheathing his sword, he switches to the tongue of the Dark Elves and says, "Don't even think about it." Just to be on the safe side he concentrates his magic towards the undergrowth and imagines the molecules there swirling and dancing together. There is a burst of flame, just as he intends, and a curse from his onlooker. He hears stirring in the undergrowth as the Dark Elf disappears into the forest.

Letting the flames dissipate, Loki consults Lothur's journal. His jaw goes tight and his brow furrows. It's colder here than in Chicago, but he feels himself getting hotter beneath his armor. He should be so close...but the entrance point is wrong.

Narrowing his eyes, he lets his consciousness fly to the air. He sees what he is looking for, the palace of the queen of the Light Elves about 100 miles down the road. Once this World Gate would have dropped him right outside her door, but the branches of the World Tree grow, and as they grow, they shift.

It is said the elf queen, like Odin, Heimdall, and possibly Hoenir, can see all that happens in the Nine Realms if she wishes. She may be able to tell him where his sons were deposited. Since Heimdall and Odin aren't likely to be helpful at the moment, and Hoenir will be difficult to reach, the elf queen seems like Loki's best option.

Most of the way the road abuts the dark forest. The Dark Elves won't harass travelers on the road by day; but by night it will be another matter.

There are other ways to get to the elf queen's palace besides the road. If he takes those ways, when he emerges on the other end, he won't be helpless, but he will be much weaker, very tired, and ravenous. Not a way to make a good impression, and definitely not good if his reception is less than welcome.

He lets his consciousness sink back into his body. There is a part of him that wants to instantly go forward. The information he needs is so close...and he is strong again. Yesterday it was easy to be patient, he was too weak to be otherwise. But now, it is a struggle not to be impetuous.

He takes a sharp, frustrated breath and considers his situation. If only he had a carpet or...

Sheathing his sword, he turns and steps back to where the World Gate has shut. Closing his eyes he begins to tug at the gate again until it is open as wide as it will go. Furrowing his brow and concentrating to keep it open, he quickly measures the width by pacing the length. It is just wide enough.

Nodding to himself, he is just about to leave Alfheim, when a flash of something white on the light side of the road catches his attention. Turning towards it he scowls.

Sure enough...

Unsheathing his sword, Loki stands before the semi-open World Gate and glares at the unicorn emerging from the wood. What it wants in Midgard Loki can't imagine, but it's not coming through Loki's gate. Hoenir would never hear the end of it if he let such a vicious temperamental creature loose in a major Midgardian metropolis. Lifting his sword high like a spear, Loki says, "Don't you think about it either."

The beast lowers its head and snorts. The air between it and Loki shimmers with heat. With a curse, Loki forces the excited molecules to quiet. Lowering the sword, he pulls a knife from his belt and hurls it in the beast's direction, but the monster vanishes and the knife explodes harmlessly against a tree.

Narrowing his eyes, Loki shouts, "You'd taste good on an open spit!"

There is no sound. Loki doesn't turn his eyes from the forest. Rather than risk being gored in the back, he makes himself invisible, carefully backs up through the World Gate...and promptly collides with the iron gate on the other side. He feels like Thor has just heaved him against a wall -- in anger, or worse, enthusiasm. Loki doesn't curse, but it's a near call.

He lets the World Gate dissipate, turns around and surveys the situation. There is a plate on the gate that looks like it may have had a locking mechanism at one point, but now it's partially rusted through. Instead, the gate is held by a simple padlock on a rusty chain. It takes hardly a thought to make the padlock spring open. He pushes at the gate gently, but it's hanging so low on its hinges that it scrapes the ground. A tiny push isn't going to do it. Loki grasps the metal plate and lifts. Pain shoots up his hand and he lets go. There is a loud clang as the last bit of the ancient plate falls to the ground. He does curse.

Someone shouts something from an open window.

Scowling, Loki lifts the gate again -- this time using one of the great rusting vertical iron bars. It opens easily enough and he slips out of the alley and onto the street.

He walks down the block until he finds a vehicle that he thinks will suit his purposes. A Mercedes-Benz emblem is on the hood; he recognizes it from his journeys through Nazi Germany. What's more important is that, as odd as the shape is, sleek and low to the ground, it has a visible stick shift. Most of the cars don't. Loki's last attempt at navigating a human vehicle didn't end well, and he's afraid of trying to master a new and more difficult technology on short notice. He puts a hand towards the lock, reaches out...

The car begins honking. Loudly.

From down the street he hears a man's voice. "That's my car!"

The car is calling to its master! Humans have crossed the divide between makers of machines to makers of living things!

A window opens. "Shut it up!"

Loki is invisible. He does not need to run. But he does anyway.

* * *

WHEN AMY TURNS UP BEATRICE'S front walk it is still light out and the Mexican ice cream bicycle cart is still wheeling up and down her block, its bell ringing cheerfully.

She really should have stopped by the vet clinic and the restaurant where she normally hostesses over breaks. She doesn't want to risk coming home after dark though. Not yet.

She feels like she is covered with a second skin of pollution, dried sweat, and grime. Chicago in summer. She sighs.

As soon as she is inside, she heads to the shower. When she is clean and feeling human again, she curls up with her iPhone on a big chair in the living room. She frowns at her phone. There are several missed calls. One from Chris, a guy she briefly dated. Chris is very nice, on a track to success, and a good, solid person. Someone Beatrice would like and Amy should like, but couldn't. She thinks of their awkward fumblings in bed that never quite worked for her and blushes. Chris said she'd get it with time...she swallows. In the end she'd just made herself unavailable. He deserves someone better.

She scrolls down and sees her vet-wannabe friend Andrea called. Andrea will be sympathetic and probably make her laugh. Andrea will probably press her to see a shrink...but after she's done with that they can talk about their Equine Theriogenology course and everything will be good. Suddenly possessed not just with the desire, but the need to call Andrea, Amy puts the phone to her ear. That's when Beatrice walks in.

"It's been awfully quiet today," says Beatrice, sitting down on the sofa.

Putting down her phone, Amy looks up at her grandmother.

Reading the unformed question on her lips, Beatrice says, "I guess I just expected that the police would call. Or maybe the press..."

Amy blinks. "Please don't call the press, Grandma." The last thing Amy wants right now is flash bulbs and interviews.

Beatrice snorts, and Amy smiles. Good, strong, private, Ukrainian Beatrice wouldn't want that.

"I don't think I'd worry," Amy says. "The police have my contact info. And they kept Thor and me for a really long time. They let us both go -- the evidence was pretty..." Amy trails off.

"Oh, my!" says Beatrice. "I forgot. I have to go buy a new ham for my church group. Do you think you'll be okay if I go out?"

"Sure, Grandma," says Amy. She's actually looking forward to calling her friend Andrea. She might tell her some of the details she didn't tell Beatrice.

Beatrice gets up a little stiffly and heads towards the front door. A few minutes later, Amy hears the door slam and picks up her phone. She's just about to dial the number when there is a knock at the back kitchen door. Fenrir dashes towards it, and Amy scowls but gets up and follows.

Thor is standing right outside on the stoop.

Amy remembers her conversation with Beatrice earlier when she questioned Thor's trustworthiness. For a moment she hesitates, but then Fenrir does her happy dance, wagging her whole body and hopping on her feet. Fenrir doesn't like anyone, except maybe Beatrice and Amy. The whole reason Fenrir's name is Fenrir is because man-hating-bitch-from-Hell is too much of a mouthful, and you can't say it in polite company.

Amy tilts her head and looks at her ecstatic little dog. Pursing her lips, she opens the door.

"Amy," Thor says as Fenrir twines around his feet. He's wearing clothing that looks more decade appropriate, and she wonders how he got it. "I need your help."

Amy's brow furrows, waiting for him to explain. He lifts his hand to push back his hair, and she notices his hand is bleeding.

"Oh, wow! Your hand," she says. "Come in. I'll get the first aid kit."

He looks down at his hand as though puzzled but doesn't protest, just steps into the kitchen.

"Better wash it out in the sink," she says going to the cabinet for the first aid kit. "How did you do that?"

"Rusty gate," he responds.

Looking over her shoulder as she pulls down the kit she says, "I hope you have a tetanus shot."

He blinks as he puts his hand under the sink. "Tetanus?"

Raising an eyebrow, she says, "Tetanus, it's a disease caused by bacteria; it's also called lockjaw. A very bad way to die."

"Oh, a bacteria...I am safe from that." He lifts his hand up and stares at it. There is a huge gash running down the middle of his palm. "It's really not as bad as it looks," he says.

Shaking her head, Amy takes his hand. He doesn't resist.

"It's not going to heal very well. Every time you bend your hand it's going to open again," she says, staring down at the cut. "I have some Nu-Skin; it's a liquid adhesive bandage. It's probably your best bet."

"It's not necessary," he says.

"It is necessary..." Amy stops. The cut is melding itself back together before her eyes.

She gasps. "How?"

"Just a little concentration," he says. "I can heal myself quite well. Unfortunately, I can't do it for others."

Amy is suddenly aware that they are standing very close, and that she barely knows him. She should back away, but instead she pulls the hand closer to her, fascinated. The skin on his hand is fresh, new, and unmarred. She lifts her eyes to his face.

He smirks. When he speaks his voice oozes bitterness. "There's something in my nature, maybe it's a manifestation of my selfishness, my self-centeredness...but I can't heal anyone else, no matter how I might wish to. Even Thor, though he detests magic, has exceedingly good healing skills."

"What are you talking about?" Amy says quietly.

"Come on, Miss Lewis," he says. He's so close she can feel his breath against her hair when he speaks. "You already have discovered who I really am. And I've given you ample proof."

"You're crazy," she says, finally dropping his hand and backing up. "Or I'm crazy."

He takes a step forward. "No, you're not crazy. The wolf, the armor..." he smirks again. "The lovely lady you found yourself talking to last night. All real...or perfectly serviceable illusions."

Amy feels her back hit the wall. "No."

He grimaces. "And the picture folio catching fire and the candles last night were probably me, too -- but I didn't mean for those to happen."

"Stop it," Amy says, moving sideways to the kitchen door. "Just stop it."

"No," he says, moving forward and catching her wrist. The clothing he is wearing seems to shimmer, like heat waves above a road on a hot day, and there he is in his armor again. "I need your help," he says, his face very close to hers, and Amy can see his blue eyes are so pale they're almost white. "And you owe me."

"I don't owe you anything! Let me go!" Amy says, trying to twist her hand from his grasp. When that doesn't work she tries stomping on his feet...but he's not there.

From behind her his voice comes again. "Your life is worth more than a bed, some ham, and stuffed cabbages, Girl. You do owe me, and you will pay up."

Amy spins around. He's blocking the door from the kitchen to the living room.

She spins around again to run out the back door but he's already standing there, his head canted forward, a scowl between his brow. "I really do not want to hurt you. I need your cooperation, my sons' lives -- "

"I won't!" Closing her eyes, she shouts, "Fenrir!"

From the floor comes a happy yip. She scowls down at the dog. When did her brave mutt become so unreliable?

"Just hear me out," he says through gritted teeth.

"No!" Amy says. "You. Are. Crazy."

"What do you want...Loki?"

Amy turns her head. Beatrice is standing in the doorway, purse in her hands; she is trembling slightly.

"Grandma?" says Amy. "I thought you were going to get a ham..."

Not taking her eyes off Thor...or Loki, or whoever it is, Beatrice says. "I forgot my wallet. What do you want, Loki?"

Straightening, mystery weird guy says, "A car ride."

Beatrice swallows but then juts out her chin like she does when she's about to complain to a store clerk. "You could have just asked."

"To Alfheim," he says.

"Oh..." says Beatrice. "Land of the Elves. Oh, my."

Amy runs to her grandmother and grabs her shoulders. "Come on, Grandma, let's go."

"No," says Beatrice, her eyes still on whoever it is. "You are worth more than a few cabbage rolls, Dear."

"Grandma," says Amy. "This is crazy, he isn't..."

"Amy," Beatrice says, meeting Amy's eyes. "He just changed his clothing into armor, and I saw him shape shift last night. We don't want to be in his debt."

"Good point, Beatrice."

Amy turns her head. Loki, Thor, or crazy fundamentalist home schooling escapee is walking towards them.

Shrugging, he says, "I'm sorry to be so insistent. Really, I've had a lovely time with the two of you. But I've recovered, and I can't dally anymore."

"Will you bring me back?" says Beatrice.

"Grandma!" shouts Amy, shaking her head. Beatrice brings one hand up to her shoulder and squeezes Amy's hand.

Bowing, he says, "Of course."

Beatrice narrows her eyes. "Do I have your oath?"

Whoever it is stops. He stands up straight. For a moment he says nothing. And then, tilting his head he says, "That is too broad a promise. You have my oath that I will do everything in my power to bring you back safely. More than that -- " He lifts his hands and lowers his head, eyes locked on Beatrice.

"Grandma, you don't drive!" says Amy. The only reason Beatrice has a car is because the ten-year old Subaru in the garage belongs to Amy's grandfather and Beatrice doesn't have the heart to part with it.

"But I can," says Beatrice. Turning, she nods at the crazy man. "I will do it, Loki."

Crazy man beams. "It actually might be good fun for you. The Light Elves have nothing against humans."

Shivering a little, Beatrice smiles. "Might be worth it to see Alfheim, before I die."

"There's no such thing as elves!" Amy says.

"On Earth," says Crazy Guy. Bowing in her grandmother's direction, he says, "Beatrice, you are a true lady. If you were a few hundred years older -- "

Beatrice's smile drops. "Stow it, Silvertongue. How long will this take?"

"This is crazy, Grandma!" says Amy, dropping her hands. Her grandmother doesn't even meet her eyes.

"About a day," he says, face going serious.

"Take what you think we'll need from the refrigerator. I'm going to get ready," says Beatrice. She turns around and starts walking towards the stairs.

Amy glares at Crazy Guy. "I'm not letting her go alone anywhere with you!"

"You're more than welcome to join us," he says, going to the fridge.

"You fucking jerk!" Amy hisses. "Taking advantage of an old woman like that!"

Loki-Thor-Crazy Person scowls over his shoulder at her. A rag on the counter bursts into flames. Amy's eyes widen. She looks at Crazy Guy. He is staring at the fire with eyes wide as hers. Turning to her quickly, he says nervously, "I didn't do that!"

Frantically pushing the burning rag into the sink with a stray fork, Amy douses it with the faucet. "Of course you didn't. That would be impossible," she whispers.

She's got to convince Beatrice not to go with this guy. As soon as the flames are out, she runs up the stairs and finds Beatrice packing a small overnight bag in her bedroom.

...and she gets nowhere with her cajoling, arguments or pleas.

"I said I will drive him and I am going to drive him," her grandmother says.

"But it's crazy! You can't drive to Alfheim! Alfheim doesn't exist!"

"Then maybe we'll drive a bit and come home," says Beatrice.

"He's a lunatic!"

Putting a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste in an overnight bag, Beatrice smiles. "A charming lunatic."

"So was Ted Bundy!"

Zipping up her bag, Beatrice blinks at Amy. "Who was he?"

"A serial killer!"

Beatrice's eyes go hard. "Do you really think Loki is a serial killer? Really?"

Amy remembers the picture in the van going up in flames, and Thor...Loki...nearly stammering, I'm sorry...I didn't mean...

Shaking her head, Amy closes her eyes. "No, but that is not the point."

Putting her bag on the floor and wheeling it out into the hallway, Beatrice says, "Well, then what is your point?"

"This is madness."

"I said I would drive him," says Beatrice, beginning her agonizingly slow descent of the stairs.

Strong, independent, stubborn, Ukrainian. She hasn't driven in years -- Beatrice behind the wheel is probably more dangerous than Thor-Loki-whoever.

Swallowing, Amy shouts, "I'm driving!"

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# Chapter 7

A few minutes later they are standing in the garage in front of the Subaru. Fenrir is dancing happily next to them. It is not a great city car, but Amy's grandfather liked fishing and escaping the city on weekends. Thor-Loki-Whoever-It-Is is carrying a cooler. He is back in a tee shirt and jeans, a black messenger bag over one shoulder. He is looking at the late afternoon sky. "We'll have a few hours of daylight left."

Amy rolls her eyes. "This is crazy," she mumbles, hitting the unlock button on the Subaru's remote.

The SUV beeps, and Whoever-It-Is jumps. "Will it accept me since I am with you?"

Amy looks at Beatrice. Beatrice looks at Amy. Fenrir cocks her head at the man who may or may not be Thor.

"Yes," says Amy. "It was just saying hello."

"Hello, Car," says Thor, leaning tentatively forward.

Amy's eyes go wide, but she says nothing as she slips into the driver's seat and hits the back door release. Thor puts the cooler and Beatrice's bag in the rear, closes the back door, and helps Beatrice into the back seat. All very chivalrous. He also closes the garage door after Amy pulls forward. For a moment Amy considers hitting the accelerator and leaving him there in the alley, but she doesn't. She'll just play along, this will come to nothing, and maybe on the way home she can drop Thor off at a hospital where he can get professional help.

As Thor slips into the front seat, her foot goes to the non-existent clutch and her hand goes to the non-existent stick, but of course it's an automatic. For a moment they go nowhere.

Thor shakes his head. "This new advanced transmission system seems more trouble than it's worth."

Amy decides to say nothing. She just puts her foot on the gas and heads to the gas station to fill up the tank -- because Thor insists the journey is about 200 miles. And then she heads towards Peoria and Randolf streets, just a mile and a half away. It's an area known for overpriced restaurants, not elves.

The building Thor directs her to is not a restaurant. It's one of the ancient warehouse buildings just south of Restaurant Row. There is an old iron gate that is thrown open, and a dark dirty alley leading to a neglected looking courtyard.

"Go in here," says Thor, pointing to the alley.

"Are we allowed to do this?" says Amy. It doesn't look like a regular alley. There is an archway above the entrance. "I don't think we should go in there. It looks like private property."

"For Heaven's sake, you can say you're just turning around," says Beatrice.

"Grandma?" says Amy.

"Go," says Beatrice.

Amy pulls into the alley, just up to the iron gate, and Thor says. "Stop here!"

Opening the door, he turns to them. "In a moment, I'm going to get back in the car. As soon as I do, pull forward. It's very difficult to keep the gate open."

Thor gets out and goes a few feet more into the alley. For a moment he bows his head and stands motionless. Then he flings out his hands as though pulling back a curtain. He moves quickly to either side, raising his hand, as though pulling the imaginary curtain back a little further.

Behind her, Beatrice is leaning forward. "Maybe this is crazy, Amy, but it can't hurt to indulge him, can it?"

Amy sighs and rubs her eyes. For the first time since this episode began, she feels genuinely sad for him. He did save her life. He's obviously mentally ill, probably schizophrenic, and he can't help that.

She takes a breath. She needs to get him to a doctor. They have treatments for schizophrenia now that are much better than in the past. He saved her life and she does owe him.

She blinks. She saw his armor, and the wolf, and the fire...maybe she needs drugs, too?

Ahead of her, Thor turns around quickly and runs back to the car. Opening the door he jumps into his seat. "Go now!" he shouts, shutting the door.

Amy sighs. "Here goes nothing," she says pulling forward. She hits the gas gently and drives forward...and the front of the car disappears.

"What!" screams Amy, putting her foot on the brake. "Oh!" says Beatrice.

"Just go!" yells Thor.

And Amy isn't sure why, but she hits the accelerator. Maybe it is her disbelief that propels her, because she certainly wouldn't have driven forward if she actually believed her car had dematerialized in front of her.

As the car goes forward, the dashboard, and then the steering wheel, disappear under her hands, and Amy is alone, surrounded by all the colors of the rainbow for the briefest of moments, her foot on the pedal of what would be the gas pedal if...

...and then her foot is on the gas pedal, behind her Beatrice is screaming, and next to her the man who still might be crazy is bracing his hands on the dash. "Stop!" he shouts.

Amy hits the brake.

Thor-Loki-Whoever, Beatrice, and Amy all take a deep breath. Fenrir whimpers.

"Have you recovered from your shock?" says Whoever-It-Is.

She had let the wheel go a little bit, and they might have run off the road. Amy turns her head to him. He's wearing armor again.

Her hands are shaking. "No," Amy says. "I really don't think so." Her eyes go to the window. Outside is a road, only a little wider than the alley -- definitely not made for two way traffic. For some reason she isn't surprised it is yellow brick. On either side of the road is a dense forest. But...she peers either way. On one side it is dense and foreboding. On the other side it is open and light, and she has the urge to crack open the cooler and declare it time for a picnic right away.

He takes a long breath and rubs his face. "How can I help you recover?"

Amy looks around. "Can I get out?"

Thor-Loki-Whoever looks at the sun. "I would say yes, but it would be best if we reach our destination before sunset."

Amy looks towards the dark wood and then looks back to her grandmother. She is looking in the same direction.

"That side doesn't look friendly, Loki," says Beatrice.

"Exactly," says Thor-Loki-Whoever-It-Is, his voice grim.

Amy puts her foot gently on the gas. "Loki," she says. He really might be Loki.

"Exactly," says the man sitting next to her, and this time she can hear the smirk in his voice.

Amy wills herself to breathe and keep her eyes on the road. Which is hard. She wants to stop and look. The trunks of the trees look lavender on the light side, the leaves almost blue. On the dark side, the tree trunks look so purple they are nearly black.

"There was color when we...crossed," says Beatrice. "Like a rainbow -- "

"Yes," says the man who actually might be Loki. "Time acts like a prism at the edge of the World Gates."

"The rainbow bridge," says Beatrice quietly.

Loki tilts his head. "I believe that humans did call it that once."

"The light," says Amy. "The light here is different." Everything seems a little bit blue.

"The star that is this planet's sun is much older. I believe you would call it a white dwarf," says Loki.

"Oh," says Amy. She blinks. "We're on another planet."

"Yes. In a whole other solar system," says Loki.

"My, my," says Beatrice. Amy looks in the rear-view mirror and sees her patting Fenrir on her lap. "My, my."

For a few minutes, Amy drives in silence, too overwhelmed to speak. Beatrice must feel the same because she says nothing. After a while, Amy hazards a glance over at...Loki. His mouth is set in a firm line, his eyes focused far ahead. He looks handsome, noble even.

"Can you drive faster?" he says. The question sounds genuine, not like he's second guessing her driving skill.

Amy looks down at the speedometer. She's going all of 20 miles per hour. "Can I expect any oncoming traffic?" The road is narrow and straight, and there are a few rolling hills that could be dangerous.

He closes his eyes. "There is none for at least 30 miles."

Amy glances sideways at him. "How do you know?"

He tilts his head and then blinks. When he speaks he sounds slightly awed. "Astral projection. The concept has entered your vocabulary in the last sixty years. Even though you're incapable of it."

She's on another planet, on a yellow brick road; astral projection doesn't seem like that much of a stretch of the imagination. "Good enough," she says and hits the accelerator.

For a few minutes, no one says anything. She glances and sees Loki's eyes focused on the road, his mouth a thin line. She focuses directly ahead, her brain churning.

"Why so solemn?" says Loki suddenly with joviality that sounds a little forced. "From you, Amy, I would expect it, but from you, Beatrice -- "

He turns towards the back seat and then says softly. "She appears to be asleep."

Amy peeks in rear view mirror. Beatrice is slumped slightly to the side, her head bent, her eyes closed. Amy looks at the clock in the car. "Yes," she says. "She normally takes a nap this time of evening."

"This isn't exciting to her?" says Loki.

Amy tilts her head. "It is exciting, maybe so exciting she needs a mental break...and..." Amy bites her lip. "People tend to nap a little bit more as they get older, and then not sleep so well at night. That doesn't happen to...your people?"

"We don't get old," says Loki.

"Oh," says Amy. She tilts her head. "Lucky." She goes back to focusing on the road. Another planet...and Loki said something about time bending at the edges of the World Gate so --

Loki sighs loudly. "Come now, there will be plenty of time for silence when you're dead, and I'm..." He waves a hand dramatically, "Gagged with wire or stuck in a cave. Surely you have questions for me?"

Amy's eyes widen. "Sorry, I'm just over here quietly revising everything I thought I knew about the universe."

He chuckles. "What a novel way of expressing it."

And then Amy has a thought. "Astral projection isn't one of your powers in the myths, but it is in the movies and comic books."

"I'm not sure I'm clear on how comic books and movies differ from myths," says Loki. "Except in the medium."

"Well, myths exist for the purpose of explaining the universe and imparting moral values," says Amy.

"Don't leave out entertainment," says Loki.

"Okay, and entertainment," says Amy. "And comic books and movies, well, the type of movie and comic book we're discussing, are for entertainment."

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Loki turning towards her, puzzlement on his face. "They don't impart moral values or attempt to explain the universe?"

Amy is about to say no, but then she blinks. "Actually...I guess they do. But in a more round-a-bout way."

"Myths aren't exactly straightforward," says Loki.

"Touche," says Amy, scowling at the road in front of her.

"...or completely accurate," he mutters.

Amy smiles. "Yeah...no shape shifting. Right. Are you Thor's brother? In the comic books you are."

There is a snort. "No."

Amy grips the steering wheel and narrows her eyes. "What about Sif's hair." It's probably the most famous Loki myth. Sif was Thor's wife. Loki cut off her hair as a prank and paid dearly for it, if she remembers right.

She can hear the grin in his voice when he says, "Snip! Snip!"

"Really?" Amy says, twisting her hands on the steering wheel. "Why?" It sounds positively childish.

"To prove that she was a lying, cheating whore."

"How does cutting someone's hair prove they're a whore?" says Amy, gripping the wheel more tightly.

"It is the traditional punishment for female adulterers."

Remembering the story as her grandfather used to read it to her, Amy scowls. "So you sneak up on her in a glade and cut off her hair and that is supposed to prove she is a ho?"

There is a moment where the only sound is the hum of the engine. And then Loki erupts into what can only be described as cackles. "I didn't sneak up to her in a glade. I facked her!"

Amy's eyes go wide. "Facked?"

"Am I getting the verb right? Fac, from the Latin, 'to do'. Oh, wait, no that isn't right. I fuck -- "

"I understood!" says Amy. She glances at him, her mouth agape.

He is blinking at her, smiling, looking very pleased. "It was really very selfless of me. No one really appreciates that. Everyone knew she was a whore, but no one else was brave enough to bring it to Thor's attention. Well, except Odin, but he went about it in this convoluted way where he disguised himself as an old man..." There is a snort. "...like that was difficult. And told Thor to his face, but as a stranger. I delivered proof."

She thought he was handsome? She thought he looked noble? Amy's lips curl up in disgust. "Wasn't Thor, like, your best friend?"

There is silence again. Amy glances over and immediately looks back at the road. She swears his eyes are glowing. "No," says Loki, and the air seems to ripple with his voice. "No, not then. Not at all."

* * *

LOKI IS CLOSE TO 50 earth years old. He and Thor, not much younger, are waving goodbye to a group of happy human peasants who are jumping up and down and waving at them. The humans haven't changed since Loki's first visit here. They are small, dirty, smelly, and lacking many teeth. But their love is still palpable -- which keeps Loki from sneering at them, or picking disdainfully at the troll guts sticking to his armor.

Said troll lies dead behind Thor and Loki. It was a particularly large creature, nearly as big as an Earth Asian elephant -- they had a few in the gardens of Asgard when Indian clothing and architecture were in vogue.

"Heimdall! Bring us home!" Thor shouts to the sky.

There is a flash of light, a blur of color, and then Loki and Thor are facing Heimdall in the great circle of Midgard's World Gate on Asgard.

"Four times!" roars Thor with a smile on his face. "Four times I've been to Midgard troll hunting and not once did I find a troll. The one time I bring Loki, this beast -- " he gestures with his hand towards the felled troll. "-- this beast sets upon us immediately."

"It is a fine trophy, my Lord," says Heimdall, and his voice holds only reverence. Since Thor's return to court, Odin's bastard son has done nothing but make friends. Mostly because Baldur the beautiful, crown prince, son of Odin and Frigga, has taken a shine to his "big brother" and declared Thor "fitting to be in a court among Gods." Baldur possesses a type of magical glamour that not only makes him beautiful, but allows none to gainsay anything he says. Even Frigga has decided she likes Thor now.

Before Loki knows what is happening, Thor swats Loki's back with his hand. Stumbling forward, Loki barely manages to keep his feet. "From now on you come with me on every troll hunting expedition, Loki!"

"Lovely," says Loki, scowling down at the troll innards on his armor. Not that he doubted it would be otherwise. Just before this trip Odin informed Loki that his job as retainer now was to accompany Thor on all his quests.

"We should tell Baldur!" Thor declares, pulling Loki by the arm away from the World Gate. "We'll invite him to come with us on our next adventure."

Loki's stomach twists and he scowls. He detests Baldur. He detests that everyone thinks Baldur is beautiful, brave and wise. He detests that they think Baldur is good. And he detests that Mimir has suggested that the reason for this seething dislike is jealousy...and that there may be some truth to that.

Loki would never be accused of being ugly, but his 'fair countenance' is almost an insult in itself. He doesn't look as roughly hewn or as square in the jaw as a typical Aesir, or even Jotunn. He's only of average height, and he's too thin, despite the fact that only Thor's appetite is a match for his.

And Loki's not considered brave. He's simply not much good at feigning battle lust or interest in killing trolls. If he wasn't ordered by Odin to watch after Thor, he would have spent the last few days in the library -- he'd really like to master astral projection.

Finally, absolutely no one would consider Loki wise. He has too much fun with his magic. Loki knows he shouldn't take such delight in making himself appear like a Valkyrie upon occasion, or pulling the occasional flower from Odin's nose, but he just can't help himself.

Looking for any way to avoid a run in with Baldur, Loki says, "Shouldn't you go home to see your wife Sif first?"

"No, no, no," says Thor, walking briskly towards the palace, now under the illusion of Roman Golden Age architecture. "She'll understand. She is a fine wife, Loki, and doesn't begrudge me a bit my adventures and traveling -- this is just a bit more of the journey."

Loki raises an eyebrow. She doesn't begrudge it probably because it leaves more time for her whoring. Sif is so easy with her affections, even Loki is uninterested in her.

Thor smiles and looks sideways at Loki. "But perhaps you'd just like to see your Lady Sigyn?"

"She is not my lady," says Loki , feeling heat rise to his face. Are his affections so obvious? Sigyn left the court for a few decades to live in the realm of Alfheim -- the stay has given her an interesting perspective on a foreign culture and on Asgard's own. She is a rather fascinating companion for conversation. And she still seems to fancy Loki, maybe because Loki occasionally protected her with his magic when they were children, or maybe because she hasn't been steeped in court gossip -- Loki does have a bit of a reputation. It is pathetic, but her genuine warmth towards him makes Loki go absolutely soft inside. And although he protests her decline of his physical advances he actually rather respects her for it. How many times after a physical conquest has he decided the prize was too dull to be worth keeping? Even Freyja for all her beauty and charm was rather a bore after a while.

Loki blinks. Perhaps Sigyn does know his reputation.

"She hasn't hooked you yet then!" yells Thor, slapping Loki's back again jovially. Loki tries not to wince; it takes effort. "But she will!"

Loki keeps his eyes forward. The idea of being hooked by Sigyn is strangely not as unsettling as it should be.

They veer away from the palace proper to Briedablick, Baldur's hall. As Briedablick comes into view, Loki scowls again. He's heard the place is quite beautiful to others' eyes; everyone tells Loki it glows. All Loki can see is the dark swirl of Baldur's magic around the massive gray stone structure as they approach. As usual, when he is around Baldur, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

A few minutes later they are ushered into the foyer by a servant who bows and says, "I will go inform my master you are here, Thor." Tipping his head first to Thor and then Loki, he leaves.

From down the hall in the opposite direction of the servant's departure comes a feminine squeak and a rough male gasp.

Thor's eyes go wide. "The servant went the wrong way!" he says delightedly.

Rolling his eyes at Thor's childishness, Loki says, "So it would seem." Tipping his head in the direction of the exit, he says, "We should go."

Another male grunt echoes in the foyer.

Snickering like a little boy, Thor doesn't move. "Who do you think is sampling Baldur's beauty right now?"

Loki's jaw tenses and he stares at the large man before him. Despite the fact that Baldur likes Thor, Loki doesn't hate him. Thor is loud, gregarious, and far too trusting. But he actually complimented Loki on an illusion he cast to confuse the troll they killed -- it is nice to have his abilities are appreciated for once.

And Thor isn't stupid, no matter how he tries to hide his brain on occasion. They had a decent conversation about Troll nesting habits as they started out on their quest. Loki thinks he could actually like Thor, if he were to let himself. Even Mimir has said that Thor has the potential to be Loki's ally and true friend...and Loki can see that happening, if he just plays along and is nice.

But he can't quite do it. Smirking, Loki says, "Well, I think we can safely assume it isn't his mother."

Thor tilts his head, his childish grin fading.

Lifting an eyebrow, Loki crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. "But other than that...really it could be anyone."

"I think you insult Baldur and a great many virtuous women," says Thor, a furrow settling in his brow.

Loki should stop, should apologize. Instead, he lets the truth slip from his lips. "Oh, I suppose the old men are probably safe, and probably the livestock, too." His lips quirk. "Maybe."

Thor steps forward, his face going a little red. "End this jest now, Trickster."

And Loki should, because Thor, like everyone but Loki, is blind to Baldur's shortcomings. Thor doesn't see how Baldur's charms, illusory though they are, are irresistible to all of Asgard. Thor doesn't see how Baldur abuses them.

Loki shouldn't test Thor this way, shouldn't set himself up to lose a potential comrade. There is a loud grunt from down the hall. Thor turns his head, momentarily distracted.

Loki should apologize. But he can't.

There is the sound of a door creaking. And then there is the sound of soft feminine footfalls. Thor, looking in the direction of the footsteps, smiles. It isn't a friendly smile.

Curious despite himself, Loki lets his gaze go down the hall...and sees a rumpled Sigyn emerging.

Loki's mouth drops. He feels like he may throw up.

Thor pulls away from Loki to let Sigyn pass. Her eyes go up to Thor's and her face reddens. And then her eyes meet Loki's.

Her face crumples into a look of confusion and sadness. "Loki... I..."

Loki's mouth goes to a hard line, and he looks away from her.

From the corner of his eye, he sees her bow her head. Turning, she runs out the door.

Thor laughs lowly. "You should see your face."

Loki hears a grinding noise...it's his own teeth. He is suddenly angrier at Thor than he is angry at Sigyn or even Baldur. Sigyn was obviously charmed by Baldur's glamour, like everyone else. Baldur was just an ass, like always, and Loki expected no better from him -- nor can Loki retaliate against the crown prince.

But Thor...Loki had hoped better of Thor. He had hoped for the bastard's friendship -- some loyalty, some understanding. Loki uncrosses his arms and steps away from the wall towards the larger man. The air between them seems to shimmer. Thor narrows his eyes and his hands ball into fists.

At that moment Baldur comes down the hall. "Oh, brother! Loki!" Baldur says, and both Thor and Loki turn. Baldur is adjusting his shirt. Loki has seen paintings of Baldur, he knows what other people see, a crown of golden curls, tanned golden skin, blue eyes on a face chiseled like a roman sculpture, broad shoulders and height nearly as tall as Thor's. Loki sees a tangle of light brown hair, a slightly pudgy face with narrow hazel eyes and a soft body only as tall as his own.

"Loki," says Baldur, smirking slightly, though Loki has no doubt he appears to be smiling benevolently to Thor. "I think you know Lady Sigyn?"

"No," says Loki. "Not well."

He shoots a sidelong gaze toward Thor, daring him to contradict him.

Thor says nothing. But he smiles, a knowing, cruel smile.

That smile changes everything.

Later that night at the banquet, Loki stands behind Odin at the table, behaving like a truly proper retainer -- albeit a slightly drunk one. Thor is boasting of his exploits to a crowd of happy admirers. In a far corner, Sif has her own admirers. Sigyn is nowhere to be seen.

Odin, deep into his cups, slams his goblet down on the table. The clang is drowned out by the sound of Thor's laughter further down the table. Glaring in the direction of Sif, Odin snarls. "I have warned him about her. He is becoming a laughingstock!"

Pushing back from the table, Odin growls and stands from his chair. "I can't watch this."

Pursing his lips, Loki says, "If you permit me, sire, I'll take care of it."

Snorting, Odin says, "Good luck." And then the giant man turns and storms from the hall.

As soon as Odin has left, Loki walks over to Sif.

"Here to grace me with your silver tongue, Trickster?" the lady asks.

A reputation can be a helpful thing. Loki smiles. Very shortly afterwards he is in Sif's bedchamber.

After the "lady" falls asleep, Loki trims her golden locks. Gathering them in his hands, he ties them in one of her own ribbons. When Thor returns home Loki is waiting for him at the front door.

As he throws the shorn locks, the traditional symbol of an unfaithful wife, at Thor's feet, Loki smiles as sweetly as he can. "You should see your face," he says.

He completely expects the beating that comes next.

What he doesn't expect is for Hoenir and Mimir to be so unsympathetic when he comes crawling to the hut for help.

"You did what!" Mimir screeches. Loki winces from where he lays atop Hoenir's workbench, the self-satisfied smile slipping from his lips.

Hoenir slaps a hand down hard on a rib he is repairing. Loki's eyes go wide. Hoenir is actually scowling at him. Hoenir never scowls at him.

"I gave Thor proof of his wife's infidelity," says Loki, and Hoenir's hand comes down hard on another rib.

"You're supposed to be helping me fix that," says Loki lifting his head.

Hoenir just raises an eyebrow.

"You're lucky to be alive," says Mimir. "Do you know what you would do if someone slept with your wife?"

Raising an eyebrow, Loki drops his head on the bench. "As I don't have a wife and am unlikely to acquire one -- "

"I'll tell you what you'd do!" Mimir says, voice trembling. "You'd cut him up into little pieces, that's what you'd do."

Loki blinks...there is something in that, something he can't quite place. He raises his head.

Mimir's face is livid. "And then you'd take all those pieces and flush them all down the -- "

"Mimir!" Odin's voice rings through the hut.

Loki's blood goes cold.

"Don't talk about that, Mimir," and Loki blinks because he almost thinks he hears worry in Odin's voice. But a few moments more and Odin is leaning over him. He doesn't look worried. Oddly, he doesn't look as angry as he did after Baldur's birth. He looks more...disgusted.

"You told me he was turning into a laughingstock," Loki says. "I told you I'd take care of it, and I have. I delivered proof that -- "

"Sif has told everyone you used your magic to sneak in on her while she slept," says Odin.

"And people believe that?" says Mimir. "From that trollop?"

Odin's eyes don't leave Loki's. "What matters is what Thor thinks. He believes his wife. Which is lucky -- otherwise you could be tried for treason."

Loki swallows, his brow furrowing. He was only obeying orders. The fickleness and duplicity of royalty.

"-- but he is only requesting your banishment," says Odin, his eyes narrowing.

The breath catches in Loki's throat. Odin doesn't mean banishment to Alfheim, Jotunheim, Vaneheim or any of the other civilized worlds. He can only mean Midgard. There is a very small part of him that wants to accept that fate, sees it almost as an open door from a cage, but his rational mind tells him what he would be accepting is a short, painful life, and death by plague -- or in his case, more likely hunger.

Odin's lip curls up. "Fix this, Loki." He stares down at Loki for a few moments more, and Loki feels himself shrinking. And then Odin turns and strides from the room.

Loki looks at Hoenir. He doesn't meet his eyes. He looks to Mimir, and the head winces. "You owe Sif, Thor and Odin a very big apology."

* * *

STARING AT AMY, LOKI feels the heat of Thor's first betrayal, that first cruel laugh, itching beneath his skin. How could he have trusted Thor after that?

Beatrice's voice startles Loki out of his dark reverie. "So did you get Thor his hammer, Sif the golden wig, Odin Daupnir and Gungnir -- and the boat for Frey?"

"Daupnir, Gungnir, boat?" says Amy.

Loki smiles a brittle smile. "Daupnir is a lovely little ring. The boat is called Skidbladnir. It has a clever way of folding into time so that all of it that remains in real-time can fit in the palm of your hand."

Amy's face lights up, "It sounds kind of like the TARDIS!"

"Tardis?" says Loki, somewhat amazed that she seems to have grasped the concept at all. Humans usually didn't.

"It's a phone booth," says Beatrice.

"Bigger on the inside than outside," says Amy. "And it can travel through space and time too. Can Skidbladnir do that?"

Loki blinks. "Humans have such a vessel?"

"No, no, no," says Amy. "It's just a story." She frowns a little. "Just the way you described Skidbladnir, I thought it could be true."

Slightly disappointed, Loki says, "Other than its compactibility, Skidbladnir is just a boat. We used it for camping trips. Until Odin gave it to Frey, chief of the Vanir."

"What about Gungnir, the spear that can hit any mark?" says Beatrice.

Tapping his chin, Loki says, "I did give that to Odin, but that was a different...adventure." Another one of his under-appreciated acts of self-sacrifice. Really, Odin should have appreciated what Loki did for Thor. It's not like sleeping with Sif was any great prize.

"Did the dwarf sew up your lips?" says Beatrice.

"Grandma!" says Amy, sounding absolutely scandalized. The gifts to Odin, Thor and Sif were made by two rival clans of dwarfs in a contest. The prize was Loki's head. At the last minute Loki convinced the winner that since only his head had been promised, it couldn't be detached at the neck. Said dwarf chose to sew up Loki's mouth in lieu of decapitation.

He's not sure exactly why Amy sounds so disapproving, but he senses an opportunity for comedy, or at least shock value.

With just the barest bit of concentration, he creates an illusion of wire stitches over his lips. Turning to Amy, and Beatrice he says, "Mmmphhhff!"

Beatrice sits back in her seat, hand over her mouth.

Amy gasps. "How can you even joke about that?!"

Loki tilts his head. The serious answer, the truthful answer, is how can he not? Joking about pain is the only weapon he has. It is the way he thumbs his nose up at the universe. The way he proves he is unbroken, and if not the god of mischief, then at least mischief's master.

But that isn't the funny answer.

He creates an illusion of himself in the backseat next to Beatrice and lets that projection say, "Don't worry, m'lady. I am not offended by my joke."

"Ahh!" says Beatrice looking frantically back and forth between the illusion of Loki and Loki's real self.

The car almost swerves off the road. "Don't do that without warning me!" says Amy.

"Mmmphhhff," says Loki's real self, still feigning the stitches.

"Don't you people believe in proportional punishment?" Amy shoots him a glance that looks angry, hurt and scandalized all at once.

Loki tilts his head. In the scheme of things, that physical agony was small. He had done a wrong. He paid a price. It was logical. There were other pains, other slights that were random and unjust. They hurt more. But he cannot think of them, much less speak of them. Instead, he lets his astrally-projected self lean forward and whisper near her ear. "But if I hadn't had my lips sewn shut I wouldn't have learned the art of astral projection -- out of sheer desperation to wag my tongue."

Beatrice snorts.

Loki lets the illusion of himself and the stitches fade. "And if Thor hadn't had the opportunity to hold me down while the stitches were put in, he might not have felt that he'd recovered his honor and we might never have become friends."

Amy shoots him a look that communicates both revulsion and disbelief.

But Thor and Loki had been friends, hadn't they? They'd both risked their lives for one another. And for a long time Thor's friendship had surely helped ease Valli and Nari's dealings with other Asgardians. They had been known more for Thor's patronage, and less as Loki's sons.

In the end what good had it done them, though? Even, brave, noble, supposedly honest, Thor had caved to Odin.

Loki clenches his fists. He cannot believe that Valli and Nari have met their ends. They are somewhere, alive, if not well, and wherever they are he will find them. Loki is very good at finding lost things, and the more impossible the task, the more likely it is he will succeed. Even Odin gives him that.

"So..." says Amy, eyes focused on the road ahead. "Can you tell us what we're going to do when we find gala drill?"

"Gala drill?" says Loki. A party and a drill? He scratches his ear... Did he hear right, or lose the thread of magic? Something tickles in the back of his mind

"You know, elf queen, in the books?" says Amy.

"And movies!" Beatrice pipes in.

"Ahhh...a name from a new myth," says Loki, the tickle becoming an itch. There is something about the name that feels almost, but not quite right.

Amy blinks. "I guess, maybe."

Shaking his head, Loki says, "No king or queen of the elves would reveal their true name. It would mean sacrificing too much of their power." Lifting his eyebrows, he tilts his head. "And believe me, power isn't something elven monarchs are keen on relinquishing."

Amy leans forward in her seat. She isn't wearing the figure-flattering shirt she wore the other day. What she is wearing now is baggy, and goes too far up her chest. Loki has no idea why someone with such astonishing breasts would want to hide them.

"Uh....is she going to be unhappy to see us here?" Amy says, looking nervously out the window.

"You and Beatrice? Oh, no, you are fine. The elves resented Odin's orders to withdraw from your realm. They saw it their duty to play an active role in shaping human culture. They'll be delighted to see you. Me, on the other hand..." He puts a hand to his chin, and taps contemplatively. "I will need a disguise."

"The elf queen can't read hearts?" whispers Amy quietly.

Startled by the question, Loki turns to her. "Actually, the elf queen can read hearts, or minds rather. I'm sure that she'll see through the disguise, but it will confuse her court, and give her plausible deniability should Odin pay her a visit."

"You're on the outs with Odin already?" says Beatrice.

Choosing to ignore that question, Loki says, "As for what I want with the elf queen...I want a simple exchange of information."

He sees Amy's eyes lift to the rear view mirror and realizes she and Beatrice are exchanging a glance.

Let them wonder. He has been more than accommodating.

Amy squeezes Car's steering wheel. "What sort of disguise?"

Loki tilts his head. "The best disguise is like the best lie. As close to the truth as possible." He concentrates. His armor with its magical camouflage is too fine to belong to just any ordinary soldier. He dulls it to steel, painted dark gray. His hair he changes to brown, his chin and nose he broadens, and he increases his height and the width of his shoulders.

"Whoa," says Amy, "you were big enough already."

Unable to resist a chance to jest, Loki smirks. "Yes, yes, I was," he says in a deep, husky voice.

Amy tilts her head. "What does that mean?"

Before Loki even has a chance to purse his lips at her disappointing inability to grasp that little bit of sly innuendo, Beatrice hits him on the back of the head.

That's more like it!

"Argh!" Loki screams, feigning pain. He turns and smiles at Beatrice. She scowls at him.

"Oh, my God," says Amy.

Loki smirks at her. "I'm not really a god, but I'll pretend to be one for you."

Beatrice hits him again. "Argh!" Loki cries, but he is unable to suppress a wide grin. There's nothing like a bit of comedy to take one's mind off a daunting quest.

"Was that an allusion to penis size?" Amy says, hands tightening on the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white.

Loki's smile drops. Cringing in genuine distaste he says, "Must you be so anatomical?"

Amy is silent for a moment. Dipping her chin and scowling, she begins to chant. "Penis, penis, penis."

Beatrice whacks him over the head again.

"...penis, penis, penis..."

"Hit her, not me!" Loki cries.

"...penis, penis, penis," says Amy, looking angrier and angrier.

"You started it," the old woman replies.

Huffing, Loki says, "To return to the previous topic -- "

Amy stops her chant.

"Thank you," says Beatrice.

"I will not try to disguise my Frost Giant nature, but I will go by the name of Fjolnir Thorsbruter. It's a common name among Frost Giants in Thor's legion, and won't raise suspicion."

"You look like a Frost Giant now?" says Amy, looking him up and down.

"Of course," says Loki, slightly vexed.

"You're not blue. In the movies Frost Giants are blue."

Loki stares at her, completely at a loss for what she could be talking about.

From the backseat comes Beatrice's voice. "Oh, my, how lovely."

Amy's eyes go back to the road. They have just come over a gentle rise, and now in the distance beyond cultivated fields, orchards, pasture lands, and a wide river, Alfheim's only city in the domain of the light elves is on full display.

"It's beautiful," Amy says.

Loki gazes at the city in the distance. Set into the side of a mountain, it sits beside the border road. The city's architecture is reminiscent of human European architecture from the 12th century. The entire city is made from white stone. Thick walls and ramparts with small slitted windows encircle more buildings with the same small slitted windows. There are peaked tile roofs, all in green. At the center of the city, rising up above the other buildings, is the castle proper. Dark green ivy climbs along walls; trees with lavender leaves lift their crowns alongside the buildings.

Loki hasn't been here in over a hundred years. Squinting, he looks hard for any changes in the scenery, but even the ivy and trees within the city gates remain exactly as he remembers them. Absolutely nothing has changed.

"I suppose it's quaint," he says. He's not sure how the humans can be impressed. Chicago, with its riot of styles from only the last century or so, displays more variety of architecture in a single block than the whole city of Alfheim. And Alfheim's city is so small. It is only a few miles wide and the tallest tower can't be over ten stories.

"Like a fairy castle," says Beatrice, her voice awed.

Loki snorts. "Well, technically -- "

"Are those dinosaurs?" Amy says, looking out at the fields.

Loki follows her gaze. A few hadrosaurs dot the pastures, and two are being ridden in neat formation along the city's main wall. From afar they look a lot like the velociraptors Loki hatched so long ago. They have powerful hind legs and smaller forelimbs. They do not walk on their hind limbs exclusively though, and their mouths are beak-like. They also get much larger than velociraptors -- up to the size of a bus.

"Yes," says Loki.

He blinks. He's a bit surprised English has a word for dinosaur. Loki doesn't know English particularly well. He uses magic to translate languages. On Asgard they call it "The Gift of Tongues." Humans might call it a "spell," but it's more a state of mind. Loki doesn't fight the magic that flows through Amy and Beatrice that wants to interact with the appropriate neurons in his brain's speech centers.

The trick has its limitations: if there is no corresponding word between languages, translations become difficult. But now there is a common English word for dinosaurs! Fascinating. Staring at the creatures, he realizes there is even an English word for specific dinosaur species. "Specifically, hadrosaurs, harmless herbivores," he adds. Harmless unless they step on you, of course.

Tensing at the wheel, Amy looks nervously to the dark forest still on their left. "I don't have to worry about T-rexes or velociraptors, do I?"

Loki's mouth drops open. "You know what a velociraptor is?"

"I've seen Jurassic Park," says Amy. Voice rising tremulously she says, "Are there velociraptors here?"

"No," says Loki. "No....nasty creatures though, I'll give you that."

Amy turns her face quickly to him. She doesn't look relieved for some reason.

Puzzling over that, Loki looks out at the road and his eyes go wide. "Look out for the hadrosaur dung!"

Amy hits the brakes and they screech to a halt just in time.

"It's the size of a dog!" says Beatrice.

"It looks like bird poop," says Amy. "White...but really lumpy. I wonder if I could get a sample and take it back to school? We have a thermos, don't we? I have a friend from undergrad in the micro lab at UIC. We could compare the genome of the hadrosaur dung bacteria to the bacteria in bird guano. If elves were on Earth at one time, there is a possibility that the bacteria might share a common ancestor!"

Loki blinks.

"We probably don't have time for that, Dear. Right Loki?" says Beatrice.

Loki stifles a laugh at Beatrice's conspiratorial prompting, but he's more impressed than repulsed. It's something Hoenir would do -- at this point Loki is quite inured to dung collection. Pursing his lips he says, "Maybe later. For now, perhaps you should drive more slowly? We are close enough to the castle for it to be safe after dark."

"Right," says Amy, steering the vehicle so it straddles the dung.

Loki hopes none gets on the axles; it is quite foul smelling. He sighs. Elves. No appreciation for any type of evolution.

|  |

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# Chapter 8

Amy is glad for the chance to slow down. It gives her a chance to look around. As they cross the neat fields of what looks like wheat, she can see little thatched cottages. She catches sight of goats, sheep, small shaggy horses, chickens -- and sometimes hadrosaurs. From afar their scales are reminiscent of tropical birds, deep, almost iridescent green, with spots of red and yellow.

As they drive along, people -- well, they look like people -- come out of their little homes, take one look at them, and rush back inside. If they didn't seemed so terrified Amy would probably stop the car and get out -- no matter how much Loki might protest.

They are just a few miles from the city proper, when two knights come riding up the road towards them. She thinks they are knights anyway. They are wearing armor like the kind she is accustomed to from the Art Institute, are seated on shaggy little white horses, and are carrying lances. Their faces and ears are covered, so despite their proximity she can't see if they're Elves.

"Um..." says Amy.

Loki, now looking like a very pale Conan the Barbarian, looks at the door. "Where is the window crank? I'd like to address them."

"The button," says Amy.

"What button?" says Loki.

"Switch," says Beatrice.

"Ahhhhh...." says Loki.

"Wait, I have a better idea," says Amy. Pressing a button on the side of the door, she opens the skylight.

"Perfect!" says Loki smiling broadly. "I love this machine." He looks at Amy, an expression of deep earnestness on his now broad barbarian face. "Do you think it could ever love me?"

Unsure if this is another one of his jokes, Amy just stares at him.

From the backseat, Beatrice says, "Loki dear, they're jostling their sticks."

Loki looks out at the knights who are raising their lances. "Just give me a minute," he says, and then he stands up next to Amy. It puts his hips rather too close to her face. Her cheeks go hot and she's on guard instantly. She's really glad he's busy talking to the knights; otherwise she's pretty sure he'd have a bit of innuendo to throw her way just now.

A knight gives a yell, and Amy blinks and straightens. The knight is pointing at her car with his lance.

The words coming out of Loki's mouth seem smooth, almost musical. But the knights raise their lances and then both of them are yelling at Loki. Amy starts gauging the feasibility of a three point turn. The sun is slipping down on the horizon, and Loki has warned against the wisdom of traveling the road at night, but...

From the direction of the castle eight more knights come riding out on horses, followed by knights on hadrosaurs at the rear. The giant creatures move relatively slowly, but they are intimidating. Loki is still talking, and the knights are still waving their lances.

Hand going to the gears, Amy gets ready to switch into reverse. "Loki! Should I turn around?"

Pulling himself back into the car, Loki smiles broadly at her. It's even more disconcerting than it should be since he's changed his appearance to be more Conan the Barbarian-esque. Her brain is having a little difficulty wrapping itself around the concept that it is still the wiry guy with red hair in there. She wants to pinch his cheek or something, to verify everything is real, but the timing is a little inconvenient. And he'd probably misconstrue it as flirting. He's still in the middle of the front seat and way too close to her.

"No, no, we're fine!" he says, his voice still his own. Amy's not sure if it makes the Conan thing better or worse.

"Nothing to worry about," he says. "They're just giving us an escort."

As he says that, the first two knights run around their car, turn around and turn their lances on them again. In front of them the other knights bring their mounts around so their steeds and their lances are perpendicular to the road.

"See," says Conan-esque Loki. "Nothing to worry about."

"Oh, dear," says Beatrice, summing up Amy's feelings exactly.

Falling back into his own seat, Loki-Conan waves a hand forward. "Go ahead!"

Amy checks the rear view mirror. Going backwards doesn't seem much of an option. She puts her foot gently on the gas and drives through the gauntlet. There is a bridge just ahead of them, and a river as wide as an eight-lane highway beneath. Amy notices on the side of the river near the castle the water reflects the sky. On the side of the bridge where the water drains into the dark forest, the river is a muddy snake of churning brown and black. She follows the river's path into the dark forest with her eyes to where it seems to split into tributaries.

"The Delta of Sorrows," says Loki softly. She looks over at him and he's shaking his head, one side of his mouth curled up in a crooked smile. "Luddites and hypocrites," he mutters.

Amy blinks and focuses her attention ahead. The knights are falling into formation behind them.

"The first fork in the road past the river, take a right turn toward the castle," says Loki.

Amy swallows and nods. As they get closer to the castle, Beatrice says, "Oh, my, it's even lovelier up close."

And it is. It's hard for Amy to keep her eyes on the road. The tremendous white wall on her left is covered with dark green ivy. Blue flowers are interspersed with the leaves.

"Yes," says Loki. "You have to hand it to the elves, they can make even man-eating plants picturesque."

"Man-eating?" says Beatrice.

"Let's say you wouldn't want to try and scale the wall by climbing the ivy," says Loki.

"Oh," says Beatrice. "It is so pretty, though...I wonder if it would keep the squirrels away from the bird feeder outside our kitchen window?"

"Grandma!" says Amy.

"It's difficult to get clippings of the stuff," says Loki. "It bites."

"A shame," says Beatrice.

Before Amy can say anything, Beatrice lets out a gasp. They're closing in on the main gates of the city, and for the first time can see within. More knights are riding out, but others are holding back a crowd.

Amy pulls the car through the gates, into what seems to be a market square with brightly colored tents for stalls interspersed with lavender-leafed trees with white bark. Great buildings of white stone look over the square. They are able to see the people of the realm up close for the first time. They are slender, and not terribly tall. Most appear pale, but Amy sees every shade of skin tone. They seem to all be blessed with delicate, doll like features, and there is no mistaking the pointed ears.

"Elves..." breathes Amy.

Conan-Loki snorts. "You expected trolls?"

Neither Amy nor Beatrice bother to respond. A moment later the sun slips completely from the sky, and all around them great orbs of green light rise into the air until they reach a height just above the great wall around the city. The car's headlights become brighter.

From the crowd there is a collective, "Oooooh."

"Clever car," says Loki, patting the dash.

The elves in the market push against the knights holding them back and begin to smile and wave at Amy, Beatrice and Loki. Amy hears shouts rising up in the crowd. In the corner of her eye she swears she sees an elf raising his fist at the knights.

Amy cranes her neck for a better view, but Loki says, "Keep driving. The hadrosaurs can tip us over." He looks over his shoulder. "Or step on us."

That does wonders to focus Amy's attention.

They follow a knight through the market, and between buildings that are a few stories tall, the knights on hadrosaurs close behind them. In the glow of the orbs the white stone looks green. Some of the buildings have wide windows. Behind her Amy hears Beatrice say, "Oh, that looks like a dress shop, and that looks like toys maybe...Oh, my, the people are just darling."

Amy wishes she could look, but trains her eyes on the knight leading them. She tries to keep track of the way they're going. It's dark, and a little difficult to tell for sure, but it seems to be one main road that switches back on itself as it makes its way up the mountain.

They make a few more switchback turns and come to a street that has walls on both sides. On one side the wall is covered with the ivy and flowers.

"Oh, the shops are gone," says Beatrice.

"We're nearly on the palace grounds," says Loki.

The knight in front of them holds up a hand. Abruptly, the ivy on the wall slithers away like a mass of snakes and a metal gate is revealed. Beatrice gives a startled cry, and Amy swallows.

The gates swing open with a loud, metallic clang, the knight shouts, and Loki says, "Drive in."

Amy's foot is already on the gas. She eases through the gates. Up until this point they've been driving on a steady incline up the mountainside, but before her the ground plateaus. There are trees, bushes, and masses of tall flowering plants. The road leads to what can only be described as a palace -- it rises up at least ten stories. Its delicate towers and walls crawl with more ivy. Above the road hover the green orbs. All along the road are elves standing at attention, wearing what looks like chain mail. From the palace more elves are coming. Even at a distance, Amy can see they are not wearing armor of any kind. Male and female, they wear clothing that looks medieval, but Amy's pretty sure that human medieval clothing did not glow.

The knight in front of them barks an order. "Time to get out," says Loki.

He turns to them, his features sharp. "Remember, I am Fjolnir Thorsbrutter." He tips his head. "If Odin finds out I am here, it will be difficult for me to return you to your realm."

Amy hears the back door open. "I don't know if I'd mind staying," says Beatrice as the retinue of elves in glowing gowns draws to a halt in front of them. "My, my." With that she climbs out of the car.

Loki looks at Amy, his eyes wide.

"Don't worry, Amy says. "I don't want to stay anywhere that doesn't have antibiotics." Or a good laboratory. What fun was dung if she couldn't analyze it?

Mouth grim, jaw hard, Conan-Loki says, "Smart girl."

An instant later he is standing outside on the golden road, smiling broadly.

Amy slips the key from the ignition and watches him. He's like a chameleon, and not just in the way he changes his physical appearance.

Stepping from the car, she takes a breath and pockets her keys and attached pepper spray. The air is cool, clear and untainted by the car's air freshener or vents. The sun may be gone, but everything still smells like sunlight and grass, and floral smells she can't quite place. She looks up past the orbs. The stars are bright, but the Big Dipper is nowhere to be seen. Her mouth drops open, and then she smiles at the wonder of it. She is on another world.

Smile still in place, she walks around to where Conan-Loki and Beatrice stand. One elf, a man dressed in subdued black who looks no older than Amy, is talking to Loki. The other elves are thronged around Beatrice.

"You human!" says a young man in a sing-song voice to Beatrice. His hair is golden and long. He is wearing long robes of dark blue velvet with embroidered stars that literally sparkle. He turns to Amy. "You, too! Come to feast!"

"First, clothes!" says a woman. Amy blinks. At her side is an elf woman with skin dark as ebony. She wears a dress of emerald green, cinched tightly at the waist, low cut on the front, with gold brocade along the neckline that seems to project its own light.

Small hands go to Amy's arms and pull her forward, but then a heavier arm drapes over her shoulder. Conan-Loki's voice whispers in her ear. "I told them I was accidentally drawn into your realm, and that I rescued you, and this is how you are repaying me. The only detail I've changed is my name. Fjolnir. Thorsbrutter. Don't forget."

Before Amy can even respond, Loki's arm is gone, and he's stepping around the crowd to the elf in black.

As the lady in emerald scoots up to Amy, Amy turns her head to see the man in blue, arm-in-arm with Beatrice.

Touching Beatrice's hair lightly, he speaks with an oddly lilting accent Amy can't place. "You like most beautiful gnome I have ever seen."

Amy's eyes bug out, but Beatrice just giggles and smiles.

"My name Belladal," says the woman next to Amy in the same lilting tones as the man.

"Amy," says Amy, trying to keep her eyes on Conan-Loki, walking ahead of the throng, towering next to the elf in black.

"Aaay Meeee," says Belladal.

"Aaay Meeee," say the other elves in unison.

Amy turns her eyes to them for an instant. Beatrice and Amy are positively thronged now. She smiles and they gasp. "You many teeth for human!" says Belladal. Confused, Amy blinks. Turning her head she tries to find Loki, but he and the elf in black are nowhere to be seen. Before she even has a chance to process that thought or be afraid, great wooden doors ahead of them open and light spills out of the palace.

She hears the elf man next to Beatrice exclaim. "No, no, no! You not 85! Humans not live that long!" She can't hear Beatrice's response. Her eyes are nearly blinded by the golden light in the palace, and elves in much simpler attire are running out of the doors singing or maybe talking in musical tones.

"Dresses! You get dresses!" says Belladal. "Elves like humans. Not see so long! You like dresses! Music! Feast! Happy! Happy! Happy!"

"Happp--eeeee!" sing the elves.

And Amy isn't sure if it is magic, or just that everything is magical, but she begins to feel her heart lift, and her lips pull into a wide grin.

Beatrice slips her arm into Amy's as Belladal glides into the palace ahead of them, her dark skin warm and glowing in the light. Following the elven woman with her eyes, Beatrice shakes her head and whispers to Amy, "the elves have Negroes, too. I never would have expected that."

Amy squeezes her eyes shut and resists the desire to facepalm. Beside her Beatrice doesn't seem to even notice. She's chattering away with the elven man.

Amy sighs and opens her eyes. At least Beatrice didn't say anything about Belladal getting a position of lady or princess elf through affirmative action. She smiles ruefully; some of the magic of the place must be rubbing off after all.

* * *

AN HOUR OR SO AND A magically altered dress later, Amy's standing in a great hall. Lining the wall are tapestries that glitter, glow and almost seem to move. A giant orb of gold is suspended in the air. The floor beneath her feet is white polished stone. To one side of the room are large ornately carved doors that lead, she's told, to "big feast...little wait only." Music that sounds like harps and flutes is floating through the air, but she can't see any musicians. She looks around the room a little anxiously. She hasn't seen Loki since they entered the palace.

Fenrir isn't here either. During the dressmaking session an elf woman had taken the dog away -- Belladal said it was "so small beast no smell like dead things." Amy would have protested more, but it was true, her little beast still stunk. Fenrir's supposed to be back in time for the feast, though. Looking around again, Amy pats her skirts and feels the comforting lumps of her key chain and pepper spray beneath the fabric.

At the other end of the hall Beatrice is sitting down on an elaborately carved wooden chair, a throng of elves around her. Grinning ear-to-ear, she looks beautiful. Her dress is palest rose with an elegant princess neckline. Her white hair is lifted up in a bun that is crowned with pale pink flowers. It occurs to Amy that Beatrice must seem far more exotic to them than Amy herself does. No one in the hall looks older than 25.

Amy looks down at her own dress self-consciously. It's very pretty, creamy with emerald green trim. But the neckline is painfully low and wide. She's afraid if she bends forwards she might spill out. She tried to ask for something more discreet, but her protests were met with laughter. "Why hide best feature?" Belladal had said. And then Belladal's expression had contorted to one of genuine curiosity. "Are you wet-nurse?"

Remembering that comment did nothing to ease Amy's self-consciousness now. The elves, male and female, crowded around her speaking in their musical tones and staring at her breasts doesn't help either. Different ideas about propriety, obviously. None of them seem to speak English the way Belladal or the elf man in blue are able to, so commenting on her embarrassment doesn't help.

Figures clad in black and gray emerging from a small door at the side of the hall catches her attention. It's Loki at last -- still looking like a pale version of Conan the Barbarian. The elf in black is next to him. Grateful for a chance to escape her ogling little throng, Amy casts a smile around her, looks apologetically in the direction of Loki, and then back at them. The throng seems to understand because a narrow path opens up before her. She bolts through it without a backwards glance.

Loki catches her eye, says something to the elf in black, and then tilts his head towards a hallway off to the side. A few moments later Amy is there beside him. His armor is still the dark gray he changed it to in the car, and he's donned no other finery. His face is uncharacteristically pensive.

"What's wrong?" she asks, and he blinks.

"Nothing," he says. "I will be granted an audience with the queen during the feast." Her brows furrow slightly. She thinks they are alone in the small hallway, the noise of revelry at their backs, but she's not quite sure. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leans close to him. "Are you worried she'll know who you are?"

Smiling a little sadly, he says, "I'm certain that she will. That isn't what disturbs me."

"Well, what then?" says Amy, a hand almost unconsciously going to his arm.

Not meeting her eyes, his lips quirk slightly, his expression looks sad instead of happy.

"I find myself nervous about the answer to my question," he says.

"You never told us what the question is," Amy says.

His eyes narrow, though the quirk of his lips doesn't disappear. "I try, as much as possible, to push it from my mind. If I think of it I might go mad." He looks so distraught, Amy has the urge to give him a hug.

Stepping back, he takes her hand. "But where are my manners? You look lovely."

From the great hall there is the sound of horns.

"Nice breasts," says Loki, barely audible over the din.

Amy's jaw falls. Every time she feels the slightest bit of sympathy for him, he just has to go and ruin it. "Did you just say nice breasts?"

He quirks an eyebrow. Leaning in he says, "Actually, I said nice dress."

Amy blinks and reddens; how foolish of her. She's about to apologize when still holding her hand, his eyes drift down and his mouth stretches into a leer. "But now that you mention it...."

Her hand connects with his cheek a moment later with a satisfying smack.

Rubbing his cheek, he just grins at her.

Amy points at her eyes and says, "Focus."

The grin vanishes. "You're right, I can't be seen to be fraternizing with the help." He smirks. "Who knows, the queen may want to take advantage of my silver tongue."

"Huh?" says Amy, not seeing any connection.

The smirk vanishes.

Amy blinks.

Patting her shoulder, Loki sighs. "If I ever need to capture a unicorn I'll be sure to let you know."

Conan-Loki's inappropriate leers are immediately forgiven. "I would love to see a unicorn!"

Putting a hand to her back, he guides her towards the hall. "And I'm sure one would love to see you." As they step into the great hall, Loki says, "Dinner has just been called. I will see you later."

The elf woman who had taken Fenrir away during the dressmaking session approaches, Fenrir at her feet, bathed, groomed and looking -- well, almost like a dog. "This way," the elf woman says.

Eyes going wide, Amy says, "You speak English!"

The elf blinks at her, as though surprised to be understood. "Yes. But secret, please?"

Amy tilts her head, curious. But all she says is, "Of course." She turns to look at Loki but he's already gone.

* * *

AS THE REST OF THE guests are herded into the dining hall, Lionel, the steward, leads Loki to a small antechamber dimly lit by dancing fireflies. It's furnished only with a tapestry on one wall, and two chairs facing one another, a low table in the middle. It is exactly the sort of thing Loki would have expected.

Closing the door behind them, Lionel presses his ear to it as though listening for something.

Loki tilts his head. Lionel meets his gaze, nods, and then moves quickly to the room's only window and draws the curtains. Putting his finger to his lips, Lionel moves to the opposite wall and draws back the curtain. Pressing against a few of the white stones in rapid succession, Lionel backs up. The stones seem to dissolve, as though made of sand, revealing a dark narrow passage.

Lionel gestures with his hands for Loki to enter.

Loki does not move. "Where are you taking me?"

Lionel is small and thin even for an elf. He swallows. "The queen will speak a few words at the feast, and then she will retire to her chambers. She will meet you there."

Loki stares at him for a few uncomfortably long heartbeats. Not because he doesn't believe Lionel's words -- Loki can't read hearts, but he has a sense for lies. It is the truth, but still unbelievable. Loki is nowhere near the queen's station, whether a member of Thor's personal legion or as Odin's retainer...former retainer. Having him in her chambers would be scandalous, but it would explain the secrecy; and a secret passage would make perfect sense.

"If you like, I will go first," says Lionel.

"I would like," says Loki. Lionel may not be lying, but he wouldn't put it past a monarch to leave a surprise without their retainer's knowledge.

Lionel bows his head. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a dull olive orb. As he lifts it, it lights from within, casting the same green glow as the orbs outside the palace. And then Lionel steps into the dark passageway, Loki following.

Loki hears the tapestry fall back into place, and a sound like pebbles sliding together. When he looks behind him there is a seemingly solid wall.

After a few paces, the passageway changes to a stairway. The steps are low and narrow. Loki touches the walls. They are dry and cool beneath his slightly warm damp fingers. He can feel his pulse quickening. This is it. Soon he will know where his sons and Sigyn are, whether they are alive or dead.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to calm himself as best he can.

They have gone a few flights when the scent of stone and dust gives way to the smell of green living things, pine and sage maybe. It's not unpleasant at all. Loki suddenly has an overpowering sense of deja vu. He blinks. Prophecy is completely beyond him. He is over 1,000 years old. He may never have been in this stairway, but he has been in ones like it. Surely.

And yet...the fragrance. He takes a long breath. He is just anxious.

In front of him Lionel draws to a stop. Loki can't see what he does with his hands but the wall falls away, and they step from behind another tapestry into a living area. The smell of pine and sage is stronger, and there is also the smell of meat and fresh bread. There is a chandelier above that looks like a mass of long silver leaves. There are no candles or orbs set in it: the whole thing glows, casting a glow like moonlight. Below it are two chairs, and a table laden with food. Nearby Loki can hear the sound of falling water.

"Her Majesty's chambers," says the steward. He gestures to a seat. "Please, sit and eat your fill."

Loki's mouth is watering, but he doesn't sit down. He tilts his head to the sound of water. In his mind he pictures a living wall of lichens, a small spout emerging from it, and a stream of water falling into a semi-circular pool set flush in the floor. Turning, he walks quickly from the little room, Lionel at his heels, saying, "Stop! Wait!"

He steps into the next room over and draws up short. There are the wall and fountain just as he imagined them.

"Sir," Lionel says, "you are to wait in the other room."

Loki doesn't move. And then he sees it, magic, the same color as moonlight, spilling from behind his back.

"Leave us, Lionel," says a feminine voice as smooth and sure as water over rocks.

Loki and Lionel both turn. The elf queen approaches them. She wears a simple circlet on her brow. Her ears peek out from straight black hair. Her eyes are almond shaped, almost like a human from the continent of Asia, but they are nearly as light as Loki's own. Her features are fine, delicate and almost painfully symmetrical, like all of the elf race. She is as slender and willowy as a reed -- not precisely his type, but undeniably beautiful.

Loki has seen her several times before. He's always looked at her from a distance, or from over Odin's shoulder as a retainer. She's never met his eyes before. She does now. Loki has the peculiar sensation of coming in from the cold to find a warm and welcome fire.

For some reason he almost says "Gala" aloud, but holds it back. Strange to be affected so by a silly human myth.

He tilts his head. This feeling of belonging, is it a trick of her magic?

"Yes, my Queen," Lionel says, drawing Loki from his reverie. Bowing quickly the retainer leaves the room.

"Loki, son of wildfire and the green and peaceful isle," says the elf queen.

He hasn't heard his heritage described that way before, but he doesn't argue. Bowing, Loki lets his disguise drop and prepares to kneel.

"Please," says the elf queen holding out a pale hand. "Don't."

Loki straightens. There is something in her voice, fear or apprehension; he can't tell.

"Why are you here?" she says coming forward, magic swirling in the air so much it warms his skin. She cannot possibly be afraid of him, her magic is so much stronger.

"I mean you no harm, your highness. I come only for an exchange of information."

"What information do you wish to give me?"

Loki tilts his head. "A pathway, from your realm to Asgard."

"I know many of those," she says dropping her eyes and moving quietly as a shadow so they are no more than a foot apart. That closeness should strike him as odd -- but it doesn't, and that is truly odd.

"Ah, but this is a very strategic one, your highness. Right from the heart of your realm to just behind the throne of Odin himself."

The elf queen's eyes shoot up to his and then she looks aside and walks away. "I already know of such a pathway," she says.

Loki feels the first prickle of worry. "But this, your highness, this one...." He licks his lips. "It is very near, but so small you would never find it unless -- "

"The one inside our wine cellar," she says.

Loki's eyes go wide. He feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him. He brings a hand to the chest plate of his armor and feels the press of his book tucked inside there. The queen's eyes follow the movement, and for an instant he thinks he sees something cruel and predatory flash in them. But then the look is gone, and her features again are cool and distant.

"Someone already bartered that piece of information to me...long, long ago," she says, her eyes dropping to the small pool in the floor.

She looks sharply at him, and then comes forward again. Tilting her head she says, "But I would hear your question anyways."

It takes a moment for Loki to process her words. No barter? No exchange? When do gifts ever come freely?

"Tell me," she says. And again she is very close, too close for decorum, and again it is a fact that hovers at the edge of his consciousness, something that should strike him as uncomfortable and off, but the feeling of her proximity is completely different. It's like a warm fire.

He closes his eyes. He sees Valli and Nari as children, with Helen -- who he also lost. He cannot think them lost, too -- or Sigyn, gone like his Aggie. "My sons, my ex-wife, Sigyn, I want to know where they are, " he says softly. She draws back, just a bit. Maybe he isn't speaking softly, maybe it just sounds faint over the angry pounding of his own heart.

"I don't know," she says, her gaze firm on his. "I cannot see everything. I am sorry."

She's not lying...and yet...

His next breath is too hard and too loud. He wants to turn away, but doesn't think he can. Valli and Nari's faces and the blackness of space flash before him. His sons...his beautiful sons.

The elf queen takes his arm, and that act of comfort is scandalous, ridiculous, coming from a queen. Not that he hasn't gotten women far above his station to do things far more scandalous -- but not without trying.

"Come sit down," she says pulling him towards the chairs in the other room.

"I should go," he says. He doesn't know where.

"Odin does not know you're here," she says.

That is pure truth.

He lets himself be led and sinks down into the chair. She doesn't move away. Rubbing a hand on his shoulder she says, "Loki, Loki, Loki," as though practicing the word. Her touch is oddly familiar.

Almost unconsciously he takes her hand in his and she comes around so that she stands just to the side of him, very close. She leans down so their eyes are level; locks of her black hair fall down over her shoulders. "If I cannot give you the knowledge you need, at least let me give you comfort," she says, her face close to his.

When Loki jested with the human girl earlier about the elf queen taking advantage of his silver tongue, it had been just that, a jest, and nothing more. The queen was not known to take lovers casually, if at all. Even Baldur had tried and failed.

And yet...Loki looks at the pale skin where her neck meets the junction of her shoulders. He has the feeling that if he ghosts his lips there he knows exactly what sound she'll make. He looks at her lips and thinks he knows exactly how they will taste.

He pulls her closer and she doesn't resist. When he kisses her it isn't like a first kiss, laced with excitement and uncertainty. It's like comfort and homecoming. He needs those things.

And she tastes exactly as he thought she would.

Afterwards, when he feels a brief bit of peace, it feels natural to fall asleep with his arms draped around the elf woman he hasn't called anything less formal than "your Majesty." He dreams of a younger Alfheim, with a brighter, yellower sun, of gazing out the window of the palace at a mortal peasant man come to visit. The human smiles at Loki and it's warm, good humored and yet it fills him with dread.

His eyes snap open. He hears fast footfalls, and then the sting of sharp cold metal at his throat.

He looks up. The elf queen is there, holding his own blade against his neck with one hand, his book in the other.

This is not good.

* * *

THE DINING ROOM IS as grand as the other halls of the palace. More tapestries, another glowing orb in the ceiling, and a great table still piled high with food -- even though the diners are mostly done.

Amy sits back in her seat, pleasantly full. Near her feet Fenrir whines. Amy glances around. All eyes in the hall are trained on Beatrice, who is recounting the story of her life. Taking advantage of their lack of attention, Amy slips a piece of cheese to Fenrir.

The queen came into the hall a few hours ago. From a raised dais at the end of the table she bid Amy and her grandmother greetings in English nearly as perfect as Loki's, before addressing her own people and then taking her leave.

Amy was asked a few questions during the meal by Belladal, but Beatrice very quickly became the star of the show. Now Beatrice is telling the story of her life, how she was born to a formerly wealthy clothing merchant in the Ukraine. She has described her parents, her family and her friends in greater detail than Amy has ever heard. Amy is as enraptured as the elves are to hear previously unheard stories of her family's history. The tale is interrupted frequently by the elf man in blue translating for the rest of the table.

Beatrice comes to the part of how her family and friends were persecuted after the communists took power, and the elves hiss before the translation even starts. Startled, Beatrice, a few seats down and across the table, meets Amy's eyes. Next to Amy, Belladal says, "We know of these communists. Killers of kings, queens, lords and ladies...but not only just! Kill common people, too."

"Yes," says Beatrice nodding gravely at Belladal. "They caused a great famine."

"This we know not!" says the elf man. The whole hall goes silent, as though they are hanging breathlessly on Beatrice's words. When she finishes describing the Holodomor, the famine induced by Stalin that killed nearly 2.7 million people, the elf in blue begins to translate again. Amy notices he doesn't just address the people at the table, he also addresses the servants in the background.

For some reason it makes her stomach feel heavy.

At one point Belladal leans to Amy and whispers. "Your grandmother. So brave. Journey to lawless land no king. No queen. Much danger!"

Amy puts the crystal goblet in her hands down on the table. There is a sweet liquid within it -- she's pretty sure it's alcoholic and wishes she could just drink some water. She is the designated driver after all. "We do all right," she says to the elf woman.

Belladal's eyes go wide. "If you not saved by Frost Giant..." She shakes her head. "No king. No queen. Is...is...discord....chaos."

Amy scowls a little. "Well, no..." But Beatrice has begun to speak again and Belladal's head turns away. At Amy's feet Fenrir whimpers.

"I have to take her out," Amy whispers to Belladal.

Belladal looks like she is about to get up, but the servant elf Amy had spoken to briefly is by Amy's side at that instant. "Don't worry," says Amy. "I'll go with her."

Belladal nods and returns her gaze to Beatrice who has just begun her story of her voyage to America. Amy wishes she could stay for it, but part of her also wants to flee the hall as soon as possible.

The servant leads Amy and Fenrir out of the dining hall and Amy finds herself close to a place she remembers from earlier -- the restroom. There is a group of elves in drab garb with an orb like the ones that line the ceilings and hover in the sky. But this one is brown and murky. As Amy watches, they take the orb into the restroom.

Drawing to a stop, Amy tilts her head. "What are they doing?"

The elf woman next to her bites her lip. "The orb magic water...used up. They empty. They refill new magic water."

Amy's eyes widen. "Are they flushing it down the toilet?" Despite the quaintness of the elf architecture, they do have flush toilets, thankfully.

The elf woman bites her lip again. "Yes. But don't worry. Dark water goes down to delta. We get drinking water and fish up river."

Fenrir begins tugging at the leash, and the elf woman pulls Amy down the passageway. Amy follows obediently, but the image of the river churning brown and black towards the dark lands is heavy in her mind.

A few paces later, they are stepping out into the cool night air onto a path of worn stones. The green orbs hover in the air, and light blue fireflies dance around them.

"What is your name?" Amy asks.

"Dolinar," says the elf woman.

"Dolinar," says Amy. "Do elves live down river?"

For a moment there is just the sound of Fenrir's leash in the grass, and Dolinar's and Amy's footfalls. And then Dolinar says quietly, "Yes. But only thieves, murderers, traitors...and those who will not obey the life price."

The night air suddenly feels very chill. Clutching her arms to her chest, Amy says, "That's wrong. Even if it's criminals down river, poisoning them is still wrong."

Dolinar looks quickly to the palace, and then back to Amy. Pointed ears trembling, she whispers, "Yes, I think so, too."

They stare at one another a moment. It occurs to Amy that even dressed in plain servants' garb, Dolinar looks more noble than Amy ever will. Dolinar's hair is a deep walnut brown. Her eyes are hazel, and Amy is sure she sees light flickering in them. Her facial features are so delicate, and so perfect; her body is as small and poised as a ballet dancer.

Dolinar looks away from the palace and into the darkness. "My life mate works in stables. You say you are studying to be animal doctor. Want to see animals?"

Amy's eyes widen, and she starts walking into the darkness and direction of Dolinar's gaze. "Let's go!"

A few minutes later they are approaching a building that is at least four stories tall. Through narrow windows Amy sees the glow of green orbs. There is an enormous door at the front, but Dolinar leads her around to a small door in the back.

As soon as they enter the stables, Dolinar runs forward. Out of the shadows an elf man in drab pants and a simple shirt comes forward. His hair is long and blonde, his eyes are brown. He takes Dolinar in his arms and they begin speaking quickly in their own tongue.

It's touching, but Amy's eyes almost immediately go down the row of stalls. Her mouth opens. On one side of the stable are horses. On the other are hadrosaurs. The dinosaurs sit on their powerful hind limbs, their front limbs pulled up, and their beak-like snouts turned on their long necks and tucked against their bodies. They look like nothing so much as roosting birds.

Feet moving of their own accord, she approaches one of the sleeping dinosaur's enclosure. The creature untucks its neck, brings its large snout around and blinks yellow eyes. Between its eyes and its colorful, nearly iridescent scales, it looks like a giant parrot. A small gasp comes from Amy's lips.

"She gentle," comes a man's voice from behind her. He says something in elvish and then Dolinar says, "You may touch her, if you wish."

Amy doesn't have to be coaxed. She holds out a hand. The hadrosaur brings its snout forward and sniffs. Then walking forward on its large hind legs, it drops its snout and begins rubbing the side of its head against Amy's fingers. Up close, its scales are actually more like feathers, and they are soft as a chick's down. Amy bites back a laugh of pure wonderment. She doesn't doubt that the moment is real. She can smell the familiar smells of horses and straw, but there is also the smell of the hadrosaur, very akin to a bird. The animal is making soft huffing noises, and Amy catches the odor of its breath, warm and thick with the smell of half digested vegetation. It's wonderful. Magical.

Suddenly, everything that has happened -- her horrible sickening run-in with a psychopath, her fear, the horrible sensation that her life was just a dream, the elves Amy is beginning to suspect are charming fascists, Loki frightening her in the kitchen, and his terrible come-ons, it is all worth it. Even if she can't breathe a word of this moment to anyone except Beatrice; she will know it happened. The universe seems to be grinding along with such beautiful perfection, and Amy's part may be insignificant, but it is still wonderful.

She rubs the hadrosaur's head and finds a small opening. She smiles; it is the animal's ear. She scratches just behind it and the hadrosaur lets loose a deep, pleasant, lowing noise.

"She like you," says Dolinar.

Amy doesn't say anything. Just continues rubbing a few minutes more, feeling the exquisite, alien and yet familiar softness of the creature's scales. She can feel her pulse racing just from the sheer joy of it. This perfect moment, it is all Loki's fault, and that thought almost makes her laugh.

The hadrosaur abruptly pulls itself further upright, shakes its head, and then tucks its snout against its body again.

"Now go back to sleep," says man.

Smiling, Amy turns to them. "Thank you so much..." She blinks at them standing arm in arm. Her brain disconnects from the moment she's just experienced. Tilting her head at the lovely couple she says, "How come you speak English?"

Squeezing the man's hand, Dolinar steps forward. "We do not speak English. We use magic to translate. My life mate, Liddel, and I study magic in secret."

Face very serious, Liddel draws closer to Dolinar. "We would like to learn more magic. We are both hard workers and we were wondering..."

"We have to leave," Dolinar says quickly. Amy's eyes widen and she steps back.

Dolinar swallows. "We haven't paid the life price. "

Overwhelmed and confused, Amy says in a small voice, "Life price?"

"I am pregnant," says Dolinar and Amy's eyes flash between the two elves. "But no one in family has died so it is not allowed. Balance of elves and other creatures will be disrupted...."

Charming fascists indeed! "They aren't going to kill your baby?" Amy gasps.

Dolinar and Liddel blink at her. "No," says Liddel. "They will take him away."

"Oh," says Amy. That is better -- but not by much.

"Fjolnir," says Dolinar. "The Frost Giant you came with, we see his magic, he is very powerful...maybe more powerful than queen."

"Would he take us as apprentices?" says Liddel. "Just me for now, but later..."

From outside there come loud shouts and the sound of horns. Liddel's eyes widen. "It is the royal messengers. They may be angered if they know I've let you both into Queen's stables. Hide!"

Dolinar takes Amy's hand and pulls her and Fenrir towards a hadrosaur stall. She opens the latch with trembling hands as Liddel walks to the main door, shouting something. Amy, Fenrir and Dolinar swing into the stall next to an oblivious hadrosaur, and Dolinar shuts the stall door just as the main door of the stables swings open, and green orbs float in above.

There is much shouting and whinnying of horses. Amy scoops Fenrir up and wraps her hand around her dog's muzzle before she can bark. Wiggling in her arms, Fenrir makes muffled yipping noises anyway.

Outside the stall door, someone says something that sounds like a question. Amy hears Liddel responding. The stall door rattles.

Turning towards Fenrir, eyes wide, Dolinar points a finger at the dog's mouth just as her muzzle slips through Amy's fingers. Fenrir opens her mouth, the stall door rattles again, and Amy's heart misses a beat. Her dog's jaws open and shut, Amy can see her tiny lungs heave...but then no sound comes out. Amy looks at Dolinar...the elf woman's brow looks damp and she brings a finger to her lips.

Fenrir blinks and starts rubbing her muzzle.

The door of the stall shakes, and then someone says something, and Amy hears footsteps going away. Heart pounding in her ears, she lets out a breath and settles into the shadow of the hadrosaur, still sleeping peacefully.

Amy's not sure how long it is before the elves leave the stable; it feels like an eternity. She hears the sound of livery being readied, and hooves marching out into the night. At last, the stall door swings open, and Liddel's form appears. Looking perplexed, he says, "The messenger and an armed escort is going to the World Gate. It's strange so late in the evening."

"World Gate?" says Amy. "World Gate to where?"

The elves turn to her and look at her as though she has asked a silly question. "To Asgard."

Amy's heart leaps to her throat. "I have to get my grandmother...I have to get my car..." She runs forward and takes Dolinar's hands. "I don't know if Loki needs an apprentice, but I'm sure he'll let you come with us."

"Loki?" say Dolinar and Liddel in unison.

Amy puts her hand to her mouth. The one thing she wasn't supposed to do and she's done it!

The elves look at each other and whisper back and forth in their own language. Liddel puts a hand on Amy's shoulder. "We thank you for your kindness. Perhaps it would be better for you if you come with us to the Dark Lands."

Amy looks between them. Their eyes are wide and sincere.

"No, no, he's really not that bad," Amy says. "He saved my life...and he's kind, a little pervy, ...but..."

The elves exchange glances.

"Please don't tell!" Amy says. "Just please don't tell."

Liddel's eyes narrow. "We will tell no one."

Narrowing her own eyes, Dolinar smiles slightly...and it's not a kind smile. "Let the queen deal with the breaker of worlds."

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# Chapter 9

Loki pulls his neck back instinctively from the sharp bite of his blade. He just needs a moment's distraction. He glances around the room. Perhaps if he set the curtains on fire...

Hissing, the elf queen steps forward and he feels the point nip at his skin again. His eyes return to the shining piece of steel.

"You should not be awake," she says. That answers a question at the back of his mind. She'd enchanted him. He searches for something pithy to say, but before he can open his mouth, she shakes the book and shouts, "My lover's book. You have it! Why?"

The book is Lothur's journal. Hoenir gave it to Loki centuries ago. Shocked by the question, Loki just stares at her dumbly. She wears only a dressing gown tied loosely at the waist. Her eyes are narrow and too wet, her mouth open and slightly turned down. He tries to parse the emotions he is seeing: anger, sadness, disbelief.

"Can you read it!" she says, pricking the blade beneath his chin. He feels the warm ooze of a trickle of blood.

Loki scrambles backwards on his elbows, the sheet falling away from his bare chest. "Gala--," he starts to whisper.

"How do you know that name?" the elf queen shouts, sword shaking dangerously in her hands. "Only she knew that name!"

Loki blinks. How does he know it? Amy told him...but it's more than that. She lowers the blade a fraction. "Can you read the book?" she says her voice a low hiss.

Staring at the gleaming steel, he says, "Yes."

"Prove it!" she says, throwing the small, ancient volume towards him.

Loki's heart nearly stops as the book tumbles through the air and opens like a bird. Heedless of the blade, Loki throws up his hands and catches it as gently as he can. Glaring at her, he pulls it to his chest.

"Read," she says. Taking a step forward, she brings the blade to his neck again.

He blinks and looks down. The book has fallen open. It always opens to the same place; it's a passage Loki knows well. He makes a move to turn the page, but the elf queen says, "No, read that page. I know that page."

Loki looks up at her and then down at the book. He doesn't like reading this passage. There is something about it. It makes his heart fall and a lump form in his throat. He reads it anyway, maybe because of the sword in the queen's hand, or maybe because with it open in front of him, he can't turn away.

"And I have dreams of my love, who was not my love, but was. Her father said words low against me, so low that it caused her heart to flame."

Swallowing, Loki tries to banish the imagery that dances in his mind. The passage is too real. Not like a story, more like a memory.

"Keep going," says the elf queen.

With a deep breath, Loki reads. "And the flame of her heart spread to the utmost ends of her limbs. My love died in flames..."

There is a loud clang. The vision of flames in Loki's eyes vanishes. He looks up to see the elf queen has dropped the blade on the ground. She stands before him, her shoulders slouched, her face empty. "Only my lover, and Lothur, could read that book," she says.

Loki looks down at the pages. There was an entry at the very beginning where Lothur said he'd enchanted the volume to be readable by no one but himself. But Loki could read it; he'd always assumed that Lothur was a touch mad.

Suddenly very curious, Loki says, "But my lady, you have the Gift of Tongues. You must be able to read it."

Shaking her head and not meeting his eyes, she says, "No. No, I cannot." Swallowing, she meets his gaze, her eyes red, her ears trembling slightly. Despite the rude awakening, Loki has an inexplicable desire to go to her and comfort her.

He resists on principle. Tilting his head, he says, "This book was a gift. I did not steal it from..." he lets his words drift off.

"Loka," she says. "Loka...she died over 2,500 years ago. I betrayed her to Odin."

That is long before Loki's time, but he feels a ripple of anger on Loka's behalf. Loki shuts the book sharply.

The queen meets his eyes. Her jaw goes hard. "I sent the royal messengers to Asgard moments before you awoke." Turning quickly she says, "Gather your armor and meet me at the pool. We have only a little time to find your sons, and for you to make your escape."

Loki looks around the bedchamber at his blade lying on the floor and his armor strewn about like a jigsaw puzzle. Cursing, he rolls out of the bed, pulls on his breeches, and then yanks a sheet off the mattress. Spreading the sheet out, he tosses his armor onto it, then gathers it up by the corners, throws it over his back, and grabs his sword.

As he paces into the other room, he has half a mind to run the elf queen through with his blade. But she's standing over the pool. It's casting white light on her face, and the murderous thought is subverted by curiosity.

He goes to where she stands and looks into the water. Instead of their reflections he sees the front of Hoenir's hut, its door flung open to the night. Hoenir and Sigyn are standing there and Loki's eyes widen.

"This is a few days ago," says the queen.

There is a flash of light outside the hut, and there are Valli and Nari, falling to the ground and gasping for air. Loki squats to the floor in front of the pond and holds out his hand as though to touch them, his mouth falling open in hope and relief. In the pool, Hoenir and Sigyn run forward and pull Loki's boys into the hut. "They're alive," he says running a hand through his hair. "They're alive." He feels lighter. Like laughing aloud, like picking up the queen and spinning her around, faithless witch and betrayer though she may be.

The elf queen begins to chant. The scene begins to move too quickly, like a human film played too fast. Dawn glows on the horizon beyond the hut and Heimdall appears with armed guards. Valkyries swoop and land to encircle the small dwelling. Loki scowls as Odin walks onto the scene and stands just within the circle of guards, about ten paces from Hoenir's door. Loki can't hear the words, but he sees Odin's lips moving.

Heart beating too loud in his chest, Loki watches as Heimdall goes forward. He is accompanied by Skaddi, a Frost Giant like Loki and the self proclaimed "goddess of justice."

The Valkyries begin to raise their spears, lightning flashes on the scene, and all eyes turn. Thor appears. Guards fall back to let him pass. He goes and speaks quietly to Odin and Heimdall. Heimdall scowls and Thor walks forward, turns so his back is to the hut, and holds up his hammer.

Loki's mouth falls open. "He's protecting them. Thor is protecting them!"

The guards don't move, but Loki sees them scowl. Heimdall is saying something to Odin, and Loki can tell without hearing that the gatekeeper is shouting. Loki sees a few Valkyries pound their spears. He can see them shouting, too. Someone shoots a bolt of fire; it seems to go into the sky...

But then at the top of Hoenir's roof, there is a burst of flame. A swarm of butterfly snakes take to the air, birds with lizard heads take wing. New flames lick at the foundations; Loki doesn't know how they even got there.

Thor turns and tries to rush into the hut, but Heimdall and Odin hold him back.

Loki's eyes widen. "What is happening, what is happening!" Loki shouts. In the scene in the pool Thor holds up his arm, and Loki sees the sky darken. Thor's calling rain. Loki has never been so grateful he gave Thor the damned hammer.

The queen chants more quickly. The scene in the pool is smoky and obscure, but Loki sees the flames leap, even as the rain begins to fall. The flames surround the hut like a curtain. He can't make out doors, windows or chimney. Odin pounds Gungnir into the earth in front of the hut and leaves it there upright.

The scene is moving incredibly fast. It's early morning there in the pool...and the curtain of flames is falling. He sees the downpour is now a drizzle

Gungnir is gone...and Hoenir's hut is not there. Where the hut stood there is only charred ground.

Loki stares at the pool, not really seeing it. He feels as though a weight was briefly lifted from his body and then hurled down upon him. He puts his hands to his head, runs his fingers through his hair, scraping his nails against his scalp with such force it hurts.

As though from a great distance he hears the crackle of fire, and screaming -- his mind supplying the details of Valli , Nari, Hoenir, Mimir's and Sigyn's brutal ends?

And then another sound comes. Loud and insistent -- the sound of a car calling for its master. Loki blinks...Amy and Beatrice...he has an oath to keep to them.

He wants to stay, he wants to fight Odin and his legions -- not to win, to die. Helen, Aggie, now Valli, Nari, Sigyn, and even Mimir and Hoenir. He squeezes his eyes shut. It's because of him, somehow it is all because of him. Loki knows there is no afterlife, no Valhalla for the valiant, no Hel for the meek. And that is good, he wants the release of nothingness.

The car calls again -- it sounds so close, and the way its call echoes through the palace it sounds almost as though it is inside. Taking a sharp breath he opens his eyes. He doesn't break oaths.

That thought is the thread of strength that makes him stand up. He looks around. To one side is the receiving room he entered by last night, to the other side is the elf queen's bedroom, now in flames. She stands in front of him, haloed by the fire, her face calm. "Once again you leave me for a mortal," she says.

Loki has no time for her games. Narrowing his eyes he says, "How long do I have?"

"I will give you five minutes to leave the palace grounds before I send the guards after you. After that you're on your own."

Loki tilts his head. In the receiving chambers he hears the crackle of more flames.

"I cannot afford to let Odin think I allowed you to escape," says the queen.

"Of course not," Loki hisses. For a moment the air between them shimmers. Loki wants to see her smooth beautiful body burst into flames. But another part...another part of him feels sorrow, pity and guilt that he cannot understand.

The queen's face is as unworried as a Greek statue, and that's a shame. Such a beautiful face would be more beautiful with emotion on it -- even if the emotion were anger or hatred.

"You don't have time for this," the elf queen says. "Run."

Loki stares at her a heartbeat more. And then securing his makeshift pack over his shoulder, he backs away from her into the receiving room. The door to the secret passage is open, the covering tapestry nowhere in sight.

Loki runs.

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# Chapter 10

Maybe it won't be so bad if the elves alert Asgard, and presumably Odin, that Loki is in Alfheim. Maybe Odin will just take Loki, send Beatrice and Amy home, and be on his way.

Or maybe he'll leave Amy and Beatrice in Alfheim forever.

Amy swallows. The truth is, no matter what mercy Odin might grant to her and Beatrice, Amy's worried about Loki. Twisted and perverted as he may be, if it weren't for him she wouldn't be alive -- or have ever seen a hadrosaur.

Hands shaking, Amy drives up the road to the elf palace. The sky has turned overcast. There is no starlight, just the light of the green orbs that seem to be the elven version of street lights. A light drizzle is in the air. At the top of a staircase of long low stairs, four elf guards stand in front of the wide front door. As she gets closer, they cross their spears. It will take a long time for Beatrice to get down those stairs...and Amy still has to find her.

Biting her lip, Amy stares at the guards. And then she is struck by inspiration.

Pressing a button on her keychain, she lets the car alarm shriek. The guards visibly jump.

From the door the elf in black who had spoken to Loki emerges. "What going on?" he says.

Turning off the alarm and switching into 4 wheel drive, Amy sticks her head out the window. "My car, he wants to come in -- we hurt his feelings leaving him out all night and now he's worried about Fjolnir and Beatrice!" Hitting the gas, she edges to the stairs. Craning her head out the window, she adds, "Please, open the door! He'll be good if you just let him in and we find them."

The elf in black says something to the guards again. They eye the car warily but open the doors. The man in black runs inside.

Slipping back into the driver's seat, Amy puts her foot on the gas and bumps up the steps.

She hits the horn as soon as she gets into the foyer and then jumps out of the car. Pressing the alarm button again, she says, "Don't go near him! He might bite!" Then she runs around the car towards the dining hall and her mouth falls open.

The elf in black is leading four other elves who are carrying a large chair between them. On the chair slumped over asleep is Beatrice.

Looking visibly worried, the elf in black says, "She drink too much our mead. Beastly chariot not angry?"

Amy's mouth forms a small 'o'. "I think he'll be fine if we just put her inside and he can see she's alright."

Shaking his head, the elf in black says, "We not mean insult. Not know chariot have feelings."

Trying to keep a straight face, Amy says, "It's okay, I'm sure he'll understand..." She looks at her grandmother snoring softly. Maybe it's for the best she won't be awake. She has a feeling this will be a rough ride.

* * *

RUNNING DOWN THE STEPS of the secret passage, Loki has no idea how he'll manage to round-up Beatrice and Amy in time to escape the grounds in only a few minutes.

He bursts into the first private receiving chamber, still lit by fireflies. And then he hears it again. The car...it sounds so close. Could it be?

He runs through the door, down a passage, and around a corner, and his eyes go wide. The car is parked in the foyer of the palace. Some elves and Amy are securing Beatrice in the back seat.

"That's good," says Amy. "Get out, please. Don't make the car mad. He doesn't know you, thank you, that's good...now we need to find Fjolnir..."

She turns around and her eyes fall on him and go wide. "Lo -- Fjolnir!" The car gives a happy little chirp. "Car is so happy to see you!"

Loki blinks for a moment. She's lying; he can feel it.

Raising her voice above the murmuring of the crowd that is rapidly forming, she says, "Car wants to go home, so we have to go. Now." She hops into the driver's side, and motions to Loki to get into the passenger's side. He hurries to comply, throwing his sack of armor and sword on the floor of the back seat in front of Fenrir and a gently snoring Beatrice.

Before he's even closed the door, Amy's sticking her head out the window saying,"Thanks for everything, everyone!" The car starts to move and she says, "Oh, sorry! Car is anxious! Long, lonely night for him! Got to go!" She pulls all the way into the car, turns it around, and heads towards the door and the stairs. The car gives a few more happy beeps.

Loki stares at her, stunned. It was all lies. Brilliant lies, on her part and possibly Car's. How did she know?

"They sent messengers to Asgard, Loki," Amy says, as they bump down the front steps of the palace. "I'm not sure...but I thought maybe we should leave."

"Good thought," he says. He owes this girl more respect than he's given her.

A look of confusion crosses her face. "Where is your armor? Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

But in some ways...she is really so naive. Normally, he might make a joke, but he feels too empty. "Drive as fast as you can; we don't have much time."

Scowling at the wheel, she says, "Why? What happened? "

"Just drive," he says.

"Did you get your answers?" she asks.

"Just drive," he says. "Please!"

There must be something in his voice, because she hits the gas. It's still dark outside. There is the soft patter of rain on the car roof. Ahead, a long shadow is covering the gate of the palace. Loki's heart skips a beat. At his feet is the army knapsack. Reaching into it he pulls out a grenade.

"The gate!" Amy cries. "It's open but the vines are down. Can they hurt the car?"

Loki has no idea. Before he can say anything, the girl says, "Is that a grenade in your hand? Use it!"

The top window opens. Loki's not sure how, but he doesn't have to be told twice. "Stop Car!" he shouts.

The car screeches to a halt and he stands up in the rain. Blinking to clear his vision, he flings the grenade at the curtain of vines. Pulling back into the car, he pushes Amy down so they are both protected by the dash. There is a boom, the car shakes, but the window does not shatter. They both sit up to see a large hole in the curtain, but long tendrils are already snaking down to close it.

Hitting the gas without even being asked, Amy grumbles. "I don't want to be stuck here with these pointy-eared fascists!"

He looks at her for an instant. She is wearing clothing finer than she probably has ever worn or will ever wear again. Her hair is upswept, with crystal flowers woven into it. She looks radiant and beautiful, and if she stayed here the elves could help her remain so for a time...in her own realm she'll be doomed to fade and age so quickly. Yet she wants to leave. Part of him wants to smile at her, but he can't. His face feels frozen into a slight scowl and a frown. He has a lump in his throat that has nothing to do with her.

He hears a rumble of hooves and heavy feet behind them. "That will be the guards," he says. He looks up; the top window is already closed. He touches his wet face and looks at the pavement shining beneath the green orbs.

Amy's eyes go to the rear-view mirror. "What? Why are they following us? They seemed fine letting us go...maybe we should stop?"

Loki feels the car start to slow. "No, do not stop! It's a ruse -- the queen cannot let Odin think she let us go too easily."

The girl speeds up a little but her eyes dart to the mirror again. "They're closing in fast..." Turning her attention back to the road, she swallows. "I can't go much faster than them on the hairpin turns, especially since the road is wet."

"Go as fast as you can," Loki says, bracing himself as she makes a sharp turn.

"I am, I am!" Amy says, a frantic note in her voice. Car's wheels screech and Loki hears the shouts and hooves of the rapidly approaching cavalry.

He scowls. He needs to put on his armor, but their pursuers are catching up to them too fast. Reaching up, he taps the overhead window that now is closed. "Car, open up."

Amy looks at him, eyes wide. The window slides open, and Loki stands up.

"What are you doing?" Amy shouts, her voice just audible over the sound of the rain, the hoof beats of the elves' horses, and the lowing of the hadrosaurs.

Not responding, Loki turns to face their pursuers.

"Halt now!" one cries in the elf tongue. "By order of the All Father!"

They don't shoot at him, though some carry bows. Odin must want him alive -- he won't let that happen again.

Loki thinks of the brief flare of hope he had when he saw Valli and Nari in the pool disappearing into the hut, and then the cold realization just moments later when he saw the flames. Let the elves feel the hollow cold of his heart.

Car makes another sharp turn, and Loki is nearly thrown out. Righting himself, he focuses on the rain falling on his pursuers, and the water rivulets running down the cobblestone street. He sees the magic between the water and himself and he pulls on it, tugs at it, imagines the magic stilling the water, calming it, deep at the molecular level -- so the water's spinning hydrogen atoms lock together and crystals form on the ground and in the sky.

Horses scream and the hadrosaurs bellow in terror as the rain turns to snow, and the road behind Car turns to ice.

"What's going on?" says Amy.

Loki falls panting back through the open window.

"Ice...you turned the road to ice..." Amy says, eyes in the mirror.

Turning his head, Loki looks back. Where there had been at least a dozen elves on horseback before, and two hadrosaurs, now there are no dinosaur mounts, and only four horsemen are left -- but they are pulling out lances and looking very determined.

Rain is streaking in through the open roof.

Amy glances at him, eyes wide. "You probably broke the horses' legs."

"Not enough of them," Loki says, lip curling upward.

"You can't do that!" Amy says. "It's not the horses' faults!" She twists the wheel as they take another sharp turn.

He stares at her a moment in disbelief. And then his disbelief turns to rage, red and hot beneath his skin. "Fine," he says. "I won't use ice this time." He stands up again.

"What -- "

He can't hear the rest of what she says. He looks back at the horsemen in the rain. "Stop now, Loki!" one calls. "You'll never get through the main gate!"

Loki lets his rage loose in a scream. What he expects to happen, happens. Magic rips the water molecules apart into oxygen and hydrogen, and excites the hydrogen atoms to the point where they burst into flame. But it should have just been a little spark in the air before the horses' eyes. Instead a wall of flame forms between Car and the riders, as thick and as high as the flames that overcame Hoenir's hut.

Loki falls back into the car, his eyes wide. Amy is silent, but he sees her hands shaking.

He hardly feels as though he's exerted any energy at all. He looks over his shoulder. The flames still burn -- he can't see beyond them. Something is wrong. He's not that strong. "Gala..." he murmurs to himself. "It must have been the queen's doing."

"What?" says Amy.

"She wants to let me escape," Loki says almost to himself. "But needs it to look like an accident..."

The flames behind them make the window in front of them reflective for a brief moment. Loki catches sight of his face, slightly blue in the strange light. For an instant he is looking at his daughter Helen's face, or half her face. He shakes his head. Is he going mad with grief?

Car's wheels screech, and Loki's body bangs into the door as they make another sharp turn. And then they're at the marketplace. Car's horn lets out a loud alarm. Some elves part and run in front of them.

"Ummm..." says Amy. "If she wants us to escape, why'd she lock the front door?"

Looking at the closed doors of the heavy metal gate, Loki's heart falls. He doesn't know any trick to open it -- he can move small things with his mind, but this is too large, too heavy, and too fireproof. He looks down at the bag at his feet. There is one more grenade, but it won't be strong enough...his jaw tightens. He reaches into the bag, and says, "Car, open your top window again!" Loki doesn't remember when it even closed.

Hitting the brakes, Amy gives him a funny look. But the window opens. Standing up, Loki pulls the pin and hurls the last grenade. He pulls back into the car. Amy's already ducking. Loki presses himself down as far as he can, his chest pressing against Amy's back.

The blast goes off, and the car rattles. Loki and Amy both lift themselves up. The gate is closed.

"Oh," says Amy, her shoulders sagging.

Loki closes his eyes. "I won't be taken alive," he says. "Not this time. I'll fight to the death."

There is a loud creak.

He opens his eyes and blinks. There is a shimmer of magic the color of moonlight, and then the gate creaks again and swings open. In the open way stands the elf queen, or more likely an astral projection of her, considering she floats above the ground.

In her own language she says, "Be gone from my realm, and set no more of my people aflame -- or not only Odin will hunt you!"

Loki blinks. He didn't create that inferno...did he?

"What did she say?" Amy says, hunching over the wheel.

In front of them, the projection disappears. "She wishes us well and bids us be on our way," says Loki.

Amy puts her foot on the gas. "It sounded more like she was angry."

"Mmmm..." says Loki settling back into his seat. "Go quickly as you can. The armies of Asgard will be upon us quickly."

"Armies?" squeaks Amy, turning out onto the lane that will take them to the Border Road.

"Don't worry," Loki says. "I'm sure you'll be able to convince Odin that you were deceived by the God of Lies and he'll spare your lives."

Car's lights become even brighter and Amy speeds up. Her voice shaking, she says, "I would rather you not die either."

Loki looks over at her, his mouth still frozen in a frown, his brows still knit together. He brings destruction to everything he touches, and everyone he loves. He wants to die.

Amy casts a worried glance in his direction.

He cannot die now. He has an oath to keep.

Without a word he turns in his seat and begins to rummage through the makeshift sack for his armor. Beatrice is still asleep, but Fenrir eyes him curiously.

He's got his shirt on and is awkwardly attaching his breast plate when Amy turns onto the border road. She steps on the gas and they surge forward at what feels like dizzying speed. They're still in a relatively populous region; farmlands line the road on their left. They don't have to worry about dark elves just yet.

He tilts his head. Over the elf queen's lands, the sky is just starting to lighten.

He's sure it must be taking all of Amy's concentration to remain on the road, but then she begins to speak. "You were blue for a few moments when the fire started. Is that your natural color? I thought Frost Giants only turned blue when they were cold."

He freezes, his hands on the buckle of an arm guard. "I don't turn blue." He isn't Helen.

"You looked blue," says Amy.

"That was a trick of the light," Loki says, his voice coming out nearly a hiss. He doesn't have time for this inane chatter.

"You looked good blue. Not like in the movies with pointy teeth and a giant horny head," she says her words running together as though she's just speaking to hear herself speak. "More like -- "

"Be quiet," he snaps.

"I thought you weren't sensitive about your Frost Giant nature?"

"Frost Giants are not blue!" he says. "I should know. I've been one for more than 1,000 years!"

"Huh," says Amy.

"The forest is approaching," says Loki, turning his attention to the mail links that cover his right elbow. "If you hit anything or anyone just keep going."

"Just because the queen thinks the elves over there are bad doesn't mean they are!" says Amy, slowing down as they slip into the forest.

Looking up, Loki blinks at her, surprised how much of Alfheim politics she's managed to divine in such a short time. Ordering her isn't going to work. He sighs inwardly.

"No, they're not," he says quietly. "I've had dealings with Dark Elves before. But trust me, any Dark Elf that would choose to attack Car merely for transversing the border road isn't one you should stop for. Under any circumstances."

Amy swallows and her hands shake even more violently.

Loki turns back to his armor and curses. The plate that covers his upper left arm is completely missing. He grabs the piece for his forearm and attaches it best he can, without the anchor of the upper section.

It's only a few minutes later when a shadow seems to fall on the land in the East, and the wind and rain outside them pick up.

"Ummm..." says Amy.

"Thor," mutters Loki, narrowing his eyes. Is Thor Odin's puppet once again? Or is he here for some reason of his own? To beg forgiveness maybe? Not that Loki could give it.

A streak of lightning turns the realm bright as day.

"What are those shadows in the sky?" Amy says.

"Valkyries," Loki says, the word spitting out of his mouth. His mouth twists. "Not here to beg forgiveness after all."

"Forgiveness?" says Amy.

"We have a few minutes," says Loki twisting to reach into the backseat "Concentrate on the road," he says. "I need to eat something."

* * *

AMY IS TRYING TO CONCENTRATE on the road. Rain and wind are whipping through the sky. It might be her imagination, but both seem to be getting stronger.

She shivers. Her back is still damp from where Loki leaned over her as the grenades went off. Her eyes dart over to him. He's still wet, armor half on, stuffing peanut butter into his mouth with a spoon, a liter bottle of Coca Cola open in his lap. He hasn't spoken to her since grabbing some food. How can he be eating? Her own stomach is heavy with fear, and her mind is swimming with everything that's happened this evening: the elves, the hadrosaurs, and seeing Loki in a lovely robin's egg shade of blue. Trick of the light or not, it had been strange, lovely, and as magical as the fire, the ice, or his astral projections.

She takes a shaky breath. Loki says he's over 1,000 years old. She can't even imagine that.

Whoever's chasing them is likely just as old or older than him, possibly more powerful...

That's too much to think about. Taking a deep breath, she glances in the rearview mirror. Beatrice is thankfully still asleep. Fenrir is awake, her nose darting from side to side.

Amy looks at the clock on the dash. Fifteen minutes ago Loki said, "It's Thor." It feels like an eternity, and like only a heartbeat. Tightening her grip on the wheel she speeds up.

Lightning rips across the road just 50 yards in front of the car. A humanoid shadow is haloed in its light. Amy screams, hits the brakes, and tries to dodge it.

"Keep going!" Loki yells. His hand shoots to the wheel and holds it straight. Whoever it was hits the car and sinks below the hood. The car bumps sickeningly.

"Hit the gas!" Loki says.

But Amy's foot is on the brake. "No," she says. "We hit someone! We have to stop." Even if it is a criminal.

"He's fine!" Loki says, "Go!"

"No, I can't," Amy says.

Something bangs against the back window of the car. Amy turns and screams again. There is a huge mouth filled with sharp teeth attached to the flat plane of the back window. Fingers with suction cups are at its side.

She hears the sound of a thunk as Loki drops his bottle of cola.

"Drive!" shouts Loki twisting and crawling into the back.

Amy floors it. She looks in the rearview mirror. Loki obscures most of the view, but Amy can see the thing is still there. It doesn't seem to have eyes or nose...just that huge maw.

"Car, open the back window!" Loki says.

"What?" screams Amy.

"Just let Car do it!"

Amy hits the button at her left and the window begins to drop. Over the sound of the wind comes a horrible noise like lips smacking, and then there is a gurgling noise and an inhuman scream.

"Roll up the window!"

Amy doesn't have to be told twice. She raises the window, and Loki pulls back into the front seat, his sword in his hand, something dark and black at the point.

Another bolt of lightning rips across the road.

"Next time I'll just keep going," Amy says. "I'll just keep going."

Looking at the ceiling, Loki says, "There isn't going to be a next time. Thor and the Valkyries are almost upon us."

Amy bites her lips. "What do I do?"

"I'm going to try and make us invisible," Loki says, his voice very calm. "You'll still be able to hear everything...but you'll only be able to see things outside of Car, you won't even be able to see anything inside, not even yourself. I'll need you to keep driving though. Can you do that?"

Amy nods. "Yes...I think so." Not because she thinks she can, just because she doesn't like the idea of what may happen if she can't.

The words are hardly out of her mouth when everything in front and behind her starts to fade from view.

Her foot hits the brakes. She hears the sound of tires on pavement, the thump of rain on the roof, the engine. But she can't see the car, Beatrice, Loki, even herself...She takes a ragged breath.

Loki's voice comes from her right. "It's disorienting."

"Yes!" Amy shouts, maybe just to hear her own voice.

Loki's voice sounds tight. "You must keep driving."

"I can't see the dash, the steering wheel or the pedals!" Amy says.

"You don't even look at those," Loki says, his voice sharp.

That's true. Amy licks her lips, feels the sensation of her tongue, cool and wet against her skin. "I can't see myself...it's almost like I'm not here."

There is a moment of heavy silence. "How can I help?" Loki says, sounding like his voice is coming through gritted teeth.

"Would you touch me?" Amy asks before she's even thought about it, and she almost wants to bang her head on the invisible steering wheel for making the suggestion.

In a voice that is surprisingly clinical Loki says, "You're going to feel my hand on your thigh; it's the best place for me to touch you without obstructing your ability to drive."

Before she even has a chance to react, she feels his hand on her leg, large and warm, and as long as she doesn't look down, seemingly solid. And it does help; she's too grateful to worry about the implications of it. She puts her foot down on the gas and holds the steering wheel at 3 and 9 o'clock.

"Very good," Loki says, giving her leg a pat. It shouldn't be as encouraging as it is.

Amy nods and bites her lip. She's just getting to the point where she's feeling a little more comfortable when bright lights like lasers shoot down on the road and forest in front of them sending off sparks in every direction, lighting up weird hominid shadows as they do.

The shadows leap from the trees on the dark side of the forest. Amy screams again, puts her foot on the brake, and almost runs them off the road, but Loki's hand is suddenly on the wheel, holding it firm. "They're magical flares," he says. "They won't hurt us. Try to dodge them if you can, but keep us on the road!"

Shaking, Amy puts her foot back on the gas.

"They don't want us dead," Loki says as though the words are a revelation to himself. "They're just trying to flush us out."

Amy blinks. "The sparks will hit the car, and they'll see them bounce..."

"Exactly," says Loki, his hand on her leg again.

"I think I can do this." says Amy, speeding up. As long as she doesn't have to worry about the blasts killing them, she feels much better. Also, they're scaring the crazy shadow things away. And that's good.

Amy zigzags through the flares that are falling down on the road.

At one point she thinks they're going to roll over, but a few minutes later, the road ahead of them is clear. She looks in the rearview mirror, all the flares are bursting on the road behind them.

Loki pats her lap. "Well done."

Her heart is in her ears, and she's panting, but she laughs aloud. "We did it!"

The words are barely out of her mouth when she hears a loud clang. Sparks cascade over her head and down the sides of the car like a waterfall. "Uh-oh," she says.

"Drive!" says Loki.

Amy floors the pedal, but up ahead and behind them shapes are falling from the sky. Another flare is fired directly towards them from in front; it explodes on the windshield, and suddenly the car and everything inside is visible again -- but Amy can't see the road at all. She puts her foot on the brakes, gently this time so they don't skid.

She looks to her side. Loki is next to her. His face has a sheen to it, his mouth is open, and she notices he's breathing heavily. He's not looking at her. His eyes are focused on the road ahead of them.

Amy follows his gaze. About 100 yards ahead of them are women carrying spears, standing around an enormous man in front of a chariot without a horse. In the enormous man's hands there is a hammer that is glowing with the pale blue white of lightning.

Loki takes a deep breath, and his voice comes out low, malevolent, but tinged with something desperate. "It is the mighty Thor."

Uh-oh.

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# Chapter 11

"What do I do?" says the girl.

Loki stares at Thor in front of his golden chariot. Valkyries stand beside Thor and are blocking the road behind Car. More are alighting along the sides of the road.

"Drive forward," he says. "Slowly. When I tap the roof, stop." Knocking at the top window, he says, "Car, open up."

"You know..." the girl begins to say.

"What?" he snaps, not bothering to look at her.

"It can wait," she says, gripping Car's door as the window above slides open.

Loki stands up. Heavy but sparse drops of rain fall on him. He can see trees waving madly in the distance, but around him the air is nearly still. They are in the eye of the storm.

Around Car, Valkyries raise their spears, but they do not fire. In front of him, Thor stands up straighter. His eyes meet Loki's, then go over Car, before coming back to meet Loki's gaze again.

Neither Loki nor Thor say anything. When Amy has brought Car within a few paces of Thor, Loki taps the roof. She obediently stops the vehicle.

"Well met," says Thor in the Asgard tongue.

Loki does not respond.

Thor licks his lips and looks distinctly uncomfortable. "I bring grave tidings -- "

"If you mean the fire that consumed Hoenir's hut, and all within, including Sigyn and my sons, I already know," Loki snaps.

Appearing genuinely hurt, Thor takes a step forward. "Loki, I did try -- "

"To save them," Loki says sharply. His body sags and he looks away. "Yes, I know that, too." It occurs to him how devious it was for Odin to send Thor on this particular outing. Thor is possibly the only Asgardian Loki will hear out at this point. And Thor does have something to say; if he didn't, Loki would be dead by now.

It's uncomfortable standing half in Car, half out. Loki's legs are at odd angles, so he slips onto the roof and sits there, legs dangling into the inside of Car below. The roof buckles a little at his weight, Amy gasps, and Fenrir yips, but Loki ignores them. "Spit it out, Thor. What do you want?"

Thor straightens. He takes a deep breath and appears almost to go a little green, as though he has just been asked to eat something extremely distasteful. "I have been sent...to beg you to return."

Loki stares at him for several long heartbeats. Then he bursts out laughing. The sound seems brittle and hard even to him. Waving at the Valkyries, Loki says, "You came to beg me...at spear point?"

Thor doesn't back down. Raising an eyebrow, he smiles slightly. "It would seem I needed their help to find you."

Loki sighs. Once he might have warmed to that; now he feels only emptiness. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Thor."

The slight smile on Thor's face vanishes. "Nonetheless, everything I say is true. Loki, my father needs you to come home. "

Loki's lip curls into a sneer. "And he would have the gall to ask me after killing Hoenir, Mimir, Sigyn and my boys!"

Scowling, Thor takes a step forward. "It wasn't like that! The fire -- "

"Wouldn't have happened if he hadn't tried to execute my sons!"

"Let me finish!" Thor's voice rips so loudly through the darkness of the stormy dawn that Car reverberates. Lifting his hammer, Thor shouts, "My father tried to stop the flames -- but even Gungnir couldn't halt them. Something is growing in the nine realms, something that is twisting magic and time and will pull the World Tree asunder." Thor swings his hammer for emphasis and a stray bit of lightning sprays off into the trees. There is a loud crack, and a small scream from Amy. The Valkyries shift on their feet.

Stepping back with one foot, Thor's face contorts into something like disbelief or revulsion. "My father believes only you can stop it." Loki crosses his arms. Of course Thor would feel ashamed if there was some threat to the realms he couldn't resolve with a few pounds of his hammer.

Not that Loki believes this little story. "Would saving the realms involve me remaining in a cave doused in snake venom for a few centuries?"

"It isn't like that!" Thor says. "You will be absolved of all wrongdoing in this matter. This is the truth!"

Absolved? As though he was the one who needs absolution. His sons, Sigyn, Mimir and Hoenir are dead. Loki grits his teeth and feels his eyes get hot. Thinking about them all gone -- his body feels hollow, as though he is an empty shell.

He takes a deep breath and pulls himself back into the moment. Absolution is a farce. As soon as Loki returns to Asgard, there will be some dire punishment, and this time there will be no Sigyn to tend to him. Loki rolls his eyes at Thor's naivete. When will Thor realize Odin is as capable at lying as Loki, perhaps more so? Anything to "protect" the realms, or rather, his own power.

"Lovely," says Loki, tapping his fingers on Car's roof. "But I'm afraid I have to refuse." Shrugging, he points down at Car and says, "I have some mortals I have sworn to return to their own realm. You know I always keep my oaths."

Thor scowls. "Father said that you could slip between the realms..." He walks around the car towards the driver's side -- as he does so, the Valkyries raise their spears a bit higher. Loki scowls at them and then turns his attention to Thor. Odin's son is now peeking in the driver's side window. Thor smiles and waggles a finger at Amy as one might waggle a finger at a pretty bird in a cage. In the back seat Fenrir growls warningly.

Looking up, Thor raises his eyebrows and says brightly, "She is a pretty thing, Loki. And just your type." Raising one hand to his chest, Thor makes groping motions with his fingers in what is probably a universal symbol for large breasts. "I suppose the old woman in the back is her kin. Convince them to come back to Asgard with you. Keep the girl as your plaything for a decade. When she withers she can remain your servant, a much better life than she'd have in her own realm."

Somewhere a Valkyrie's spear must fire accidentally because Loki sees a flare of orange flame in the periphery of his vision. His sons are dead. As are his ex-wife and two best friends. Thor dares talk of playthings? Loki is too furious to speak.

"What did he just say?" says Amy in English, her voice sounding indignant.

Loki looks down at her. She is staring hard out the window at Thor who is waggling his finger at her again and smiling like an idiot. It is probably innate contrariness that makes Loki translate. "Oh, he's just suggested I bring you home to Asgard and keep you as a plaything and servant. Perhaps you'd like to answer?"

Eyes going wide, Amy's brows draw together and she springs up through the window in the roof between Loki's knees. Facing Thor she says, "You can tell the God of Blunder he can take that idea and shove it up his great big Viking butt!"

Loki blinks. Well, that was absolutely priceless. The corners of his lips pull up.

Thor's face goes completely red, his lips curve into something between a frown and a grimace, and his brows draw into one line. The hand holding his hammer starts to tremble.

"Actually," Loki says, keeping his gaze fixed on Thor, "Thor understands English well enough."

"Oh," says Amy, sounding not at all brave. Putting a hand gently on her head, Loki pushes her back into the car.

Thor is breathing deeply, but Loki nor Car nor the girl are dead. Odin must want Loki very badly.

In English, Thor says very slowly, "You can tell your whore that my orders are to bring you back to Asgard alive. Father will not care about her puny little mortal life."

Head darting out of the car again, in a voice that is plaintive rather than angry, Amy says, "I am not a whore!"

Putting his hand on her head not so gently this time, Loki pushes her back inside. With a smirk he says, "She has my oath of protection. You'll have to kill me first."

With a bellow, Thor swings his hammer in empty air like a toddler having a tantrum. Something cracks in the distance, like lightning hitting tree branches. Loki smiles. He hears the Valkyries at the dark side of the forest give angry cries.

In Car, Amy starts pulling at his leg. "Loki!" she whispers.

"Not now!" he snaps down at her.

In the distance he hears more cracking in rapid succession. Thor looks away. Someone shouts, "Dark Elves!"

"Loki!" says Amy.

He scowls at her. But she gives a ferocious tug at his leg. Letting himself be tugged into Car, he finds his face just inches from hers. Her eyes are wide with fear -- and so help him he's about to make her more afraid with the words at the tip of his tongue. But before he can even breathe she says, "Do elves have automatic weapons? Because that sounds like automatic weapons."

Loki's eyes go wide. He looks towards the dark forest. Something hits the side of Car and there is the sharp clang of metal on metal. In the dark forest there are loud angry popping noises getting closer. Valkyries from the left side of the road are streaming past Car to the dark side. Car makes a sharp beep.

Turning back to Amy, he sees her hands are already at the wheel.

"That does sound like automatic weapons fire," he says. He hasn't heard it since World War II.

Amy hits the gas. Loki puts a hand on her leg and says, "I'm making us invisible again!"

From the backseat Beatrice says quietly, "Oh, the elves have fireworks." Loki looks back at her; her eyes are still closed. Everything around them begins to shimmer as his spell takes effect. He hears Thor yelling orders.

Loki looks at the shimmering Amy, now steering them around Thor's chariot. "How do you know what automatic weapons sound like?" he asks.

"I live in Chicago," she says, as though that is explanation.

Her shimmering form hunching over the wheel, Amy says, "Elves have guns?"

"No," says Loki. More gunshots go off, and the car shoots forward. "Not that I know of."

"Oh, what lovely fireworks," says Beatrice.

An explosion goes off in the distance behind them and something whizzes past. Amy jumps beneath his hand. Loki follows the whizzing shape with his eyes and turns his head. "That was just another flare."

He turns around. "Thor's broken off from the rest and is pursuing us!"

Car shoots forward.

* * *

IT'S LIKE A VIDEO GAME Amy tells herself. The flares aren't going to hurt them. No one dies if they get hit.

"Veer left," Loki says. Amy veers left and a bolt of blue shoots by the car. She's not sure how long she's been driving since the Valkyries were overtaken by dark elves. It seems like forever, but it's probably only a few minutes.

"We're almost at the gate," Loki says. "Slow down."

"How will you open it?" Amy says, putting a foot gently on the brake. "Will you have to get out of the car?"

"Of course I'll have to get out of the car," Loki snaps. "Stop here!"

Amy stops so quickly she bumps the steering wheel.

Loki's hand leaves her knee, and she is suspended in absolute nothingness.

"Car, open up the top hatch!" Loki says.

Amy doesn't try to argue with him. She just searches blindly for the button in the door's armrest. Another flare goes by. She hears what sounds like feet on the hood of the car, and then the only sound is the wind. She can feel rain coming in through the open sunroof and she shivers.

There is the sound of quick steps on the hood again, and then Loki's voice is very close to her ear. "Drive forward!"

Amy does. She sees the rainbow of the gateway again, and her body and the car come into view bathed in early morning light. Dark bricks surround her on either side and she smells garbage and urine and thinks that an alley has never smelled so sweet. She looks up. Loki is half on the hood, half on the roof. His head is above her, looking in the direction they came, a sword in his hand. Glancing in the rear view mirror she sees Beatrice sleeping, the seat behind her Grandmother just coming into view.

Amy smiles and breathes out a long breath of relief. The car is almost through when it suddenly jerks up and backwards, the back wheels seeming to leave the ground. Lines of light surround it on either side. Loki swears. Amy looks back in the window and sees a huge hulking Thor-like shadow seeming to emerge out of nothing behind her. It looks like he's pulling the car backwards by the bumper.

Loki scrambles across the roof towards the back of the car. Amy doesn't think. Shouting "Loki, hold on!" she throws the car into four wheel drive, then reverse, and hits the gas. There is a loud thud. Amy can't see the back of the car; it must still be in Alfheim. But she feels it when the back tires hit the ground and bounce. Heart suddenly very loud, Amy puts the car into first gear and pulls forward but meets resistance.

She looks back. Light flashes in a wide vertical circle behind the car. There is a loud clang, and Loki jumps down off the car and stands in the middle of the circle shouting something in a weird slavic-sounding language. His sword is gone, but in one hand he holds what looks like a tiny book. She thinks she sees Thor again, but then the circle collapses on itself and there's just Loki swaying on his feet.

Turning, with wavering steps he comes around the car. Amy hears the scrape of metal on pavement, and then Loki climbs into the passenger side, sword in his hand.

Beatrice is rubbing her eyes. Fenrir is standing on top of her, looking out the backseat. There is no Thor, but the last six inches of the rear of the car is just gone.

Closing the door and hanging his head, Loki says softly, "Will Car be alright?"

Amy looks back at the missing rear end, and over at Loki. "You know...it's just a machine."

Loki turns his head to look at her. "How can you say that?"

Feeling like a heel, she turns to the steering wheel. Her hands are shaking so much she doesn't really want to go anywhere for a few minutes.

"Dude!" comes a loud voice from outside the car.

Raising her eyes, she sees three guys with spiky hair in hipster clothing standing directly in front of them in the alley. Their mouths are open. The middle one's got a bottle of something in his hands. It falls to the ground and lands with a crash.

Somewhere a police siren wails.

Swallowing, Amy revs the engine a bit. The hipsters move to the side. She pulls out into the alley and heads home. Thankfully, they don't run into any police. She's sure driving with a hole in the back of your car is some sort of moving violation.

Loki says nothing the entire way. He just slouches over in the seat, his breathing ragged and uneven as though he's extremely tired or might weep.

It's still mostly dark out when she backs into the garage, and she doesn't see any neighbors about. Beatrice says, "Oh, my, are we home already?"

Before Amy's even parked, Loki jumps out of his seat and walks out of the garage.

"I'll be right back, Grandma!" Amy says, following him.

She catches him just a few feet outside of the garage. "Loki," she says putting a hand on his left arm that doesn't have any armor on it. He stops but doesn't look at her.

Jaw tight he says, "I think you should know, I have tangled the branch of the world tree we came through. Neither Odin or Heimdall will be able to follow it and find you -- " He stops, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and disappears. For an instant Amy feels him beneath her hand, warm and solid, but then that's gone, too.

Fenrir barks in the garage. Amy just stands staring in the empty alley, feeling hollow and empty.

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# Chapter 12

It's nearly 9:00 PM, three days after Loki disappeared. Amy is just coming home from a shift as vet tech at a clinic up on the North Side. She only gets about eight hours a week from the clinic, and she has managed to get another four as a hostess at a restaurant, but jobs are surprisingly hard to come by this summer.

As Amy climbs the stairs with Fenrir scampering at her feet, she sees Beatrice's door ajar, the light on. She peeks in. Beatrice is sitting on her bed. The dress from Alfheim is hanging on her closet door. It still glows.

Beatrice must hear her because she turns to Amy, a little girl smile on her face. "Would it be wrong to put on our dresses occasionally and throw tea parties?"

Amy blinks, feeling her eyes get wet. Beatrice's memories of Alfheim are only good. Despite Amy's decidedly more mixed experience, she understands what Beatrice means. "I'd be happy to join you for tea," Amy says.

Beatrice sighs and relaxes. "I'm not just going senile. It was real, it really happened!"

Amy stares at the dress.

Beatrice sighs. "Still no sign of Loki. He left his sword." She turns to Amy. "That must be a sign he will come back?"

Amy bites her lip. She is worried it might be a sign of something worse, something self-destructive. "I hope so," she says. Loki in some ways reminds her of the worst frat-boy she's ever met, except with magic. But there is a part of her that believes he's good, and noble even. She remembers the way he stood up to Thor when that big overgrown oaf suggested keeping her as a pet. And Loki did save her from Malson. And then the way he danced with Beatrice... She swallows. Hopefully he's out there, and okay.

Amy looks at Beatrice's beautiful dress and then down at her slightly stained blue scrubs. Suddenly realizing how much she smells like ill cats and dogs, she says, "I'm going to go take a shower."

Beatrice nods.

When Amy comes out of the shower, Beatrice's light is off. With Fenrir by her side, Amy curls up in her own bed and tries to read a book. She's exhausted, but she's still having trouble sleeping. After an hour or so, she turns off her light. She lies in the dark gazing at the ceiling for far too long, but she must eventually drift off because she lifts her head at one point and Fenrir says in a deep masculine voice, "Amy, get up."

Amy stares at her little dog. Fenrir is lying down at her feet, her ears cocked, seemingly staring at a point at the end of her nose.

Amy blinks. It must be a dream -- if Fenrir spoke it would be with a girl's voice. At least I'm sleeping, she thinks. With that sleep-induced logic at the forefront of her mind, she lies back down and closes her eyes.

"Ahem!"

Amy opens her eyes. Where her little Fenrir was lying at the end of her bed, there is now a giant wolf sitting on its haunches.

Amy screams, scrambles backwards, and hits the backboard of her bed so hard her head bounces. She tries to jump out of her bed, catches her feet on the sheets, and promptly falls flat on the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry," says the wolf in a voice that is still masculine, but also familiar...and slightly slurred.

Amy turns her head. "Loki?" she asks cautiously.

The wolf raises a paw to its mouth and snickers. Putting the paw down, it says in a loud voice, "I am the spirit of Fenrir!" Letting loose a howl, it lies down on the bed, rolls over on its back, and closes its eyes. From tail to nose it completely fills the bed. Amy's mouth opens, and the real Fenrir runs over and starts barking at the wolf.

From the door comes a knock. "Amy?"

"It's alright, Grandma. I think it's just...Fenrir."

The wolf blinks its eyes open. "Actually, you were right the first time. Sort of. I think I'm more Loki's subconscious."

"Loki's subconscious?" says Amy.

"Loki's subconscious?" says Beatrice through the door.

Rolling on its stomach, the wolf says, "Yes, that tiny, tiny, little part of him that doesn't want to drown in his own vomit in your backyard."

Amy springs up and opens her bedroom door. "Grandma," she says. "I think Loki is in the backyard."

Beatrice looks past Amy and says, "Who were you talking to?"

"The wolf."

"Wolf?" says Beatrice.

Amy looks back. The bed is empty.

"Never mind," she says, turning and running down the hall. She hears Beatrice following more slowly behind her.

A few moments later Amy throws open the kitchen door. Sure enough there is Loki sprawled out on the lawn on his back, an arm thrown over his eyes, his attire flickering from armor to street clothes and back again. She sees something wet glistening on his chin and winces. Magical frat boy indeed.

Behind her she hears Beatrice tsk-tsk. Her grandmother walks right by Amy and out onto the lawn. As she goes over to Loki, a light in the neighbor's house goes on. A window opens and said neighbor, Harry, a sixty five-ish year old man who's lived there forever, says, "Beatrice, I saw that bum pissing in your bushes! Want me to call the cops?"

Amy sags. Whatever hope she had for nobility in Loki is flushed down the drain. Or peed into the hedge.

"No, no, no! That's alright, Harry!" Beatrice shouts. "We know him."

"What's that he's wearing?" Harry shouts. Several other lights down the block go on.

Beatrice taps Loki with a foot, then looks up at Harry again. "Clothes, Harry! Clothes!"

Loki begins to cough.

"Amy!" Beatrice says. "Help me roll him over!"

Startled out of her reverie, Amy runs out and helps Beatrice roll Loki onto his side. He smells like a wino, and up close she can see he hasn't shaven, probably since Alfheim.

"Ugh," says Amy.

Beatrice turns her head and winces.

Fenrir, Amy's Fenrir, moves closer and licks his face. Which is probably a testament to just how disgusting whatever is on his chin is.

"Eww..." says Amy.

Beatrice puts a hand over her nose and her mouth and kicks Loki in the ribs with surprising force.

Loki's eyes flutter but don't open.

"Get in the house, Loki!" Beatrice says.

"Grandma," Amy says, "I don't think that's going to work."

Beatrice kicks him again. To Amy's surprise, Loki rolls over onto his stomach and pulls himself up onto his feet, but he tips dangerously.

"You get under that arm," says Beatrice resolutely. "I'll get under this one."

Together they manage to get Loki across the lawn and up the stoop. They've just stepped into the kitchen and Amy's head is bent over when Beatrice screams and drops the arm she's holding.

Loki falls to the side and crashes on the floor. Amy looks up and there is wolf Fenrir sitting in front of the kitchen sink.

Grabbing her grandmother, Amy narrows her eyes. "Couldn't you have just made yourself look like yourself!"

"That would be needlessly straightforward," says the wolf.

"Wha -- wha -- wha -" says Beatrice.

"It's alright, Grandma," Amy says, patting her back. "It's just Loki's subconscious."

Tilting its head, the wolf says, "Shouldn't you move him to the couch?"

Amy looks down at Loki lying on his side on the floor in a semi-fetal position.

"Should we, Grandma?"

Eyeing the wolf carefully, Beatrice says shakily, "No, it'll be easier to clean up if he throws up here."

The wolf puts back its ears, bobs its head, thumps its tail and opens its eyes wide.

"No," says Beatrice, the self-assuredness back in her voice.

Straightening, the wolf sighs. "It was worth a try."

The real Loki mutters in his sleep.

Wincing, Amy says, "What happened?"

"He went on a three day bender," says Beatrice, her voice very dry, a scowl settling on her features.

"Why?" says Amy, walking over to get a dish towel. The spittle or whatever it is on his chin is grossing her out.

"They killed his sons...and Hoenir, Mimir and Sigyn," the wolf says.

Amy looks up from where she is about to wipe Loki's face.

She looks over at Beatrice. The hard lines in her grandmother's brow have softened.

The wolf settles down on the floor with a whimper. "Gone now like Aggie and Helen."

"Helen?" says Amy.

The wolf stares at Loki, his voice far off. "You know her as Hel."

"And Aggie..." says Beatrice. "Angrboða?"

Turning its eyes to Beatrice, the wolf snarls. "Her name was Anganboða, bringer of joy! Do not call her by the name Baldur gave!"

Beatrice puts her hand to her mouth and steps back.

Snarling, the wolf says. "Baldur destroyed her! Called her a troll and a witch. Even Odin spoke ill against her." The wolf's voice takes on a sing-song quality. "Because no one would ever gainsay the words of Baldur the Brave."

And then dropping its head down, the wolf that is maybe a figment of Loki's imagination puts its paws over his nose. "She saw Baldur for what he was. What she saw in Loki..." The wolf whimpers.

* * *

THE GREAT HALL OF ODIN'S palace is filled with golden firelight and the buzz of conversation. Loki stands just to the right of the thrones of Odin, Frigga and crown prince Baldur.

Loki's lips were released from the dwarf wire just a month ago, and he isn't quite healed. Small circles of white scar tissue dot his upper lip and chin. As proficient as he is with magic, the wire itself was magical; the scars are slow to heal and difficult to cover with an illusion.

Odin has commanded he be here. Asgard is receiving King Frosthyrr from Jotunheim, land of the Frost Giants. Loki has never been to Jotunheim -- not since Odin rescued him as an infant during a campaign, anyway. He doesn't know Jotunn customs, and the scars on his lips don't speak well of his treatment in Asgard. He has no idea what his presence is supposed to accomplish.

Now as they wait for their guests to enter, Loki scans the hall. He catches Thor's eyes. Thor smiles with too many teeth and raises his hammer. Loki looks away.

He sees Sigyn in a distant corner and looks away again. Hoenir is standing near her in the shadows. Mimir is with him. For the occasion Mimir has been mounted on the end of a long staff. Loki contains a wince. Mimir loves being on the staff point. It gives him a better view. It also is a quite gruesome sight to the uninitiated. Loki wonders how Hoenir convinced Odin to allow it.

Catching his gaze, Mimir smiles brightly at Loki and lifts his eyebrows. It's a Mimir rendition of a wave. Loki nods in his direction.

Horns announce the Jotunn's arrival, and the hall goes quiet. Great double doors opposite the thrones open up and the Jotunn delegation marches in. King Frosthyrr is just one of many kings of Jotunheim squabbling for control of that realm. The civil wars on Jotunheim have given Frost Giants a reputation for primitive savagery, but you would not know it from looking at King Frosthyrr or the lords and ladies accompanying him. Their armor and clothing are fine, their bearing regal. But whereas Odin's palace is bathed in warm colors -- oranges, reds and golds -- the Frost Giants wear whites, silvers and blues. The giantesses wear jewelry of cool crystal. Like Loki, to a one they are pale, their skin almost translucent.

At the head of the procession marches King Frosthyrr with his daughter, Princess Jarnsaxa. Odin has instructed Baldur to pay special attention to the princess. Loki notices with some disappointment that she is actually quite lovely. Her pale cheeks are rosy, her eyes blue and sparkling beneath dark blonde locks. She is smiling perhaps more than a princess should, but overall...Loki sighs. Why does Baldur always get the pleasant tasks?

He looks over at the crown prince. To his surprise, Baldur's eyes are riveted at the far end of the procession. Loki blinks, and then he sees what has caught Baldur's attention. A giantess stands there, her attire somewhat more modest than her companions. She has the darkest hair Loki has ever seen, falling behind her shoulders like a black curtain. Her features are delicate and fine except for wide generous lips. Tall, and voluptuous without being fat, her bearing is as regal as a queen's.

She is the most beautiful woman Loki has ever seen; and next to her, Princess Jarnsaxa is only plain.

He shifts on his feet and finds her eyes on his. Her gaze quickly drops and wanders over the royal family beside him, and then it comes back to Loki. She smiles slightly as though they are sharing some secret joke, and then the man standing next to her whispers something in her ear and she frowns and looks away.

Loki stands transfixed for a moment, Odin's words to King Frosthyrr are an unintelligible murmur at the edge of his consciousness. He looks to the crown prince. Baldur's eyes are still riveted on the giantess.

If she has the attention of the golden prince, she is a lost cause. Loki looks away, but over the next few hours his eyes keep going back to her.

Much later in the evening, after the feasting is mostly done and the festivities are turning to dancing, Loki eyes are still wandering to the giantess. He's learned her name is Anganboða. She is unmarried; the man she was speaking to earlier is her brother. Now she stands between said brother and Baldur. Loki scowls.

Thor's loud voice bellows over his shoulder. "What's wrong, Scar Lip? Won't anyone dance with you?"

Loki glares at Thor. "I simply have not asked anyone."

Thor's eyes sparkle and he smiles wickedly. "And you think anyone would give you that honor?"

Loki feels his blood go hot. Without thinking he says, "I bet you six months of your princely stipend that the very first individual I ask will be unable to refuse me."

Thor's smile drops. "If I win I get your stipend for same."

"Done," says Loki, smirking despite the fact he has no idea how he's going to pull this off. His eyes pass over the room. The only woman who might dance with him is Sigyn, but he recoils at that idea. And then he blinks, and recalling his wager, he turns and walks, nay nearly skips, over to Hoenir and Mimir. Bowing low before the staff that Mimir is mounted on, Loki says, "Mimir, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

Before Mimir can even respond, Loki pulls the staff from Hoenir's hands and starts moving towards the floor. Behind him Loki can hear Hoenir snort. At the top of the staff Mimir says loudly, "Well, it's not like I can refuse, is it?"

Across the room Loki sees Thor's face go red. Loki smiles with all his teeth and steps with Mimir into the line of dancers, twirling the staff as he does so. From the crowd he hears laughter and cries of "fool," but imagining what he'll do with six months of a princeling's allowance more than makes up for it.

"I say, Loki," says Mimir. "This actually isn't half bad. I can see so much this way. Spin me again!"

Now that Loki's technically fulfilled the requirements of his wager he could quit, but seeing Thor's furious glare across the hall is just too priceless to let go. He dances with Mimir, spins him, dips him, catches the staff on his foot, and tips it back up into his hands.

"I say," says Mimir, "dip me again! I didn't realize the frescoes on the ceiling had changed. I miss being able to bend my neck..."

Loki grins, even though the hall is filling with raucous laughter at his expense. The music gets louder and faster. The torches start to flicker madly, the fires in their pits send sparks shooting up into the air, and then the laughter takes on a nervous edge and someone screams.

"Or maybe we should stop," says Mimir.

The music is slowing anyway. Loki tilts Mimir back for a final, proper dip and as he bows, Mimir's staff in hand, he hears curses and shouts, but above it all the sound of one set of hands clapping.

Loki looks up and there is Anganboða not two paces away, clapping happily. "Well done!" she says, smiling at him. He does not smile back. She is so beautiful and so close. He wants to go to her, to smile in return, but she has the eye of Baldur and he knows who will win in such a contest. The effort it takes to stifle his natural impulses makes his lips twist into a frown; his body flushes with heat and rage.

Screams rise in the hall. Anganboða turns, and Loki follows her gaze. Sparks of fire are jumping madly from candles and the fire pits. Loki's mouth opens in surprise, and his rage cools a bit just as the sparks subside.

"Oh, dear," says Mimir.

Baldur and Anganboða's brother are suddenly at her side, steering her away.

Loki watches them go, his face a mask of indifference. And then beside him he hears Odin's voice. "I grow weary of playing politics. I need a drink. Come with us, Loki."

Loki turns and there is Hoenir and Odin. A drink sounds like a very good idea.

Away from the party, in Odin's own rooms, one drink turns into a few. Loki manages to lose all the money he won from Thor in a wager over a chess game while he is only slightly drunk.

...and then he proceeds to win it all back -- and a rather nice guest house thrown in for good measure, while he is incredibly, mind-bendingly drunk during a second chess match.

His head is lying on the board and he hears Mimir nagging with Odin somewhere far, far, far, off in the distance. "It's your fault! You should never have played him while he was so drunk. You had to know with those odds he'd win! Now look, you're all drunk...Hoenir, don't animate the chess pieces! You know they'll squabble and cause all sorts of trouble -- and you haven't given them mouths! You've doomed them to die!"

Loki hears Odin guffaw and Hoenir snort. Loki manages to raise his head. The chess pieces are sliding at each other and not paying attention to the rules of the board at all. He drops his head again.

"Come on, Hoenir," says Mimir. "Let's take Loki home...you're less drunk than he is...Well then, heal yourself...I don't care if you don't want to be sober!"

Loki feels a hand slap his back, and then suddenly his head stops spinning and the world comes into focus. The chess pieces are knocking one another off the board, Odin has his hand on Hoenir's shoulder, and they're both laughing hysterically. Mimir's staff is propped against the wall. For his part, Mimir looks extremely put out.

Loki sits up and meets Odin's unblinking eye. Odin points his finger at him and laughs, "Ha! You get to be the responsible one for once! Take Hoenir home or I'll lift my eye patch and give you a fright!"

At that Hoenir snickers with such force he falls off his stool. The stool promptly hops backwards and begins to scamper around like a small dog.

"Loki, let's go before Hoenir animates something dangerous," Mimir mutters.

Suddenly noticing the wide array of weapons decorating the walls of Odin's private chamber, Loki gets off his chair and slides one of Hoenir's arms under his shoulder. With the other hand he grabs Mimir's staff. They leave Odin talking with the chess pieces, idly patting Hoenir's stool.

"Well, that was just like old times," Mimir says as they make their way down a long hallway past Odin's guard. Loki can't be bothered to respond. Hoenir is heavy. Also, Loki is watching for signs that he will throw up.

Loki decides to cut through the guest wing of the palace. There is a servants' corridor and exit that will let them out closer to Hoenir's hut than the front or back entrance. He is passing through some long unremarkable corridor when he hears a female voice echoing down the hall. "For so long you have said my honor was my most important possession, and now you want me to give it away to some so-called-golden prince so that you may rise in power!"

It takes a moment for Loki to realize it is Anganboða's voice. And another moment more to comprehend what she is saying. So-called-golden prince? She is not smitten? He must have heard wrong. He finds himself stopping, his hands tightening on Mimir's staff. There is a sound like a slap and then a door slams. Loki watches as Anganboða's brother strides off down the hall in the opposite direction, passing by another servant as he does.

That servant meets Loki's eyes. In his hands, Mimir whispers, "There really is nothing you can do at this point that won't make the lady's situation worse."

Loki frowns but continues slowly on his way.

By the time he reaches the small door that exits to the garden, he doesn't think his mood can get worse. There is a lantern by the door that he gives to Mimir to hold in his teeth, and then they step out into the night and Loki realizes it's raining. Soon Loki is wet and chilled and Hoenir is getting heavier and heavier, and less and less cooperative. It would be better if Loki could swing him over his shoulder, but he also has to tote Mimir along.

Loki thinks of Odin warm and drunk and happy in his rooms and scowls. He hates being the responsible one.

Head bent over, he continues on. The rain picks up, and they're just turning into a walkway lined with long hedges when Mimir mumbles through the lantern handle in his mouth. "'ook!"

Loki looks up; a hooded figure is pressed against the hedge. Whoever it is doesn't seem to be aware of their approach until they are nearly upon them, and then the figure turns. The hood spills off and Loki and Mimir are facing a very red-eyed Anganboða.

"What are you doing here?" he says, the words harsher than he intends.

"Is it any of your business?" she says.

Loki stares at her and he knows. "You're running away," he says. At least temporarily. From Baldur. Maybe from her family.

She doesn't deny it.

He twists his hands on Mimir's staff. Choosing to run away in the rain, probably without a plan, or without really knowing where she was going...She's obviously a bit mad.

The right thing for Loki to do, if he values his position at court, is to convince her to go back to the palace, grit her teeth, and allow Baldur's "affections."

He holds out Mimir's staff to her and says, "You can come with us." Apparently Loki can only be responsible to a point.

She takes the staff, looks up at Mimir and says, "Would you like me to take the lantern?"

"Yesh!" says the head, dropping it from his mouth into her hands.

It was quite nice of her to think of Mimir that way. For some reason it irritates him. Swinging the nearly unconscious Hoenir over his shoulder, he begins to walk away. A few paces later he turns back. Anganboða hasn't moved.

"You need not worry about your honor. You have my oath it is safe with me," Loki says, the words spilling out before he even thinks about them.

She tilts her head and then says, "I trust you." And she does. Loki has a rather keen sense for disambiguation. She's definitely mad.

Heaving a breath, she says, "But it doesn't seem to matter what you do, it's what people say you do..."

"Ahem," says Mimir. "Consider me your chaperone."

Looking up at the head, Anganboða's lips part. Those very wide, generous lips. Loki can't help but stare.

Why did he just make an oath to protect her honor? Scowling, Loki says, "Come on, Hoenir's heavy," and starts walking again. This time she hurries to catch up.

"Did you have any plans?" Loki gasps out as they trudge along. "Since you have chosen to run rather than accept the suit of Baldur the Beautiful, Wise and Brave."

"Is he those things?" Anganboða says.

Loki turns to her. Rain has plastered her raven locks to her face, and he realizes what he took for a cloak is actually just a blanket, probably stolen from her rooms in the palace. She is very desperate.

Turning her eyes to the muddy ground she says, "I look at him...and I see a golden prince, but when I turn away, from the corner of my eye I see something quite different. Something I don't like, something dark. When I hear his words they sound sweet, but when I replay them in my mind they are cruel." She laughs and there is something frantic in it. "Yet everyone says he is beautiful, wise and brave."

Loki turns to her, mouth open. No one else has ever doubted Baldur. A knot in his stomach uncoils with a force so strong it hurts.

"I must be mad," she says softly. "And yet...he bartered for my honor with my brother...am I worth so little that a man can do that and still be good?"

"No, my lady," Loki says.

She turns to him and smiles softly, and he finds himself silently vowing that if Baldur ever lays a finger on her, ever hurts her, he will make him die a slow and painful death.

They turn round a hedge and step through the large trees that shield Hoenir's hut from the rest of Asgard. "What a meager abode for Odin's brother," Anganboða says out of nowhere.

Loki blinks and shoves Hoenir against the door. "Hoenir is not Odin's brother. Whatever made you think that?"

Hoenir grunts, the door gives way, and Mimir is overcome with a minor coughing fit.

Following him in the door, Anganboða says, "But the three of you...you're brothers, surely..."

"We aren't related," says Loki.

Mimir's minor coughing fit turns to a major coughing fit. Loki looks at him sharply, wondering what's amiss. Mimir says nothing, just turns very red.

* * *

"BROTHERS," THE WOLF mutters nonsensically. "She was mad...but I still loved her. And Sigyn..." It whimpers again.

Amy looks down at Loki. Beside her, Beatrice kneels down, too. Surely losing your children, best friends and wife warranted a little sympathy? She touches the cloth gingerly to Loki's chin, the reek suddenly not bothering her as much. Underneath his unshaven face she begins to see that nobility again.

"So sad," says Beatrice with a sigh.

Loki's eyes flutter open. "Where am I?" he asks, rolling onto his back.

Leaning over him, gently brushing his cheeks, Amy says, "You're safe. You're back with Beatrice and me."

Loki's eyes go over to Beatrice and then rove down Amy's body. He mutters something. Even though it is in a strange foreign language, it sounds heavy with gratitude.

His eyes close again and Amy says to the wolf. "What did he just say?"

Blinking, the wolf says, "Oh, he said 'By the World Tree you have nice tits.'" And then it pops out of existence.

Amy leans away, just a little bit horrified.

Beatrice shakes her head ruefully. "Well, he's not the god of niceness." Standing up she says, "I'm going to bed."

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# Chapter 13

The next morning when Amy comes into the kitchen Beatrice is already there, and so is Loki. Beatrice is buzzing around the stove; Loki is sitting at the table, hunched over a cup of coffee and a half eaten plate of eggs. His hair is wet like he's just come out of the shower, but he still hasn't shaved. He isn't in his armor. He's wearing one of her grandfather's old tee shirts and a pair of Grandpa's utility pants that fit Loki like capris.

He doesn't raise his eyes when she comes in, just stares at a point on the table next to the sugar jar.

"Hi," Amy says.

Loki doesn't move or speak. But Beatrice says, "Good morning, Dear." And then her grandmother takes a cup of tea and goes and sits down next to Loki at the table.

Amy pours herself a cup of coffee and joins them.

Loki doesn't do anything, just sits hunched over, as though inhabiting his own dark world. It's frightening, and sad.

Swallowing, Amy says, "You told us what happened."

Loki's eyes shoot up to hers. For a moment Amy thinks they are completely black, but she blinks, and they're that eerie light gray color again.

"You told us last night," Amy says. Or his subconscious did. It doesn't seem worthwhile to go into the whole wolf Fenrir thing. "I'm sorry about your family, and your friends."

Loki looks away.

Beatrice shakily puts down her teacup. "I hope you won't do anything ...rash..."

Amy blinks. A three-day bender seems pretty rash to her.

Loki's eyes slide to Beatrice and then he smirks. "Are you are referring to Ragnarok, Beatrice?"

"It had crossed my mind." Beatrice's eyes are steady, but her hands are shaking on her teacup.

Amy's heart stops. If she remembers Loki's Wikipedia entry correctly, he's the one who leads the dead in the battle against the Norse gods at Ragnarok, the end of the world.

Loki snorts, and then he begins to laugh quietly. Playing idly with his fork he says, "Oh, if only I could hop aboard the ship Naglfar and lead the armies of Hel against Asgard, I would, definitely. But there are no armies in the realm of Hel. Just my daughter's corpse, and the corpses of her maids." His smile drops and he looks away. "There is no Hel for the meek, no Valhalla for warriors slain in battle. Those are just dreams you humans use to console yourselves during your fleeting lives. There is just nothingness."

"You don't know that!" says Beatrice, fingering the cross hanging around her neck.

Loki looks up at her and glares. And then he stands from the table and walks out the door. Beatrice and Amy watch him walk into the garage. Amy looks around the kitchen. Nothing is on fire. For some reason that makes her sad.

* * *

SITTING WITH HER LAPTOP and checkbook on the kitchen table, Amy's looking at her bank accounts trying not to feel depressed. It's the evening after Loki's return. She had a temp job in the afternoon, and now she's obsessively reconciling her checkbook, calculating how much she has earned and how much she'll need to earn to have enough money to pay the school fees her scholarship doesn't cover, and to make a down payment on a new place to live in the fall.

Hearing a knock at the door, Amy looks up. Through the window she sees Loki wearing the same clothes he had on earlier.

Grateful for the distraction and relieved that he looks sober and shaven, Amy walks over and opens the door. Face almost expressionless, Loki says, "Miss Lewis, it seems I will be a guest of your world for awhile. I was wondering if..." He looks away. "If you might help me get acclimated to your world's current magic...technologies."

Amy's stares at him. That seems so healthy and proactive. "Wow. Good for you," she says, too shocked to move from the doorway.

Shrugging, he says in a flat voice, "If I'm going to see Odin kneel before me while I hold his testicles in my hands as all of Asgard burns, I have to start somewhere."

Amy's mouth drops.

Straightening, Loki says, "I will make it worth your while somehow, I give you my -- "

Amy waves a hand. "No, no, no. It's okay...of course I'll help you if I can; you don't owe me anything." She'll just take that Odin's testicle thing and Asgard burning thing as a slight bit of hyperbole brought on by grief.

Loki tilts his head and his expression softens just a bit.

Her brow furrows. "Is there any place you'd like to start?"

Loki's eyes go over to her laptop on the kitchen table. "Computers and the internets. The last time I was here I had some access to ENIAC -- but things have come so far since then."

Amy blinks at him. ENIAC? Shaking her head she steps aside and motions for him to come in. "Have a seat. I'll get us something to drink."

"Thank you," says Loki, walking over and sitting in front of her computer. As she turns to the refrigerator, he's staring at the blank screen of power save mode.

Taking out a pitcher of freshly made peach tea, she pours two glasses and turns around. Loki has one finger hovering above the keyboard and he's staring at her bank account information.

"Whoa," says Amy, going to the table and closing that tab.

Loki looks at her, brows slightly raised.

Wincing, Amy says, "You probably shouldn't have seen that."

Loki holds up two hands. "I just touched it and -- "

"No, no, no...It's okay." She grabs her checkbook and then brings the two glasses of tea over to the table. Handing him one, she takes a sip of her own. It's not as cold as she expected. "Drats, I'll have to get some ice," she says.

Holding out a hand to her, Loki says, "Sit down and allow me."

She hands him the glasses. He gives her a twisted half smile and frost climbs up the outside of both. "Here," he says, handing one back.

Amy finds herself smiling...more than she should. Is she being flirty? She shouldn't be flirty. He just lost his family and his best friends and that would be inappropriate. She schools her face to neutral. Is it her imagination or is her pulse a little quick? Just knowing about his family...he doesn't seem so much like an obnoxious flirt anymore. He has children, he's --

Loki clinks his glass with hers which snaps her back to the moment. She takes a sip. "It's perfect," she says, staring over her glass at him.

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Where should we start?"

Realizing she's staring, she spins back to her computer. "Well, I guess, first...this is a mouse." She toggles the wireless mouse she has next to her iMac. Remembering his confusion over Car, she says, "It's just what it's called...it's not actually alive."

Loki holds out a hand and she hands it to him. Eying the mouse he murmurs, "Hoenir would have fun with this." Expression hardening, he says, "How does it work?"

Amy has some experience teaching techie neophytes. She expects hours of back and forth, and obvious questions that make her want to tear her hair out. That doesn't happen.

Loki grasps the point and click concept immediately. They move quickly from mice to the internet, and he begins asking questions that are too technical. He accidentally calls up the browser's options and gets a menu she has never seen. He clicks on something, and when the page of gobbledygook comes up, he recognizes it immediately as the code for the page.

That's when she looks down and sees it. "Um..." she says. "Loki, your fingertips are blue..." It's that lovely, robin's egg shade she had seen before, and it almost seems to be alight from within.

He looks down and his brow furrows. He takes a breath and the color fades away, like a wave draining from sand. Turning to her, his expression sharp, he says, "It is just an illusion."

Amy can't help it; she puts a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay."

Turning back to the computer he says dryly, "I blame you for putting the damned idea in my head."

Removing her hand and taking a deep uncomfortable breath, Amy says, "Okay, maybe we should go next to Google. It's an internet site that can tell you just about everything...."

Once Loki has access to Google, it quickly becomes apparent that Amy isn't so much helping as holding Loki back. She gets up and lets him explore 'How the Internet Works' and 'Static Versus Dynamic Web Pages' by himself.

Beatrice comes in, they all eat dinner together, and then Loki is at the computer again. When Amy goes to bed, Loki is still there, the screen flashing from one page to another. His eyes look very dark, and she swears his skin has a blue cast but decides not to say anything.

The next day when Beatrice goes to fetch Loki for breakfast, Amy clicks on the browser's history -- just out of curiosity. She's not sure what she expected to find, but she doesn't expect to find a whole bunch of entries on something called Schrodinger's cat, the Heisenberg uncertainty principle, quantum computing, random number generators and something on financial derivatives. She backs slowly away.

At breakfast when she asks him what he was browsing the night before, he just smirks and says, "Magic."

* * *

WITH THE HELP OF GOOGLE, Loki fixes the ceiling fan in her grandmother's room -- turns out the problem was actually in the fuse box. During his first week with them, among other acts of computer wizardry, Loki cleans up the hard drive on Beatrice's PC -- something Amy would have thought impossible since her grandmother seems to open every attachment and click on every link she's ever gotten in an email. And he also manages to get a nasty virus off of nosy-neighbor Harry's computer -- Harry's on Beatrice's email list. Sometime that first week he also hooks up the television, the DVD player and the stereo so that all share one remote, something Amy never managed to do. After that Amy finds herself regularly watching TV with Loki late into the night. He lies on the couch, feet propped up on one end. She sits on the EZ-boy chair -- she starts sleeping better there than anywhere else.

Overall, Beatrice and Amy are both really impressed by the way Loki immerses himself in modern technology and modern life. But there are some incidents.

* * *

AMY COMES HOME JUST after lunchtime during Loki's second week with them. She had a job as a hostess at a local restaurant that morning. Beatrice meets her in the backyard, water pot in hand. "He's in the kitchen," Beatrice says. "I think you need to talk to him. We just don't do that!"

Puzzled, Amy heads into the kitchen. Loki is wearing her grandmother's apron...which is a little odd considering it is pink and far too small...but that isn't what really grabs her attention.

"Why is there a dead pig on our kitchen table?" She's been around enough dead animals in vet school to recognize it without most of its skin and to not be disgusted -- even if she is mostly vegetarian.

Loki looks up from where he is leaning over said pig with a very big cleaver. His brows furrow. "It has come to my attention that I am, in Beatrice's words, 'Eating you out of house and home.' I am trying to do my 'fair share'."

"By butchering a pig..."

"It is a free-range pig, much higher quality than you would get in the the grocery store. Also, it is freshly slaughtered. It will be delicious...even you will want to eat this bacon." He smacks the pig's hindquarters and smiles.

Tilting his chin and rubbing the back of his cheek with a bloody hand, he says, "Though tonight I think we should eat the head. I make a delicious sweetbread." He looks at her, holding up the cleaver in a way that is kind of psycho-esque. "What?"

"You cook?" she says. That is probably the least important question in her mind, but somehow it pops up first.

He rolls his eyes. "Odin was always sending me out to babysit Thor when he went adventuring. Thor was a prince; a bastard, but a prince... I got to cook."

Amy looks at the dead animal stretched out and filling the whole kitchen table. "Where did you get the pig?"

He blinks at her and then leans down and starts sliding the knife under the pig's skin. "From a butcher on Fulton. I read about it on the internet and went this morning."

"You don't drive...did you take this thing on the bus?" She had taught him how to use the bus and left a pass out for him. The one time Amy tried to teach Loki how to drive, he turned the Subaru into a load bearing part of the garage wall. Amy doesn't know how he can build her a personal website on 'server space' she didn't know she had and hook it up to 'RSS feeds' on veterinary medicine but can't manage to put a car in reverse. It probably relates somehow to him setting the toaster on fire, though.

He looks up at her. "You know they wouldn't let me?" He shakes his head as though amazed. "I carried it back. I got a lot of stares. You'd think people never had seen a hog before."

Amy can hear the neighborhood gossip mill grinding in her head. Trying not to think about it she says, "How did you pay for it?"

He blinks again.

Oh, no. "Did you steal this pig?"

"I have no money. Of course I stole the pig," he says.

"We don't do that!" says Amy.

He stares at her. Then frowning and crossing his arms, cleaver still in hand, he says, "Do you want me to return it?"

Amy looks at the partially butchered animal and rubs her eyes. "No, just tell me where you stole it from and give me your oath that you won't do it again." She tells herself she'll send the butcher compensation. Somehow. Anonymously.

"Fine...you have my oath, while I reside at your house, I will not steal another pig -- "

"Anything," says Amy.

He glowers at her.

She glowers right back even though she feels a pang of fear. "It could attract attention and the police."

Narrowing his eyes, he uncrosses his arms and rolls his eyes. "Fine, you have my oath I will not steal while I reside under your roof."

Amy decides that is the best she is going to do. Later that night, despite her better judgment, she tries some pig cheek -- it just smells so good. It is delicious.

* * *

IT IS NEAR THE END of the second week when the second incident occurs. Amy is just coming home late from her hostessing job. There is a light in the living room. She follows it and finds Loki kneeling in front of the TV cabinet fiddling with the remote.

Without thinking, she puts her hostessing apron with the $66.73 she got in tips from takeaway orders on the coffee table next to her laptop. It was a long day, she made hardly any money, and she has no idea how she's going to pay all her expenses at this rate. Settling into the EZ boy, she just sighs.

Without looking at her, Loki flops down on the couch. "I've hooked the television up to your computer. We can watch YouTube, Netflix, Hulu..."

"Whatever," Amy says.

Without looking at her, Loki points the remote at the TV and some strange menu with cute icons comes up. He selects some talk on YouTube about Higgs Boson particles. Physics really isn't Amy's thing, but it is interesting -- until it isn't. Amy finds herself drifting off into sleep, Loki talking in the background...Something about, "Humans can't see magic, but you've found all these ways to look at it indirectly. I really can see why Hoenir is so fond of you..."

She jerks awake when the program ends. The strange menu comes up and Loki flips to Netflix and Star Trek TOS reruns.

Spock's making eyes at some incredibly elegant woman, and Amy's just drifting off to sleep again when Loki says, "She's scrawny."

"Mmmm..." says Amy.

And then out of the blue Loki says, "You know, Amy, you really are just my type, but I don't even feel like having sex right now."

Amy bolts upright. Loki isn't even looking at her. He's just lying on the couch, head turned to the television screen. Her heart rate goes from racing back to normal. For a moment she'd felt like her sanctuary was going to collapse on her.

Staring at the flickering light without even seeing it, Amy feels exhausted again. "Sex is overrated," she says. Sex is a tease. Your body convinces you you want it, and then during it you hardly feel like you're even there, your mind wanders, the sensations become muted. Once it's over you're left feeling incomplete, and empty, wondering why you'd bothered in the first place. And then your partner describes it as awesome. She huffs at a recent memory and stares at her fingernails on the arm of the chair.

"Ordinarily I'd take that as a challenge," Loki says, not moving.

Amy's cheeks flush. "Glad I can be here during your time of personal growth."

"This isn't growth," says Loki, his voice flat.

He isn't looking at her; he hasn't even moved. And then she remembers him laughing about getting his lips sewn shut, and flirting with her in Alfheim. Where did the Loki that could laugh about his own torture go? She's been enjoying his company these last few weeks; he's been mellower. There have been no horrible pick-up lines; she feels so safe she falls asleep with him in her living room. But the reason he's been so mellow, the reason she feels so comfortable -- it's because he's depressed, isn't it?

She swallows. And why shouldn't he be? He's lost everything.

The images on the screen stop. "I'm bored with this show," says Loki. He flips back to the cute icon-y menu.

Suddenly anxious to draw him out, Amy says, "Did you hook my computer up to the DVD player somehow?" Talking about technology is about the only thing that seems to perk his interest lately.

Loki actually laughs. "Oh, your DVD player isn't involved in the slightest. I'm utilizing a device called an Apple TV. It's a little box that connects your TV to your computer and the internet. The hard part was getting a username and then a password to initialize it." He shakes his head and sighs. "Actually, it wasn't that hard. You know, if you humans used more pass phrases instead of passwords the internet would be so much more secure. And think of it -- 'the pink hadrosaur jumps over thirteen purple griffins in the icebox,' you'd never forget it, and it would be nearly impossible to hack."

He actually sounds happy, and that's good, but he talks so fast it takes Amy a moment to decipher all of it. And then she flushes. "Did you steal an Apple TV?"

He waves a hand at her and puffs. "No, I borrowed an Apple TV. I have every intention of returning it."

"You can't do that!"

Loki looks at a point on the wall. "No, I really can. I make myself invisible, walk into the Apple Store and -- "

"That's stealing!"

He glares at her. "I do not break my oaths!"

What follows is an argument that she thinks she technically wins, but he refuses to acknowledge her victory. In the end she extracts an oath that he will return the Apple TV the next day and that he won't borrow again without a merchant's express consent...as long as he resides on their property.

That night she goes to sleep in her own bed, leaving him taking the Apple TV box thingy out of the TV cabinet.

Later, she comes down the stairs to let Fenrir out. Loki is stretched out asleep on the couch. A box she supposes is the Apple TV is on the coffee table beside him.

His face is drawn, his fingers are blue and twitching, and he's mumbling something in another language, sounding strained. Her change apron is still on the coffee table, too. She decides not to move it. It's so close to his face, it will jingle and Loki obviously needs his sleep, pained as it may be.

She has his oath not to steal in her house; and she's seen that the man takes his oaths very seriously.

It isn't until she's settled back in bed and closing her eyes that she realizes the true significance of her argument with Loki earlier in the evening.

Her eyes bolt open.

...forget borrowing things without asking. What's really scary is that he's been here two weeks and he's already hacking into computers.

* * *

STUMBLING OUT OF THE rain into Hoenir's hut, Anganboða, Mimir, Loki and the nearly unconscious Hoenir find themselves in a sitting room. Panting, Loki drops Hoenir on the small sofa. Hoenir mumbles something in his sleep, and Loki crumples to the floor.

"That's going to hurt in the morning," says Mimir with a tsk, tsk.

"His head or my back?" Loki grumbles.

"Both," says Mimir. His eyes slide over to Anganboða. "Would you please lean me against that wall?" He waggles his eyebrows in the direction of a wall just to the side of an unlit fireplace.

As Anganboða complies, Loki stares at the logs in the fireplace, concentrates just a moment and the logs leap into flame.

Anganboða gives a small gasp and she backs away from Mimir and the roaring fire. Loki just stares at her silently, his mind an uncomfortable jumble.

"Now, Miss," says Mimir, "Loki did ask a very good question out there. Do you have a plan?"

Anganboða lets the blanket covering her shoulders fall away. Beneath it is a thick satchel. "I was thinking, I have heard some wealthy families will hire a young lady to educate their daughters and young children." Opening the satchel, she pulls out a large and well worn tome. "I have no experience, but I am well read."

Curiosity getting the better of him, Loki says, "That doesn't look like a book for children."

Anganboða sighs. "It isn't, but it is one of my favorites. I couldn't leave it." She hands it to Loki. He opens the dust jacket and smiles. "Ah, it is Hellbendi's, Magic: Mathematical, Scientific and Philosophical Inquiries Beyond Practical Applications." Shaking his head he says almost to himself, "This is a very, very, good book."

Although the Aesir can sense magic and bend it to their will, few have tried to understand it like Hellbendi, a sorcerer from ancient times. Loki has found that understanding the science of magic has greatly improved his practical abilities.

"You've read it?" says Anganboða. She sounds impressed, not bored or mildly disgusted.

He should reply with confidence; however, all that happens is that his jaw drops open.

Fortunately, Mimir comes to Loki's aid. In his most courtly tones he says, "Loki has read that and more. When he isn't causing mischief for his or Odin's amusement, he is often ransacking Hoenir's library."

"Library?" says Anganboða, her face visibly brightening. She looks at Loki expectantly.

Pulling himself together, he says, "Yes, Hoenir's rivals Odin's." Going to retrieve Mimir, he steps towards a wall lined with several doors. "Come, we'll show you," he says.

"Are you sure you know which door? Even I can't keep them straight," Mimir whispers.

Loki isn't sure, but he doesn't answer. Instead, he smiles as confidently as he can at Anganboða, who smiles back wildly. Lifting his eyebrows at her, he opens the first door just slightly. The sound of claws on metal and a furious screeching fills his ears. Loki peeks in the opening. It is a room he has never seen before, lined with giant cages, inside of which are velociraptors as tall as him. Their heads swivel as one towards the doorway. For a moment they just stare, and then they jump against the bars of their cages, shaking and screeching with all their might.

Loki closes the door quickly.

"What were those?" says Anganboða, eyes wide.

"Errrr...." says Mimir.

"Nothing but harmless hadrosaurs, gentle herbivorous dragons," says Loki.

"They didn't look gentle," says Anganboða.

"Let's try the next door," says Loki, quickly moving on. Fortunately, that door does lead to the library.

Perhaps an hour later, they are still there. Mimir is leaning against a wall, sound asleep. Loki and Anganboða are sitting at a table, two stacks of books in front of Anganboða. One stack for her to read, the other a stack of children's books Loki is insisting that she borrow from Hoenir.

Leaning on his elbows, Loki says,"You are so well read, and yet you do not use magic yourself. I don't understand."

Anganboða looks down. "I would love to use magic. But I can't. I see magic but am unable to bend it to my will."

She frowns a little. Upset that his line of questioning has made her unhappy, Loki reaches forward and pulls an illusion of a flower from her nose.

Anganboða laughs, and Loki smirks and lifts an eyebrow. He waves his hand and the imaginary flower turns into butterflies -- he's more a fan of spiders, but they seldom go over well. The butterflies flap their wings, fly up towards the ceiling and disappear.

Still smiling, Anganboða looks to the books. "Do you really think Hoenir won't mind if I borrow these?"

Loki waves a hand. "Of course he won't mind." He leans back in his chair and puts a hand to his chin. "What's more of a worry is how Baldur reacts to your not coming to see him this evening. Falling out of favor of the crown prince is a sure way to find yourself unemployable."

Unless of course, you are Loki. Odin insists Loki remain in Asgard, no matter how Baldur complains.

Tapping his chin, Loki says, "You were supposed to meet him somewhere in the palace, were you not?"

Anganboða's face falls and she nods.

"Don't worry," says Loki. "We will tell the court I transformed myself into Baldur and nearly led you astray, but the fine Mimir saw what I was up to, put an end to my antics, and protected your honor. Eternally grateful, you helped him find his way back to Hoenir's hut." Loki straightens and smiles mischievously. "Your honor is preserved, and Baldur can't possibly be mad at you because everyone knows what a horrible prankster I am." He narrows his eyes. But somehow he has to find a way to keep Baldur away from her in the future.

"I don't like that plan," Anganboða says.

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Why ever not?"

"What of your honor, and how it will be damaged by such a lie?" Anganboða says.

Loki smirks. "Everyone knows I have no honor."

Anganboða's eyes narrow. "Yes, if it wasn't for the eagle eyes of Mimir over there, I'd be ruined by now."

Mimir chooses that moment to release a giant snore.

Loki flushes. His jaw tenses. Pretending that Mimir is protecting her is one of the little mental games he plays to keep his oath to her. "It is not for lack of desire, my Lady." His words sound too cutting, and too cruel, even to him.

Anganboða's gaze moves away. She looks at the books in front of her. "After I am employed, will I see you again?"

Her voice is soft...almost hopeful. Or perhaps he is imagining it. "That can be arranged," he says cautiously.

She smiles, and he feels his lips threaten to pull up.

"But first," he says, "we must make sure you can be employed. You must lie to the court."

Shaking her head, she puts a hand on his. "I won't tell them that story. It is unfair to you."

It's ridiculous how arousing her soft fingers are against his knuckles. He sighs and brings her hand to his lips. "My Lady," he says. "At court you must lie. It is how you survive."

* * *

"LOKI, LOKI, LOKI!"

Loki's eyes open to darkness. It takes him a moment to realize he is on Midgard curled up on Beatrice's couch. He puts his hand to his temples, closes his eyes and sees Anganboða's face.

"Aggie...." He sighs. Was there ever a time he was so hopelessly romantic? "I could not protect you..." Or even the much more formidable Sigyn.

"Loki, Loki, Loki!"

Loki feels a chill pass through him. Red mist creeps along the edges of his vision. "What do you want?" he whispers.

"I need your help," the mist says, as usual in Russian.

Loki scowls. "And why would I do that?" The mist swirls around him and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"I know what I am," the child's voice says.

Loki says nothing, just narrows his eyes.

"Cera," the child's voice whispers.

Loki raises an eyebrow at the word. Cera means power.

"And I can be your Cera," the red mist says. It is so dense around Loki that he has to blink his eyes to see. His whole body hums and his skin starts to turn blue. Scowling, he fights back the illusion concocted by his obviously slipping sanity and grief.

He blinks again. The thing, Cera, is right. Loki's pulse starts to race. He's been delving into mortal magics these past few weeks looking for some way to exact revenge. Humans are so close to being able to give him what he needs -- yet still decades, maybe centuries away. But Cera...if whatever Cera is, is as powerful as Loki thinks, vengeance may be very close.

"What do you want?" Loki whispers.

"Be my Josef!" Cera wails. "Save me from the God people!"

Loki throws his legs over the edge of the couch. "Where are you?"

He feels an anxiety in the pit of his stomach and knows it isn't his own. The thing is projecting emotions now. He scowls.

"I don't know where I am," Cera wails. "But I know where I've been..."

* * *

IT IS WAY TOO EARLY in the morning after Loki and Amy's Apple TV discussion, but Amy is dashing down the stairs. The vet clinic called. They are short handed for the day; they asked her if she can be there in half an hour for a ten hour shift. She tears into the kitchen in her scrubs and finds Loki staring out the window, a frown on his face. She runs to retrieve her change apron from the next room. When she gets back in the kitchen, apron in hand, she says, "What's wrong?" She doesn't really have time for the answer, but she remembers him murmuring in his sleep the night before, his fingers twitching, and it makes her physically ache for him.

"I need money," he says, shooting her a look like a challenge. "And I am forbidden to steal while I am under your roof, so -- "

"You could ask to borrow some," says Amy.

Loki's frown vanishes. "Ask?"

"Of course," says Amy. She heaves a breath. "Look, you lost your family, your friends...your world. Of course you'll need some help getting back on your feet." She takes two tens out of the change apron, slips them in the pocket of her scrubs and drops the apron on the table. The change rattles in the pockets. Loki follows it with his eyes.

"Take as much as you need; everything if you need it," Amy says.

"I don't think I could...." says Loki. His eyes have gone wide, and he has the expression of a surprised puppy on his face.

His earnestness surprises Amy, and makes warmth bubble in her stomach. "Look, you know where it all is. Take it. Everything. It's okay. Really."

Loki comes forward and drops to one knee in front of her. "Amy Lewis, I am in your debt. You have my oath that I will pay you back with interest."

"Ummm..." she says. "Well, if you think that is necessary," she says, looking at her change purse. What is it, forty six bucks and some change maybe?

Kissing her hand, he says, "I do think it is necessary."

Amy swallows as warmth rushes through her limbs at his touch. "Okay..." Loki looks up at her, his face shining with something close to happiness. "I wondered why I heard you in the forest, I wondered how your voice came to be in my head, and how you intersected with my higher purpose. Now I know. My gratitude is eternal, and you have my oath, I will pay it back with interest!"

He kisses her hand again, and Amy's mouth drops open. "Ummmm...." is all that comes out. She feels her face go red, and then Loki looks up at her like he might actually kiss her -- really kiss her. That is appealing and scary. "I have to go," she squeaks and runs out the kitchen door.

She nearly crashes into Beatrice on the back walk. Clutching a watering can to her chest, Beatrice says, "Did you talk to Loki this morning?"

Amy blinks. "Yes."

Beatrice's eyes narrow. "I heard him talking in Russian." Beatrice learned Russian as a child in the Ukraine -- under less than ideal circumstances.

Amy's bites her lip. She has to run, but she doesn't like to rush away from her grandmother. Not when she's talking about her life before.

Shaking her head, Beatrice says, "Something about Cera and Tunguska."

"What?" says Amy.

"Cera is power, dear," says Beatrice. She purses her lips. "I think Tunguska is a place." And then Beatrice starts walking towards the front yard. "Well, I better go. My impatiens are thirsty."

Amy watches her go, her stomach tying in a knot. But then she shakes her head and makes a beeline for the bus stop, waving to the little Mexican man on a bicycle ice cream cart that always seems to be around their house as she goes.

* * *

LATER THAT EVENING when she comes home, her change apron is lying on the table. She peeks in. Loki has left her with $20. A note is on top, written in an oddly near perfect hand.

Miss Lewis,

I must leave for a while and do not know when I shall return; but rest assured, I never forget my oaths. We never discussed terms of my loan, I hope 33% per annum will be sufficient.

Again my gratitude is eternal,

Loki

Amy's heart falls at the "leave for a while" bit. She rubs her hand over the note and sighs.

After a few minutes she picks up the change apron and shakes her head. All that gratitude for what could have only been about $26 bucks?

* * *

ABOUT A WEEK AND A half later, Amy is walking up the sidewalk to her grandmother's house. It's dusk, and the windows are all dark. The day was hot and muggy, and the evening isn't much better, but she sees Beatrice out watering her flowers in the relatively cool air. Her grandmother nods without smiling, and goes around the back of the house, watering can in hand. Her grandmother's expression, the darkness of the house, she doesn't have to ask; Loki is still gone. She bites her lip, and the magic is gone with him. Bowing her head, she trudges up the steps.

Going in the door, she picks up the mail that's been thrust through the mail slot. She rifles through the envelopes, purposefully not looking at the couch where Loki slept.

Her eyebrows rise. There is a letter from her school. Opening it, she finds that the check she sent in to pay for her miscellaneous school fees has bounced. Shaking her head, she goes to her laptop to check her bank account. She's never bounced a check in her life; there must be a mistake.

A few minutes later, Amy's sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the computer screen, face in her hands. There is only $1 left in her checking. She feels cold, even though the room is warm. Realization hits hard and fast. Loki stole from her, after giving her his precious oath. And he hasn't come back, and she won't be able to go back to school.

She swallows and scoots back from the table feeling sick.

How will she get the money? Should she borrow it from Beatrice? Is it too late to apply for financial aid?

She looks up and her gaze goes to the kitchen window. She's vaguely aware of Beatrice standing up and lowering the the watering can in her hands. Amy closes her eyes, remembering Loki's words, "I will pay you back with interest." Maybe it's all been a mistake? He'll come back, it will all be okay... But it won't be, because she needs the money now.

Outside, Beatrice must see Amy, and her face must look stricken, because Beatrice comes running. And then Beatrice just sort of isn't there.

Amy bolts from her seat, the sickening feeling in her stomach instantly getting worse. She runs through the door and finds Beatrice on the ground at the bottom of the stoop, her leg at an odd angle. Her head is tilted back and her eyes are closed. Blood is on the sidewalk.

"Grandma!" Amy screams. Sinking to her knees, she pulls out her phone, and dials 911. As the phone rings, she takes her grandmothers hand in her own. She looks down at the delicate veins visible through her grandmother's aged skin. Beatrice does not stir. Amy swallows, her eyes hot. Now everything is gone.

A few hours later she is at the hospital, sitting in the waiting room in a daze. On the periphery of her vision she sees several men approaching.

"Miss Lewis?" Amy turns her head, and her brow furrows. There is the older man with the too-square jaw in the too conservative gray suit who she saw in her neighborhood eating ice cream. He's still in a gray suit. Next to him are two other men. The first looks Mexican, and vaguely familiar. She blinks. It's the ice cream vendor, but now he's in a suit, too.

The last man is young. He's wearing a suit too, but he looks a little more rumpled. Looking down at a little device of some kind, he says, "She's clean."

Holding up a badge, the older guy says, "Miss Lewis, I'm agent Merryl and these are agents Hernandez and Ericson. We're from the FBI. We need to bring you in for questioning."

"Am I in trouble?" Amy stammers.

The old guy just tilts his head.

***

Monsters: I Bring the Fire Part II is available at your favorite retailer.

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# Empowered: Agent

by Dale Ivan Smith

To LeAnn, always and forever.

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# Chapter 1

It was the three-month anniversary of my being paroled from Special Corrections. All I wanted was a job, to get out of this wet dress, and a break from the chorus of plant voices singing their happiness in my head now that it was finally raining again.

Today's interview went like all the rest for the last month. Badly. At least the weaselly interviewer didn't try to steal a look at my chest. He was too scared of me, the paroled rogue Empowered. An interview without chest ogling to piss me off was nice for a change, but the rest of the interview sucked.

Worse, the plants would not shut up.

I stepped off the bus at the 151st Street stop and into rain. My damn heel caught in a sidewalk crack. Just managed to save it. Couldn't afford to break a heel. Not until they'd helped me find a job.

The damn crabgrass growing up from the crack in the sidewalk brushed against my legs and hissed softly in my mind.

Begging for my help. It needed more water.

I could do it. I could urge the roots to grow and spread, pulling water and nitrogen from the soil. I could make the blades wider, to catch more of the drizzling rain. I could help it, give it just what it wanted.

And go back to prison. For life, this time.

Convicted rogue Empowered weren't allowed to use their "gift."

Period.

When I spotted the cardboard sign with the familiar looking sketch of a seeing eye pyramid fastened to the bus stop sign, I was already in a crappy mood.

I yanked it off the metal post. The pyramid was sketched in deft little strokes, and the eye radiated squiggly lines of electric power. If I squinted, I could just make out the faint curve of a smiling mouth in the pyramid below the eye.

I knew who drew that.

Gus Silco. My old "teammate" in the Renegades, and a weasel if there ever was one. The cardboard was damp, not soaked through, so it couldn't have been there very long. Which meant he might still be hanging around here. This was his crazy way of leaving me a message, letting me know he was here. What I wanted to know was why he was here. He was the last person I ever wanted to see again. Looked like I had no choice though, if only to get him the hell away from me, once and for all.

I tore the sign in half and tossed it in the street. Started looking for Gus.

Douglas fir trees ran in a line behind a slat-board fence. The firs murmured sleepily in my mind like softly humming giants. They liked the drizzle, and for an instant their pleasure made me happy. Only an instant, and then my resentment bubbled up. What had my power ever done for me except land me in prison?

My parole might forbid me from using my power, but it couldn't stop me from hearing plants in my mind. It wasn't like I had a choice. I had to fight to keep the plant chorus from drowning everything else out, and I couldn't completely stop hearing them.

Just like I couldn't stop detecting others like me. My skin tingled. Another Empowered was close.

Gus. It had to be him, since I couldn't see anyone else.

Damn him. Jerk would get me thrown back in prison.

"Gus, I know you're here. Appear already." There wasn't much for him to blend into here. Across the street, a line of abandoned cars slowly rusted in front of a fenced junkyard. The only plants there were a few dead Queen Anne's Lace from last summer. I pulled my power's awareness back before it could feel the dead plants and shuddered. The dead plants couldn't tell me what I needed to know.

But he had to be over there.

"Gus, come out!"

He didn't.

There was an old Ford pickup with a tarp-covered bed directly across the street from me. "Okay, so listen. I don't want to see you!" I shouted. "Ever again!" He was probably standing there smirking at me, his body blending in with the junker truck. Perfect camouflage for a scumbag. What the hell did the weasel want with me, anyway?

I turned and headed for the Shadow Wood Apartments, wiping the damn rain off my face and keeping my eyes fixed on the apartment complex sign. Didn't work. I heard footsteps on the pavement coming up behind me. I kept walking. No way was I talking to that traitor.

The apartment manager had gotten the tags on the sign painted over again, but hadn't bothered to clean up the bottles and crap all over the ground.

God, I had to get Grandmother Ruth and my sisters out of this dump.

But I had to have a job first. I could still hear Gus behind me, so I walked faster. Along with using my power, talking to a known criminal, normal or Empowered, busted my parole. I'd go back to prison for life. My family would be hosed.

The moss under my feet moaned softly. It would be so easy to reach out with my power, caress it, and cover the trashy ground with a thick carpet of the stuff.

No more. Never again. I pushed the urge away and kept walking, almost running now. Mister Get Me Thrown Back in Prison was right behind me.

Then I heard swearing and the clink of bottles.

I whipped back around. Gus sprawled on the dirt next to the sign, face down on slimy wet newspapers. His jacket hood had fallen back, and I could see long dark hair beneath a knitted black cap. A lone beer bottle rolled across the sidewalk and clattered over the edge into the street, while two more bottles spun slowly near his feet. Tripped by the party from last night. If I wasn't so ready to punch him, I'd be laughing.

The fall must have broken his concentration, and without that, he couldn't "blend in," and hide.

He still wore that grungy old army field jacket of his. It was ancient, made just after the Three Days War. There were blank patches where the radiation detectors used to be.

Gus got onto his knees and looked up at me. The same old Gus. Pale face, and nervous eyes that never looked in any one place for long. His black hair hung down from under a dirty orange cap. He was maybe five years older than me, but he looked...old.

I clenched my fists. "Why are you here, Gus?"

He got up, brushing newspaper and wet leaves off his cargo pants. Working himself up to say whatever it was he had come here to say. He was shorter than me by a lot, so he had to look up.

He was taking too freaking long to get to the point. "I can't talk with you, Gus. It's against my parole. Not that you would know about parole. Since you skipped out before they came for us."

Gus looked guilty. He should be back on his knees begging me to forgive him "Saying I'm sorry won't cut it, will it, Mat?"

"Damn straight it won't."

He swallowed again. "I want to make it up to you." His voice sounded hoarse now.

I shoved him, hard, and he stumbled backward until he hit the sign with a loud thump. He vanished.

"That's right, pull your blender act," I said. Blender had been his nickname back in the Renegades. His power was great for running away.

Gus reappeared behind me, in the parking lot. "I can make it up to you."

Hah. Make it up to me. That was a laugh. But okay, I'd bite. "How can you make up for cutting and running, Blender?"

I wanted to shout at him, and how will you bring Tanya back from being dead? My best friend, dead because of this waste of skin.

He blinked. "I can help you."

Blood pounded in my ears. Just like some of the other inmates in Special Corrections who said they could help me. No thanks. I just wanted to get a job and not deal with creeps like Gus. "Leave me alone, Gus." I stormed past him. I managed to not kick him in the crotch, and headed toward my apartment building.

I looked back and Gus was still following me, not even trying to hide this time.

I couldn't let Ruth or the twins see me talking to a scumbag like Gus. They'd recognize my old teammate. Ruth knew full well I wasn't supposed to talk to criminals.

I wanted to kill the bastard, but couldn't.

And he wasn't going to leave me alone until he'd said his piece.

I stopped. "All right, Gus, you can say what you came to say. But not here in the open where everyone can see us." I nodded at the complex's storage building. "Follow me," I said. "But first, do your Invisible Man act."

He vanished. My skin still tingled from him being nearby. All of us Empowered are able to detect other Empowered when we're near each other. It means we have a hell of a time sneaking up on each other. Gus's blending gave him an advantage and the little creep always took maximum advantage.

I went to the storage building, unlocked the door, pushed it open.

"In," I said. I waited long enough for him to get inside, then followed. I turned on the light, and closed the door behind me.

Gus stood in the middle of the room, flanked by storage cages, looking like a trapped animal. Which he was as far as I was concerned. Bastard weasel.

He flinched when I walked up to him and looked at his hands. "Your hair is so different, it's so short now."

I grabbed his jacket, hauled him up close to me. "What the hell does that have to do with anything? You're wasting my time, jerk."

His Adam's apple was bobbing like a cartoon character's. He was scared to death. Sweating. Gus had always been a bit fragile. Back in the Renegades, the Professor used to say Gus took careful handling, that fear drove him more than most people. Yeah, well, Gus's fear killed the Professor and my best friend because he wasn't there when we needed him.

And now he was back, trying to screw up my life again.

"I'm so-so-orry," he stuttered. "Pl-lease--" I gave him a hard look, which shut him up. He wouldn't have lasted a day in Special Corrections.

"Cut to the damn chase, Gus." The longer this went on, the more chance there was of someone seeing us together, even holed up inside this storage building.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. He wore those old, beat-up fingerless gloves of his. He always wore fingerless gloves.

"Okay." He swallowed again. I wanted to yell, enough with the swallowing, but kept my mouth shut. Anything to get him to spit out what he wanted to tell me.

"I can hook you up with people who can help you."

"I don't want your help, Gus." The blood pounded louder in my ears. "Or these people's help either." I glared at him

He surprised me. He didn't duck his head, kept right on talking. "Mat, you need help. This group can give you what you need."

"Group, Gus? Group!" I grabbed the front of his coat again. "Let me guess, these are Empowereds, aren't they?" Idiot. He was stupider than I thought.

He nodded.

Damn him. Damn him to hell.

"The Scourge can help you."

"The Scourge! Don't fuck with me, Gus."

He shook his head frantically. "I'm not, Mat, I'm not! I'm in the Scourge."

"Stop lying!" I slammed him into a storage cage. I wanted to slam him again and again. He deserved it. I leaned in close to him. "The Scourge is gone, asshole."

He winced. "No, they aren't."

Gus was lying. He had to be. The Scourge had been destroyed while I was in prison. The world's Enemy Number One, the biggest, baddest super-villain group, ever. The Renegades had been nothing by comparison. But the Scourge had still gone down. Rogue Empowereds always got caught in the end.

"Why are you wasting my time with this bull?"

His eyes were wide, spit on his lips. The weasel. "It's true, Mat! I'm in the Scourge."

Gus had gone crazy while I was locked up. He must have. He never would have had the guts to try and feed me made-up garbage like this crap story.

"I can talk to my cell leader. He can help."

I ground my teeth. Cell leader? What a load of crap. "You came here just to give me a BS story about the Scourge somehow coming back from the dead?"

He wouldn't stop. "I'm not lying. Listen, I've got a place." He told me the address. "Think it over. Come see me. I can get you in, I promise."

That was it. I slugged him, fist smashing his jaw, sending spit flying as his head snapped back. He slid down the cage's mesh.

Damn, it felt good.

I yanked him to his feet, frogmarched him to the door, and shoved him through.

"Leave and don't come back."

He vanished, leaving spit and tears splattered on the pavement.

Gus was a crazy fool. I was done with crazy fools, especially him. I slammed the door behind me. What in God's name had gotten into him to try and feed me lies? I shook my head. He was crazy as a rabid bat.

I looked up and saw Ruth watching me from her bedroom window.

* * *

RUTH WAS GOING TO BE pissed. I pounded up three flights of stairs to the apartment. I'd tried to talk her into moving to a ground floor unit, but she liked this one, said the exercise was good for her. But these days she didn't leave her apartment much, thanks to Thalik's disease. She also said she liked being able to see the world from higher up. I couldn't figure out why. Why would you want to see a dingy apartment complex and a bunch of trees? I sure as hell didn't.

I reached our door and stopped because I still wanted to break something. I took a deep breath, then went inside. The living room was empty, no sign of Ruth, or the twins.

The television, a big thirty-inch model, was on, tuned to the Triple N, the National News Network. Ruth must have been watching it. The twins could care less about the news.

"Rebuilding Russia: An Ongoing Concern," crawled across the lower part of the screen below an image of New Moscow. Whatever. I was about to turn it off when the video switched to a reporter talking to a woman in a white UN military uniform and a huge man dressed in a deep blue jumpsuit with a gold Hero Council badge. I shuddered. I recognized him. I'd seen him the day they caught me. My stomach felt like ice. The day Tanya and the Professor and the rest of the Renegades died.

That was Titan, President of the Hero Council and the only founding member still alive. He was still built like a giant linebacker even though he was ancient, like seventy-five years old. The reporter asked him something about unrest in Russia. Titan said rebuilding always takes longer than people want. Thanks, Mister Hero Council President. He went on about the responsibility of sanctioned Empowered to aid society and how the Russian Rogue Empowered were only holding their people back. Sure, if Empowered weren't "sanctioned," meaning part of the Hero Council, then they were part of the problem. The only choice they gave you if you didn't join up was to sign on the dotted line, saying you'd never use your power.

I turned off the television.

I heard Ruth coughing in her bedroom. The racking cough made my skin crawl. I went through the kitchen, past the sink filled with dirty dishes that the twins obviously hadn't taken care of and the still full garbage can, down the short hall to the two bedrooms. Ruth's was the far one. The door to the twin's room was covered in new doom ballad posters. Apparently Four Horsemen was their favorite band this week. I shook my head. Predictable.

I knocked on Ruth's door, pushed it open. It was freezing in there.

Ruth was sitting up in bed. She coughed again, but shook her head no when I started to move forward. I stood there, twisting my hands. Ruth looked terrible. Her face had more lines in it than this morning, and her short gray hair was a mess.

Her reading glasses were on the nightstand, on top of her current book, something about the Long Winter. Ruth loved history and current events. Magazines on politics, foreign affairs, and science were stacked on another little table by the window.

"You're up," I said lamely. That's me, Miss Obvious. I hated seeing her like this. Thalik's disease was the bitch queen of all diseases. The mystery disease that had no cure. No one even knew why you got it. Sure, it was rare, but what good was rare when it got you, or someone you loved?

Ruth sipped from the water bottle she kept by her bed, hands trembling, and took a pill.

Her skin was really pale and she'd lost so much muscle since I'd gone to prison.

No cure whatsoever for Thalik's.

She was taking expensive medication to help her cope, but was still dying day by day. If I could get a job and hold it and then apply for a medical grant, maybe get some legal help, Ruth could get on a trial for some sort of new drug. Something. Anything. She had raised me and the twins after our parents died. Been there for us, was still there for us, despite everything.

I had to find a way to help her and get the girls on the right path.

She put down the water bottle, wiped her mouth and looked at me.

"Mathilda," she said, using my full name. Only Ruth called me that. Her gray eyes searched my face. "Who was that you were with just now?"

"Someone I used to know."

"Someone from the Renegades."

"I told him to fuc--I I told him to get out of here and not come back."

"Why was he here in the first place?" Ruth was angry, but she did the under control type anger, not like me.

I squirmed. "He wanted to make up for something."

"That was your friend Gus, wasn't it?" Even sick, Ruth's memory was sharp. There wasn't any point in lying to her.

I shook my head. "He's no friend of mine."

"Seeing him breaks your parole."

"I know, I know." Tell me something I didn't know. This wasn't fair. I hadn't wanted to see Gus.

Ruth waved at me to come over to the bed. I slunk over, feeling way shorter than six one and like I was ten years old again.

Ruth reached and had clasped my hand. "You only get one chance."

I nodded.

"You can't give up, Mat."

"I'm not."

Ruth let go of my hand, lifted her chin. "It looks to me like you are giving up."

"I'm trying, Ruth, I'm trying!" The potpourri scent in her room suddenly made me sick.

Ruth uncrossed her arms. "You left your phone at home. Again."

"Sorry, I forgot." I hated carrying that thing. "My parole officer called?" Winterfield always ruined my day. He was one hundred percent pure hardass and he rode me nonstop about getting a job.

Ruth frowned. "Three times. You need to be reachable, Mathilda."

"I know, I know." I spent five years in Special Corrections always being reachable. Once in awhile, I wanted to be unreachable.

I knew what she was going to say next. Going to go over the whole "don't see any criminals" thing anymore. I tried to relax, slow my breathing. Tried not to get angry.

"Meeting with Empowered criminals is especially dangerous."

Yep. Here we go. "Does it matter?" I retorted. "If I see any criminal, I go back to Special Corrections."

Ruth shook her head at me, frowning. "Mat, you know there's a difference. Seeing a normal criminal is a violation, but meeting with an Empowered criminal is a one-way ticket to Special Corrections without appeal."

Okay, okay, she had a point, but I was trying to stay away from ALL criminals, not just Empowered ones.

"What did he want?" Ruth asked.

"To apologize. Like it mattered." I couldn't keep the disgust out of my voice.

"That couldn't have been all he wanted to say."

I shrugged. "I wasn't going to listen to anything else."

She squeezed my hand. "If your PO finds out, you'll be in trouble."

My face flushed with anger. "I told the creep to leave me alone!" I got up. "Where are Ava and Ella?"

Ruth sighed, suddenly looking not just old but ancient. "Change the subject, why don't you?" she said in a low voice. She sighed. "Out, just like you were."

"But you don't know where they went?"

She shook her head, laughed sadly. "That used to be you," she said.

"It did. That's why I worry."

The deep rumble of an eight-cylinder engine came from the parking lot, interrupting what Ruth was going to say next. I went to the window, and peered outside.

A newer model gold Lincoln Overlord pulled up below our apartment, whitewall tires and silver spoked-rims screaming ganger-mobile. A rear door opened and my younger sister Ella got out, followed a moment later by her twin, Ava. Ava's raven black hair was nearly as long as mine used to be. It swung around her face like a curtain, while Ella wore hers in a short, curly perm.

Cute chicks. Way too cute. That was the problem.

A muscled arm reached out of the car, pulled Ava back in, and I caught the hard profile of a tattooed man. They kissed, and my stomach roiled. Ganger crooks made me sick.

"You didn't say the girls hung with gangers!" I spat out the words. "You lecture me about Gus, and here they are hanging with gangers." My skin was hot.

"I've told them not to." Her eyes went hard. "I've got to pick my battles."

"They aren't listening," I retorted.

Another racking cough. "No more than you did," Ruth said when she could speak again.

"I'm trying now." I turned back to the window.

The girls stood by the stairwell, watching the car drive off. Then they headed up the stairs, Ava in the lead as always, Ella following.

I met them at the door. "Where have you been?" Stupid kids, hanging with gangers. What were they thinking?

Ava tried pushing past me, but I braced an arm against the door frame. The twins were five feet eleven, but I was taller at six one, so Ava had to look up to meet my gaze.

"Out with friends," Ava said when she couldn't push past me. "That good enough for you, sis?" This last came out as a hiss.

I leaned forward, looking down at her. "Don't be a fool like I was."

"Yeah, you were a fool, all right. We all remember."

The twins had been twelve when I was convicted.

"Good," I said, blocking the doorway with my arm. "Those creeps down there won't do you any good. How long have you been seeing them?"

Ella spoke up, fast, trying to please me. "Just for a couple of weeks."

I clenched my hand. How the hell had I missed that? Because I'd been out pounding the pavement looking for work and getting leered at by creeps in interviews for dead-end jobs.

Ava gave me a defiant smile. "You're just jealous."

I laughed. That was too funny for words. I ignored Ava and kept looking at Ella. "How about you, Ella? Why are you hanging with gangers?"

Ella looked away. "They're fun," she mumbled.

"You going to let us in?" Ava crossed her arms. "I have to pee."

"I just want you both to understand something first."

Ella raised her head and looked at me, expectantly. She was the good one, always willing to listen.

Ava brushed her hair back. "What's that, sis?" Ava, on the other hand, was a stone-cold bitch in training. Ruth said we were alike--we were nothing alike.

"Those creeps are hanging with you for only two reasons." I tried to look less angry. "One, they want sex."

Ava's eyes flashed. "So what if they do? You weren't a virgin back in the Renegades, were you?"

I hadn't been, but that didn't matter here. "Two, they are just using you to get to me." Checking things out, taking their time. I'd have to figure out a way to end this thing the twins had with them.

Ava gave a loud, sarcastic laugh, and even Ella looked angry.

"It's not all about you," Ava said. Ella nodded sharply in agreement. She was the follower when it came to Ava.

Ava shoved my arm out of the way and they marched past me. "Stay out of our lives," Ava shot back at me over her shoulder.

I stomped outside and slammed the door behind me.

The Lincoln Overlord pulled out onto Powell. The car's engine revved, and it sped away, out of sight beyond the line of firs. Gangers off to have fun elsewhere. Scum.

The hum of the trees in my mind tugged at me as I gripped the handrail. My power couldn't help me. The trees certainly couldn't. I had to deal with this just like any normal would. I couldn't go to the police. I needed to get out and find a job that would get us out of this dump. And away from those gangers.

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# Chapter 2

The next morning I had to meet with Winterfield, my parole officer, at that greasy spoon by the Interstate we always met at. The day was cloudy with likely rain, according to the radio. Great, that meant I had to deal again with all the plants shouting happiness in my head.

I drove Ruth's old Buick, because she insisted, even though it ate through gas money. Two bus transfers would have made me leave way early anyhow.

I wore my "meeting with the PO" uniform of white blouse, sweater, slacks, and the only sensible shoes I owned, a pair of beige low-heels. I hated the low-heels, but needed to look the part when meeting with my tight-assed PO. I'd kill to be wearing jeans and work boots, but nothing doing.

The radio was tuned to a news station, all Ruth listened to when she was in the car. I was about to change it when the talking heads started discussing a Hero Council operation in Seattle, some sort of sweep against "rampant criminality and rogue Empowered." I turned up the volume, heart pounding, flashing on the Hero Council coming after the Renegades five years ago.

The radio said the Hero Council of North America's First Team had led a joint FBI, UN, and Support task force against unspecified "rogue elements." It sounded like a huge deal. The radio announcers sounded awestruck, like normals always seemed to whenever they mentioned the Hero Council. Made me sick.

Was it the Scourge? Had Gus been telling the truth? But the newscasters didn't give any more details. Instead, they started talking about the latest building projects in the greater New York City area, Long Island this time, another Galestorm Memorial Center. The Three Days War and the irradiating of NYC had happened a half century ago, but the Big Apple still wasn't so big these days. Even though the City had been rebuilt by the end of the 1980s, people kept tinkering with it, trying to make it the New York of old again.

I changed the channel to a rock station. I was not looking forward to this meeting.

Being interrogated by my PO was right up there with getting my teeth cleaned, but it was necessary.

Winterfield always made me wary. He had the no-nonsense look of a cop, or a corrections officer. He must have been in the military, but I wasn't about to ask. I knew better. There was no chance of getting an answer. I figured he'd just tell me to focus on me and getting a job instead of asking questions about things that didn't matter.

I just hoped to God Winterfield never found out about Gus attempting to "recruit" me for the Scourge.

It wouldn't matter that Gus's story about the Scourge being back from the dead was completely nutso. Gus was a rogue Empowered, the last living member of the Renegades except for me. I was through with living the criminal life, but Gus sure wasn't. He must have spent the last five years skulking around the Northwest, living in abandoned houses and stealing what he needed. As long as it was something he could carry, it would blend in with him.

I still couldn't figure out how Gus had remained free for so long, even with his power. Maybe the Hero Council and their lackey Support thought he was dead. Maybe he didn't matter to them. That seemed damned unlikely. He'd be the first rogue Empowered they let go. The sanctioned Empowered of the Hero Council never let us rogues go. They hunted us down.

I parked the Buick next to a dogwood tree that was bursting with anticipation of budding. Feeling its pleasure was like drinking fortified wine; it made me dizzy. I had to stop in the entryway and take a few slow breaths. Clear my head. Didn't want to set off those spook specs of Winterfield's. Maybe I'd get lucky and he wouldn't have them on today.

Winterfield waited for me in a booth by the restrooms. His back was against the wall, like always.

I don't know about other parole officers, but Winterfield was no fun at all.

He wore that navy blue windbreaker he always wore and a knitted polo shirt. His shaved head glinted in the weak yellow lighting. Maybe he waxed it.

My stomach did a somersault when I spotted the mirrored sunglasses on the table in front of him. Damn it. Winterfield had brought his spook specs.

He nodded at me as the waitress left me at the booth. I slid in across from him. It was a big booth, but with Winterfield there, I felt like I was trapped in a tiny closet. I couldn't take my eyes off the spook specs.

He tapped his windbreaker. "You are carrying your phone today, aren't you, Brandt?"

I ripped my gaze from the folded spook specs. Damn those things.

"Yeah." I pulled my phone out of my purse and laid it on the table.

Winterfield gave me his no bullshit look. "It isn't just me you need to stay in touch with, Brandt, remember. What if your grandmother needs to reach you?"

My breath froze. "She knows where I'm at."

Winterfield raised an eyebrow. "Really, Brandt? You should know by now you can't fool me. Why don't you try not fooling yourself?"

"Okay," I mumbled and glanced at my hands. Looking at Winterfield was like staring at a brick wall. I had no idea what lay under that hard surface. Probably something colder and harder than steel.

I didn't want to find out.

Ivy hung in a planter from the ceiling, leaves curled. It needed water. If I strained, I could pull water from the air, push the plant to grow, unspool it like a living thread, until vines looped and tightened around Winterfield's muscled neck and choked off his breath. The leaves stirred and I looked back at my hands, fast.

Winterfield had followed my gaze to the ivy. "You're still Vine, Brandt."

I shook my head. "I'm just Mat now." I was sweating. Winterfield always made me sweat.

His smile was thin, with sharp edges. "The world won't think so."

"I'm not anybody special." The lie felt good. I just wanted to take care of Ruth and the twins, even if the girls were ungrateful brats. Was it really a lie if I wanted it to be true?

"You may be nobody, Brandt, but you are an Empowered nobody. Society is not going to forget that."

Yeah, I was no Galestorm, or Titan for that matter, anyone else on the Hero Council. My power was no big deal. I couldn't fly. I wasn't a super genius. I couldn't throw a bus. I sure as hell couldn't stop a nuke like Galestorm did. Growing plants, no matter how fast, isn't going to impress people wowed by real superpowers.

And I wasn't a sanctioned Empowered. I'd been a rogue, the kind of Empowered that scared normals shitless, because the Hero Council didn't want someone with a lame power like mine. So, I only got one option, sign on the dotted line and give up using my power forever. I was fifteen, and pissed that the world thought my wonderful power was nothing. So I ran away to join the Renegades.

The waitress returned, took our orders, left. If she knew what I was, what I'd been, she'd be frightened and angry I was there. But she had no clue. I stared at the tabletop, traced a pattern in the fake walnut. "Ignorance is bliss," I whispered.

"Only if you want to have no control over what happens to you." Winterfield tapped the tabletop. "The problem is that you know things ordinary people don't."

"I just want to be as ignorant as everyone else. I don't want to know what I once knew." I'd give anything to forget, to start over.

"What you still know," Winterfield insisted.

He was wrong but so sure he was right.

The waitress brought our breakfasts. Winterfield asked me about my job hunt while we ate. I gave him a no-frills account, and he listened, not asking any questions.

I finished, took a gulp of coffee.

"You're going to end up back in Special Corrections if you fail to find and hold down a job." He didn't have to take it further. We'd had this conversation before. If I couldn't hold down a job, I had no money, and would just be a burden on my family. Winterfield assumed I'd turn to crime to get the money rather than put the family deeper in the hole for feeding me.

Wasn't going to happen.

Period.

"I'll find work."

The waitress cleared our plates, refilled our coffee cups.

Winterfield waited until she was gone before saying anything else. He ran a finger along the bridge of the folded spook specs.

I suppressed a shiver.

"Not the way you are going." He snapped his fingers and I practically jumped out of my seat.

"I'm not Vine anymore."

He gave me the sharp smile again, laid a finger on the spook specs.

"Time to be checked out," he said.

Easy for him to say. "I feel fine today," I said. "No need for the exam."

His smile vanished. "Funny, Brandt. Very funny."

Yeah, I could see he was laughing inside.

He picked up the spook specs, opened the glasses with a snap and put them on.

Pinpoint red lights flicked on above the bridge, like demon's eyes. The mirrored shades hid Winterfield's ice blue eyes, so I kept looking at the demon's eyes, and blinking from the bright lights.

Winterfield started "the exam" with the same question he always asked.

"Why did you became a criminal?"

I gave him the same answer I always did.

"Because I was young and stupid, dumb enough to think it sounded like fun." That was my story and I was sticking to it. Always.

I looked up at the ivy. It knew nothing of the larger world beyond this diner. I thought again about the ivy stretching down, looping around Winterfield's neck and strangling him. I pushed the thought away. What if the spook specs could read my thoughts?

"Please look at me," Winterfield said.

I ground my teeth. Looked at him.

"Have you used your power since our last meeting?" he asked "As per the terms of your parole, you must not use your power, specified as a botanical catalyst."

Botanical catalyst was a fancy way of saying I could control plants. Big deal.

My skin itched. It felt like tiny pinpricks all along my face, neck, arms, chest. A dull headache settled in around my temples.

"Just a moment more, Brandt." Easy for him to say. His voice was matter-of-fact, all business. The headache dug harder into my temples.

I closed my eyes, frowning. "I haven't used my power, Winterfield." Why couldn't he just believe me for once?

The pinpricks stopped, and the headache faded. I opened my eyes. Winterfield had removed the spook specs.

"I am pleased to verify that you haven't," he said.

"You could have just taken my word for it." He wasn't going to tell me what he saw, except that somehow the spook specs showed I hadn't used my power, and that I wasn't lying.

He snorted, paid our check, and we headed outside together.

Winterfield followed me to the Buick. We were both over six feet tall, so he looked me in the eye. "Think about the choices you make," he said. "They have consequences." He shook his head. "And ditch the whole "ignorance is bliss" attitude. You'll just wind up being someone else's patsy."

Great, first the spook specs, now a nugget of wisdom from the PO. I shoved the anger down. "I will." What else did he expect me to say? No? And the bastard wouldn't even let me try to forget who I was. Like I could.

He got in his black Ford Republic sedan and drove off.

I knew full well choices have consequences. I was living proof.

* * *

I DROVE BACK HOME AFTER another thanks-but-no-thanks interview at a restaurant for a waitress job. I would have stunk as a waitress anyway.

The gold Lincoln Overlord with the whitewall tires and silver-spoke rims idled in front of our apartment building, doors open, gangers waiting outside.

Old habits made me do an inventory. Four crooks, all dressed in tailored suits, which seemed to be all the rage with the shady set these days. Three of the gangers had shaved heads, one was Asian, another black, the third shaved head belonged to a white guy. The second white guy in the group had long blond hair in a ponytail, and wore a cream-colored suit. He leaned against the Lincoln's trunk.

My muscles tensed as I took this all in. I jumped out of the car, went up to the Lincoln.

"Hey," the blond said. Jeweled rings winked on his fingers. He smiled with bright white, even teeth. That was some expensive dentistry in his mouth.

Our door opened and Ava and Ella came out, smiling, until they saw me. Ava said something to Ella, and they both marched down the stairs, Ava in the lead.

"The girls are staying here," I told the blond.

He nodded at the other three goons. They got into the Lincoln, the Asian behind the wheel.

"It's up to the ladies," he said.

Ava marched up to me. "We're going with them."

She started to push past me and I grabbed her arm.

The blond ganger grinned, buffed his fingernails on his suit. "I hate it when sisters fight."

Ava twisted in my grip.

Our apartment door opened and Ruth appeared.

She waved at me. "Mat! No fighting!" She coughed and doubled over. Damn it. She shouldn't have to deal with this crap.

I let go of Ava. She flounced over to the Lincoln, slipped inside the back. Ella avoided my glare and joined her.

The blond ganger shrugged. "Sorry, babe, looks like the ladies have spoken. You know, you could join us."

"Fat chance."

He shrugged a second time. "Your loss. Too bad." He acted like he knew something I didn't. I wanted to punch the smugness off his face.

He got into the ganger mobile and sat between the twins. The car roared to life. The blond threw his arms around the girls and grinned back at me. Cocky jerk.

The Lincoln drove off.

Damn it! I couldn't let the twins go off with these creeps.

"Mat, don't go after them," Ruth called from the top of the stairs. "I don't want you back in prison!" There was sudden steel in her voice.

I ignored her, jumped in the Buick, and followed the Lincoln.

The gangers drove to the north side of Portland, to a tree-lined street, and stopped in front of an old three-story house. I had kept my distance as I trailed them across town, but they must have known I was following them.

I parked behind the Lincoln, got out, and took a deep breath.

My sisters were idiots.

The day was warm for late February; there was a hint of spring in the air with the smell of flowers about to blossom, and budding leaves. The walnut trees lining the street seemed to shiver, and I felt myself reaching out to them with my power.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to stop.

The left rear door of the Lincoln opened. Ava scrambled out, face twisted in rage. "Leave us the fuck alone, Mathilda."

Ella appeared behind her, followed by Cocky Jerk.

I pointed at the house. I could see where this was going. A 'party' for these gangers, featuring my sisters. "You aren't going inside that house, or anywhere else with these men." I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at Ruth's Buick. "Get inside."

The rest of the gangers got out of the Overlord and stood watching the show.

Ava stomped her foot. "No!"

Anger rose inside me. I pushed it back down.

"I'll talk with these men then, and you drive yourselves home in the Buick." I shoved Ruth's car keys at the twins. "You both have your licenses. Go home."

Ava crossed her arms. "Hell, no."

Ella, ever the follower, did likewise, but she wouldn't meet my gaze.

Cocky Jerk spread his arms wide, and smiled brightly. "Ladies, ladies," he said to the twins. "Do as your sister asks and head home. Maybe we'll hook up later."

"What?" Ava shouted. "But we were going to party with you!"

He shrugged. "We were, but I've wanted to talk with your sister, and now is the perfect time." Just like I had told the twins. The gangers wanted to get to me, the rogue Empowered. No doubt some stupid scheme to make a pile of cash.

"Talk?" Ava was stunned. "Talk about what? I thought you wanted to hang with us?"

"Sure, babe, we like some fun, but this is business."

Tears streaked Ava's face, her mouth moved, but nothing came out. They had totally played my sisters.

A single tear ran down Ella's face. My face hardened. Damn these men.

"Go," I told Ella. "Take Ava." I handed Ella the car keys and stepped out of the way. My shoe brushed against moss lining the curb, and a jolt of energy ran up my leg. The moss started to spread beneath my heel, whispering wetly in my brain. No. NO. I forced it to stop. I couldn't break my parole. Yeah, I was meeting with criminals, but this would be over quickly. Then it was back to the straight and narrow.

Ella tugged at Ava's elbow. "Come on, Ava." She pulled Ava past me to the Buick while the gangers watched, grinning. Ella pushed Ava inside, looked at me.

"Come home with us. Please."

"I need to talk with them." I was ending this. Now.

"Don't. Come home."

"I have to."

She squeezed away tears and started up the car. I watched them drive off.

They were safe for now. I needed to make them safe forever.

* * *

I TURNED TO THE LEADER. He was grinning at me like he'd just won a lottery.

"I'm glad we agree we need to talk." He grew serious. "My name is Raphe Hatcher, and my associates..."

"I don't need to know their names." I cut him off. I didn't want to know anything about them. I could lie more convincingly to Winterfield that way.

Hatcher shrugged. "Suit yourself."

I put my hands on my hips. "Okay, what's this about?"

"Let's discuss this inside." He jerked his head toward the house, a three-story wreck with a moss-covered gabled roof and a tall turret with a long curtained window that stared at me like a lidded eye, blood-red velvet drapes closed.

I held up a hand. "We're not having a conversation in there."

Hatcher looked at me in mock sadness. "There's no reason for mistrust." What a load of bullshit. The guy just wouldn't stop.

I shook my head. "We aren't going to be talking long enough to worry about trusting each other."

"Don't be so sure about that," Hatcher said. "But we aren't having this conversation in the street." He jerked his head at the house. "Inside," he ordered. He had a point. I didn't want anyone seeing me with the gangers.

I had a stupid idea. The backyard behind the Victorian was fenced. A huge bank of blackberry bushes grew up over the wooden fence, but there was a gate beside the house. Never let yourself be cornered. But these guys were just two-bit crooks. I'd dealt with other rogue Empowered, before, especially inside Special Corrections.

I pointed at the gate. "Let's talk in the backyard."

"Sure, works for us," Hatcher said. He motioned for me to walk ahead.

I waved them forward. "I'll follow you."

Hatcher shook his head, looking sad. "You got to trust us."

I raised an eyebrow. Was this idiot serious?

He shook his head, chuckling, and headed toward the back.

Ivy climbed up the side of the house. The grass beneath our feet was scraggly crabgrass that grew up from the moss-covered earth. Both pulsed with thirst for more rain.

The wooden gate creaked as the lead ganger opened it and we filed into the backyard. The scent of wet earth mingled with moss, shrubs, and blackberry vines. They were dormant but moist with winter's touch still on their leaves. The air was thick, pregnant with life's potential waiting to burst forth into spring. I swayed.

A firm, strong hand on my elbow steadied me.

"Hey, girl, you all right?" Hatcher actually looked concerned.

Funny. If this wasn't so deadly serious I'd be doubled over laughing.

I pulled my arm from Hatcher's grasp. "I'm fine, thanks."

The gate closed with a bang.

My heart pounded harder. My mouth was suddenly bone-dry. I took a deep breath. Never let them see fear. Ever.

Hulking blackberry thickets surrounded the yard on three sides. The rusting ruin of an overturned wheelbarrow was just visible inside the thicket near me. Ivy covered the house's backside. I'd have to catalyze the ivy to make it strong enough to support my weight.

Hatcher gestured at the yard. "We have some privacy here, Mathilda. I can call you Mathilda, right? Or would you prefer Mat?"

His smile was suddenly all teeth, making him look like a shark. His three pals grinned in similar shark-like fashion. What did the twins see in these goons? Teenaged hormones running amok made Ava and Ella imagine a humanity that wasn't there.

Behind me, on the house, the ivy called, urging me to put my strength into it, to grow it, so that it could give me a path to escape.

I ignored it. That was my fear talking, not the ivy.

Far above us a sonic boom split the sky. All five of us glanced up, and for a fraction of a second I saw a blue and white winged needle hurling westward, toward the Pacific Ocean at impossible speeds. It must be Pan American's Trans-Pacific scramjet, boosting toward Tokyo.

I wished I were flying away on the scramjet, free of all this.

If I weren't here, maybe these creeps wouldn't be preying on my sisters, but I was here, so they preyed on my family. Running away wouldn't help now.

"Let's talk," Hatcher said.

I shifted my stance, arms loose at my sides. "That's why I came. You are going to leave my sisters alone. Starting now."

Hatcher's brow furrowed. "Just like that?"

Two of his lackeys chuckled. The other pulled on a pair of brass knuckles and flexed his arms.

Damn it. I forced myself to breath slowly.

"Just like that," I said. "Everyone walks away with skin intact. Sound good?"

All four laughed, Hatcher so hard that he closed his eyes for a moment and waved a hand at me to wait.

He stopped laughing. "Here's what's going to happen, Mat. You are going to use your power to help us grow certain rare and very valuable botanicals that have a very strong market demand. It happens to be an illegal market, but we never let that stop us, and you shouldn't either."

He snapped his fingers. "You do that, and we'll leave your sisters alone. Your precious grandmother, too."

I scowled.

Hatcher nodded. "Yeah, we know about her. She's got Thalik's disease. No cure, terminal, right?"

I ground my teeth. How did this asshole know so much about Ruth? Did my idiot sisters blab all this?

He went on. "We know all about your family and your past. Why do you think we invested so much time in your sisters?" He winked at me. "Didn't hurt that they were fun little girls, but this is really business."

I unclenched my hands. "Shut up. I mean it."

"Go ahead and make all the faces you want. But you are going to do what we want. That might even include giving us a taste of you, too, if you want your sisters kept out of it." He shrugged. "Of course, this can be profitable and pleasurable for you, too."

Living under the thumb of Hatcher and his gangers? Fat chance.

"No way."

Hatcher sighed. "I was afraid that we might have to take this further." He glanced at the ganger with the brass knuckles. "Not her face. It's not as fun if her face is messed up.

My jaw tightened. To hell with consequences, to hell with parole, and to hell with Winterfield. I was ending this now and forever, for the twins and for Ruth.

Mister Brass Knuckles ambled toward me, past the tangled mountain of blackberry vines, a lazy grin on his face, swinging his arms slowly, like he was warming up for batting practice.

I reached with my power, into the vines, tasting their bitter tang. Wake, I urged the vines. I extended my connection into the roots, pulling nutrients up and into the vines, pulling water into the roots, pulling carbon dioxide from the air, bringing the vines to life. The blackberry thicket moaned and I shuddered. That felt so good after so many years not being able to use my power.

I commanded the nearest vine, bristling with inch-long thorns, to stretch out and loop around Brass Knuckle's calf.

"Ow!" The ganger instinctively grabbed the vine, yelped again as the thorns tore his flesh. I urged the vine to coil tighter, slicing through fabric and flesh. The man fell, screaming.

Hatcher's eyes widened. "Shit!" He grabbed at the inside of his suit jacket and his two other minions did likewise.

Guns. They were going for their guns.

My muscles screamed as I gestured wildly, pushing my vital energy into the blackberry thicket. The thicket rose up, like a giant spider made of thorny vines and I sent it rampaging forward.

The old wheelbarrow toppled with a thud inside the writhing mass. One of the gangers turned, gun drawn, and yelled as the thicket engulfed him. His yells turned to screams.

"Stop it, now." Hatcher pointed a Colt automatic pistol at me.

The two other gangers backed away from the thicket, waving pistols at the vines reaching for him.

I jumped to my right and twisted my arms in an arching motion. Hatcher's Colt boomed in my ear and a bullet slammed into my side. I hit the ground, breath whooshing from me.

The thicket twined around Hatcher and his goons. He brought his arms up, while the others tried to run, fell and were overrun by razor-sharp thorns. Blood turned the thorns scarlet.

Everything started to dim. I tried to stand, tried to push healing energy to the wound, but the world tilted. I fell back to the ground. Was this it?

I was suddenly thirsty. Hatcher was screaming now.

Die you bastard, I managed to think through a thickening haze.

I wasn't going to make it. Empowered healed faster than normals. But my body's accelerated healing wouldn't be nearly fast enough, especially not with all the vitality I'd poured into the blackberry thickets.

But these bastard criminals wouldn't either, and at least Ava and Ella, and Ruth, too, would be free of these assholes.

I lay down. The screaming was getting weaker. I closed my eyes, imagining the thorns sawing through flesh and bone.

Darkness fell on me like a mountain.

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# Chapter 3

There was nothing. Then there was this irritating beeping. Beep...beep...beeep. The beeping seemed to go on forever. I couldn't move. If this was hell, it was damned annoying.

I thought I heard a voice, but I couldn't make it what it was saying. Blah, blah, blah blah blah, the voice said. Great, that told me loads.

Memories swirled through my awareness like lost friends.

That asshole who wouldn't stop looking at my chest during that interview for the warehouse job. The job I held for like a week.

Ruth, giving me a weak hug when I walked through the door for the first time after Special Corrections. Tears kept blinding me.

Ava and Ella listening to doom rock in their room at full volume, and only turning it down a decibel when I rapped on the door.

Winterfield, sitting in that booth with his back to the wall, watching me with those ice blue eyes of his. Judging me, always judging me, and I could never measure up.

Special Corrections, waiting for me to return. The force shield distorted the world outside, like heat off asphalt in summer. Not being able to see beyond the walls of the force shield, forever.

Beep. Beep. Beeep.

Nothing.

* * *

MY NOSE ITCHED. THERE was something jammed in it, in both nostrils, that made breathing feel funny. My side hurt like hell. I think I still heard that damn beeping, but the pain had my full attention. To top it off, my mouth was dry as the desert.

I coughed, a dry cough that made my throat hurt and sent pain stabbing me in my left side.

"Ah, you awaken. Good." The voice was female, with a high and mighty sounding accent. British? I only knew Brits from television, but she sounded like one. Fingers traced my aching left side, where a bullet slammed into me who knew how long ago.

"Why am I alive?" I croaked out the words.

"You weren't meant to die then," I thought I heard the voice say.

I struggled to open my eyes, but they felt like they weighed a thousand tons and wouldn't budge. I winced. The pain was like a vice squeezing me.

I heard a soft hiss. Sweet warmth spread out from my side, banishing the pain.

"Please rest." Definitely an English accent.

"Who are you?" I asked.

There was no answer. I slipped back into nothingness.

* * *

WHEN I AWOKE THE SECOND time, the world was silent.

I took a slow, deep breath. My nostrils were clear, and my side no longer ached.

I opened my eyes. Blinked.

I was in what looked like a hospital room. I lay in a hospital-style bed.

I sat up and the lights brightened.

A plastic pitcher and glass sat on a side table beside me. I hoped there was water in the jug. I was so thirsty I could drink a river.

There was water in it. I poured a glass, and drank it down. I poured another glass and sipped the water this time. It was the most wonderful thing I'd ever tasted in my entire life.

I should have died in that backyard. The last time I used my power was five years ago. When I was captured. In Special Corrections we Empowered prisoners wore null cuffs which blocked our power. I could sense plants but not affect them.

When they released me, I was ordered not to use my power, so I didn't, even as it ate at me, even as it built inside me.

Then I had used it in one massive, desperate rush of energy.

All of it.

So that my body couldn't heal itself.

I wiped my mouth and looked around.

A rack of medical diagnostic equipment stood against one wall, powered off. Ruth had been hooked up to stuff like that at the hospital, after I was released from Special Corrections. How long ago--two months? Seemed like forever.

There were no windows. The door was steel. I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This looked like a prison hospital room. Was I back in Special Corrections? But there were no gold null cuffs on my wrists.

I pulled back the covers. I wore a hospital gown. Someone had taken care of me. That voice, the British accent, whoever it was, someone had looked after me.

A white jumpsuit hung on a rack in the opposite corner from the medical equipment. Underwear and bra in my size, socks and sneakers, were on a plastic footstool below the rack. Just waiting for me to put them on. Well, I did feel half naked in the hospital gown, especially with my ass exposed in the back.

So, I got dressed. The jumpsuit was way more form-fitting than an inmate's coveralls. Maybe this was the next thing in prison wear.

Prison. I didn't want to believe it.

I went to the door, turned the handle. Locked. The sinking feeling returned and I sat down on the bed, hard, and buried my head in my hands.

Prison. The word settled into the hollow of my chest.

Prison. I wouldn't be able to help Ruth or the twins. Ruth would get sicker and sicker, and the twins would fall in with another bad crowd. I'd be locked away forever in Special Corrections because I violated my parole. Back in the hole with other hard cases, never to see the world again except through a force shield.

The door clicked, and the handle moved. I scrambled to my feet. Corrections officers come to pay me a visit?

The door opened and two men walked in. They wore black suits with white dress shirts and black ties.

I blinked, not believing my eyes.

The first man was Winterfield. A gold Support pin gleamed on his suit lapel. Winterfield? What the hell was he doing here?

Winterfield shook his head. "I told you to think about the choices you make, didn't I?"

Bastard picked up right where we'd left off, in the parking lot outside that greasy spoon. "Yeah, you did."

His ice blue eyes looked me over and he shook his head again. "Well, here we are, living with the consequences of your bad choices."

Still a hardass. "I couldn't let those gangers threaten my family." What the hell had he expected me to do? "The police weren't going to help me."

"You still broke your parole." Winterfield's eyes narrowed. "You screwed up."

"What was I was supposed to do?" My voice rose.

Winterfield gave me a hard stare. I stared back.

"How did you even know what happened?"

He shook his head. "Really, Brandt? Did you really think you'd be paroled without surveillance? Or that your PO would just be a PO? You are an Empowered, Brandt. People like you don't just get to wander around loose."

"I was being watched the whole time?"

"Yes."

I'd been an idiot. That meant they must have seen me with Gus. Or did Winterfield just mean that last day? I wasn't going to ask. I was in enough shit as it was.

"If I was being watched when I went after Hatcher's gang, why didn't you step in?"

"We needed to see how you would act."

Pricks. Still, I'd made the decision to confront Hatcher and his gangers. Me. I owned it. "So, now you know."

"There's the understatement of the century."

"Are they dead?" I had never killed anyone before.

Winterfield shook his head. "Severely injured, but alive. They are in the custody of Support and will face a UN tribunal for crimes involving the Empowered."

"Am I going back to Special Corrections?" Amazingly, the words came out almost calmly. The other man stepped forward. He was a young, handsome, twenty-something man with dark, styled hair, and fine features. He also wore the gold Support pin on his suit lapel.

"I'm Agent Alexandre Sanchez, Ms. Brandt. As it happens, you have another option."

"I do?" The room started to spin, and I sat down on the bed. Saying this was too weird didn't begin to cover it.

He smiled, dimpling his cheeks, which made him look even more handsome. "You can help us out."

"Help you out? How?" My heart pounded faster.

Winterfield jabbed a finger at me. "As Agent Sanchez said, Brandt, you have one chance to avoid being returned to Special Corrections, this time for life." He looked supremely disgusted. "And even if you accept this assignment, failure means returning to Special Corrections for life. Personally, I think you are headed back to prison, but prove me wrong."

I realized I'd been holding my breath, and let it out. "What assignment?"

"Become an infiltrator for us," Sanchez said.

"A squealer?"

Sanchez shook his head. "No, an infiltrator, Ms. Brandt. There's a crucial difference--you'll be an operative for Support, assigned to infiltrate a dangerous criminal organization."

"So, I'd have to become a criminal again." My tongue felt heavy in my mouth. "Everyone would think I'm a criminal." Ruth would think I'd gone bad again.

Sanchez nodded. "I'm afraid so. It is absolutely necessary for that to appear to be the case."

Winterfield gave me a hard look. "If you really want to help your family, this is your one chance. Help us and we'll use our influence to swing resources to help your grandmother with her illness. There are experimental treatments being developed for Thalik's that could arrest the disease."

"You mean, like a cure?"

"Possibly. Or at least stop its progression." He pursed his lips. "But such treatments are extremely expensive."

A cure for Thalik's; it was too much to hope for.

Winterfield tossed out more bait. "We'll also get your sisters into an excellent private school and ensure they have guidance. Young women are very vulnerable, Brandt, as you know."

Bastard.

"But only if you complete this assignment." His gaze bored into me. "That means, finish it successfully. We'll be back after lunch to hear your answer."

He raised his arm and murmured into his sleeve. He must have a hidden communicator there. More spook stuff, like his specs. I still couldn't believe Winterfield was in Support. Support! The men and women in black who assisted sanctioned Empowered in keeping the world safe from rogues like me. So sue me for being sarcastic and cynical. Somehow, Winterfield was easier to take when he was just my hard-assed PO.

The door buzzed and swung open.

Winterfield looked back at me from the door. "Think hard about this one chance, Brandt." He left. No shit. I'd be thinking about nothing else

Sanchez lingered for a second.

He smiled sympathetically. "We really do want to help you, Mat, but you will have to help us, too. I hope you see that." He walked out, and the door locked behind him with a loud click.

* * *

I PACED THE ROOM. WINTERFIELD and Sanchez had me cornered. What the hell else could I do? Go back to Special Corrections for life? Put on the white jumpsuit and be shackled with null cuffs? Never see Ruth or the twins again? Say goodbye to freedom forever?

But to become a criminal again? That's what they were asking me to do.

Becoming a criminal had wrecked my life. I squeezed my eyes shut. No crying. Never cry. But I couldn't stop thinking about my best friend, Tanya. She died because we were criminals. I couldn't think about her now. Even five years later, it was too painful to remember. The way she died. Why she died.

I don't know how long I paced, thinking. The door buzzed and I stopped, turned.

A red-headed woman dressed in that stupid Support outfit of black suit, white shirt and tie, and gold Support lapel pin entered, pushing a cart with a covered lunch tray.

"Please sit on the bed," she said, sounding like she was Queen of Everything. My stomach rumbled. She could act like she was in charge if she brought food.

She left the cart by the foot of the bed and exited. The door locked with that damn click.

Lunch was a Waldorf salad, one of my favorites, with a sprig of parsley off to one side. Was that just luck, or did they know?

I couldn't stop thinking about the "offer."

Ruth had raised me and the twins after our parents died in that car crash in the Rocky Mountains. She was there for us when we were sick, or needed help with schoolwork. She'd had an army pension and some insurance benefits from our parents, so she could stay home for us. She put her life aside to care for us. The money ran out after I went to prison, and she got sicker and sicker with Thalik's disease. Now she and the girls lived on her tiny pension and social security benefits, which weren't enough to cover whatever pricey, experimental treatment might be available to help her.

Winterfield dangled a way out of poverty and illness. Maybe even a cure for Ruth.

I had to do this for her and the twins. Didn't matter that Ava and Ella were ungrateful jerks. They were still my sisters.

And Ruth had never stopped loving me.

I ate my lunch without tasting it, finished, drank more water, and stretched out on the bed.

Ruth would think I was a criminal again. So would Ava and Ella, but it was the image of Ruth, looking sadly at me, disappointed in me, that cut me open. My intention to prove to her that I'd changed had kept me going the five years I'd been in Special Corrections.

I got up and began pacing again. Winterfield and Sanchez had me over a barrel, and they knew it. Damn it. I tried so damn hard to walk the straight and narrow and look where it got me.

I plucked the parsley sprig off my lunch tray and twirled it in my fingers, feeling the stalk against my skin as I pushed a little of my vitality into it. The sprig grew until it was a foot long, giant's parsley, like something from God's garden.

My power would be at Support's beck and call, and also at the disposal of whatever criminal organization Winterfield and my new secret masters wanted me to infiltrate.

I had been played like a fool. Would I be an even bigger one if I accepted this devil's bargain?

I ground my teeth. I wanted to kill something.

The parsley turned brown in my grasp and crumbled into powder. I shook my hand and the powder scattered over the floor.

* * *

WINTERFIELD AND SANCHEZ finally returned. I was staring at the ceiling, lost in more tangled thoughts.

"What have you decided?" Sanchez asked me.

Decided, the word sounded so mild. Prison for life, or becoming a criminal again in the eyes of everyone outside of this room.

I sat up and swung my legs over the bedside. "I accept," I said to Sanchez, ignoring Winterfield.

"So recorded," I heard Winterfield say. "Parolee has given verbal assent." He was speaking into his sleeve. Creepy as all hell. He glanced at me, lowered his arm. "Good. Maybe you have some brains after all."

Sanchez smiled. "I'm glad you decided to help us, Mat."

"Okay, Brandt, time to make this official," Winterfield said.

He swiped a flat pad mounted to the wall beside the door with his wrist. I glimpsed a black, metallic band, half hidden by his shirt sleeve. A buzz sounded and the door opened with a loud click. No keypad. The device on his wrist must have some sort of electronic key.

They escorted me from the room and down a twisting maze of halls to another locked, windowless room, where Winterfield did the same wrist swipe to unlock that door.

Inside was a room with a long table.

Winterfield motioned for me to sit and took the chair at the head of the table, next to some sort of flat display mounted on a swivel stand. Sanchez sat beside me and laid a slim briefcase on the table. He opened it and handed me a file folder thick with paper.

Winterfield gestured at the folder with a pen. "You're an operative now. That means reading."

I gave him a sour look which he ignored.

"I'll sum it up first," Sanchez said. "There's an agreement which you need to sign. Then there's a briefing which must be read tonight. It spells out your assignment and details your target. Tomorrow morning, return the files to us. You must have nothing on your person related to your assignment."

"Okay." I rubbed my sweaty palms against my jumpsuited thighs beneath the table.

Winterfield frowned. "Not 'okay,' Brandt. Say 'Yes', if you mean 'yes,' otherwise 'no.'"

Asshole.

"Yes," I said.

Sanchez smiled again. "Good. Upon completion of your assignment, this agency will put resources into your family's situation."

"Upon completion?" I interrupted him. "My grandmother needs medical help, now. My sisters are in danger, now. I won't be able to look after them at home as often as I'd like while on this assignment, so the sooner they get into a good, private school, the better."

Sanchez glanced at Winterfield.

My now former PO drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Unfortunately, now isn't an option."

"What do you mean?"

He held up a finger. "One. We can arrange for your grandmother to be put in line for an experimental drug treatment for Thalik's disease, but these things take time. And we don't want to bring undue attention by having her receive extremely expensive treatment out of the blue. It would be highly suspicious. This operation must not be compromised in any way if it is to be effective."

He held up a second finger. "Two, we need to go slow on any assistance for your sisters. A sudden change in their circumstances would be even more suspicious."

"So who would notice?"

Winterfield's eyebrows shot up. "Really, Brandt? You can't be that naive. Your pal Silco found you, after all, which means he was surveilling you and probably your family as well."

A cold feeling settled into the pit of my stomach. I didn't like where this was going.

"Okay, so that was Gus," I said. "But my family is one of millions of poor people."

"Raphe Hatcher and his associates staked out your family when they learned of your release."

"How do you know that?"

He sighed. "I already mentioned you have been under surveillance since your release from Special Corrections. That included your family's movements."

"You were spying on my sisters, and didn't do anything?" I slapped the table, rattling Sanchez's briefcase.

Winterfield's expression was cool. Calm, collected, and in control, like he always seemed to be. "No, we didn't do anything. Your sisters involved themselves with criminals. Then you went off to try to save them. Again, you made your choices. You acted upon them."

I glared at the tabletop. At least I could keep tabs on Ruth and the twins, make sure there were no more Raphe Hatcher's sniffing around.

Winterfield held up a third finger. "Three, you must move out of Ruth Brandt's apartment at once."

I jerked my head up. "No."

Winterfield drummed his fingers again on the tabletop. "Yes."

I shot to my feet. "No, I won't leave them. Period."

"Sit down, Brandt."

I stayed standing.

Sanchez leaned toward me, looking concerned. "Mat, you have to separate yourself from your family. If you don't, this operation will be terminated."

"Why?"

Winterfield scowled. "Because we don't back operations that fail out of the gate. You'll be dead, and your family likely will be as well."

More ice settled in the pit of my stomach. I pulled my chair up and sat down. "How do you know that?" I could keep an eye on them and do the job. I could.

"This isn't our first rodeo, Brandt. We have plenty of experience."

"If the operation doesn't happen, you will be returned to Special Corrections," Sanchez chimed in. "And if you are back in Special Corrections, you can't help your family."

I frowned. "I can keep a secret." I'd kept plenty, in the Renegades and in Special Corrections.

Winterfield leaned forward. "That isn't good enough. As long as you're around them, there's a risk they'll find out."

I licked my lips. My throat was parched again. "I thought you said you took care of the evidence of my fight with Hatcher's gang." My heart pounded and I closed my eyes, but I couldn't banish the screams of the men as the blackberry vines sawed at them. I shook myself, remembering the sweet hotness of my anger. Bastards had tried to enslave me. I opened my eyes, looked at Sanchez.

"We want to do what's best for your family, too, Mat," he said.

He was right. Damn him. Damn him and Winterfield, damn Support. Damn the world.

"All right, I'll move out."

"Good," Sanchez said, giving me a 'butter could melt in his mouth' smile. If I wasn't so pissed, I'd find him irresistible. It had been forever since I'd been in a room with a man as attractive as Alexandre Sanchez. Maybe I never had, before this.

But none of that mattered now. How handsome and charming he was didn't matter.

I licked my lips again, trying to moisten them.

Winterfield poured a glass of water, pushed it across the table at me. "Drink, Brandt."

I drank the glass empty. What was I going to tell them?

"Maybe I should just stay away, not go back. They'll think I've run off."

Winterfield shook his head. "You can't just leave them by not returning. They'll wonder."

"Aren't they going to wonder what happened to me either way? What are they supposed to think?"

"That you persuaded them to leave the area."

"Just like that."

Winterfield frowned. "Yes, Brandt, it's that simple. I'm surprised you don't see it."

I scowled back at him. "See what?"

"You arranged to persuade Hatcher's gang to leave the area. As far as your family is concerned, that's exactly what happened. You are moving out because you're back in with some old friends. That's all your family needs to know, but they do need to know that."

I wanted to smash that smug look off his face. "Got it."

Winterfield's gaze was icy. "See that you do."

I drank more water, trying to calm down.

"So, do I learn which group I'm supposed to infiltrate?" I asked Sanchez. Winterfield was leading the show, but Sanchez was much easier on the eyes, and he made me calm down faster.

Sanchez glanced at Winterfield.

"Yes, Brandt," Winterfield said. "You do." He paused.

"Well?" I asked, after a long moment. He was enjoying this, damn him.

"The Scourge."

Well, well, well... "Gus Silco told me the Scourge was back. I figured he was lying."

"No, Brandt. Silco told you the truth."

"What the hell?" I fumed, crossing my arms. "Another thing you knew." I'd been set up from the get-go.

"It gets better."

Great, Winterfield's idea of better probably meant I was in deeper trouble than I imagined. Another long pause. He really enjoyed having me over a barrel, the bastard. "How?"

Winterfield steepled his fingers. "It so happens Gus Silco belongs to a Scourge cell active in the Pacific Northwestern United States, namely Oregon, Washington, and Idaho."

"Gus Silco, Blender is a member of the Scourge?"

Winterfield nodded. "He is."

Unbelievable. Gus, a member? The Scourge must have changed a lot if they'd recruit a weasel like him. His blending made him a useful spy and sneak, and when he had the guts, a good thief. But Gus--damn you, Blender, you cut and run when it counted.

"You expect me to trust him?"

Winterfield cocked his head. "Don't be an idiot, Brandt. I expect you to be on your guard. The guy did leave you in the lurch."

My jaw tightened. "Okay. A Scourge cell? I don't know what that is."

Sanchez nodded. "Nor should you. The new version of the Scourge has adopted a cell structure, meaning it's organized into a number of small groups. Only the leader in each group knows who their contact is to the overall leadership, which the Scourge calls 'the inner circle.' No cell leaders know about the other cells. They only know who their contact to the leadership is."

"The inner circle," I repeated. "But how do they coordinate?" I'd never heard of a criminal group that operated like that, especially not an Empowered criminal group. Super-villains were usually crazy-bold.

"Do you know how the old Scourge was taken down?" Winterfield asked me.

"I was otherwise occupied at the time."

He looked at me sourly. "You were only in blackout for the first two years of your sentence."

Winterfield wouldn't understand. All I cared about when I finally got communication privileges with the outside world on my eighteenth birthday, was finding out how Ruth and the girls were doing. I couldn't have cared less about the rest of the world.

"You missed the biggest operation the Hero Council and Support have mounted since the Ubermensch Heresy in the 1990s."

I shrugged.

"You know the story of the Drake twins, right, Brandt? Tell us you know that much."

"I know who the Drake twins are." Who didn't? They were famous.

David Drake had been called Halo, and his twin brother Daniel, Hazard. Both could alter probability according to what people said. Sounded crazy to me. Halo could improve the odds of something working or an action succeeding. Hazard did the opposite. Made things worse.

They were the superstar members of World Guard, the Hero Council's worldwide unit, which, unlike the regional teams, could operate anywhere. Blond, with movie star looks and charm, David and Daniel were inseparable. Until seven years ago. When they were twenty-three. They had some kind of nasty argument. David went over to the dark side and joined the Scourge. He changed his name to Nefarious, if you could believe that.

"I assumed David Drake died in the Mojave battle. Figured Daniel retired after going after his brother." I really didn't know.

Winterfield leaned back in his chair and gave me another "I-can't-believe-you-are-that-ignorant" look.

"We believed both David and Daniel Drake had died in the operation in the Mojave Desert, at the Scourge's hidden fortress."

"That must have been a nasty fight."

"It was," Sanchez said. "I was there." A haunted look flashed across his face.

I wondered how many friends he'd lost in that battle.

"The thing is, Brandt," Winterfield continued, "Support now has reason to believe that David Drake survived the so-called 'Battle at the Hidden Fortress' because we have intel that Nefarious is back."

I blinked. "Shit."

"Yes," Sanchez said. "This means we need more information. The new Scourge is being very calculating and indirect in its activities. We have yet to identify a single base of operations, or anything beyond a few cells."

"Perhaps that's all there is," I pointed out.

"We have intel that says otherwise."

"From whom?"

"We are not going to divulge our sources to you, Brandt," Winterfield said, sounding even more sour than normal.

"Okay, so you want me to infiltrate this local cell, and what, somehow figure out who the contact is?"

"No, Brandt, we want you to expose the cell leader to the Scourge's inner circle. We believe he's planning on betraying the Scourge for his own ends. If you expose what he is doing to the inner circle, that will gain you access."

"Let me see if I have this straight," I said. "I'm supposed to join a cell that weasel Gus Silco belongs to, figure out what the leader is up to. Then, instead of stopping whatever it is, I'm somehow supposed to expose him to this 'inner circle'."

I was in the shit for certain.

"To the contact, to be more precise," Sanchez said.

Great.

"How am I supposed to do all this?"

"You'll have guidance. You'll still be on parole, and you will be meeting with me when you can," Winterfield said. "We'll instruct you."

Great. Assuming I didn't die first.

|  |

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# Chapter 4

Winterfield sent me to my room, carrying the files I had to read, escorted by Agent Sanchez. My side felt fine. I had healed way faster than I normally would have, given all the blood I lost. It was a miracle.

"Where is this place?" I asked as we turned down yet another identical-looking battleship gray corridor with linoleum flooring and those humming overhead lights that brightened when you moved. I was completely lost.

Sanchez laid a finger to his lips. "It's a secret," he said, and smiled.

Annoying as all hell. But it was hard to be too annoyed with someone who put it like that.

I almost laughed.

I stopped at an intersection. More identical corridors. "How do you not get lost in here? Down here?" I hadn't seen a window since I woke up in the hospital room.

He smirked. "Would you believe that's also a secret?"

"Hah." I gave him a hard look. "You're not joking, are you?"

"Not about that." He took me down another identical corridor, this one a dead end.

"Must be prisoner's row," I said.

"Guest quarters." He swiped his sleeve over the flat panel mounted by the door, which buzzed and unlocked. He opened the door with a neat flourish. "Your suite awaits."

He was laying it on a little thick. Perhaps he was just trying to be nice, or maybe it was just part of the whole "good cop" to Winterfield's "bad cop" routine.

The room had a desk, two chairs, kitchenette with microwave, a bunk, and a tiny bathroom. Another one of those flat screen displays hung on a wall.

I sat down on the bunk. "You don't seem like a typical Support agent."

Sanchez took the file folder from me and put it on the desktop. "Don't forget this is your one job tonight."

"I won't." Like I could forget. I had to nail this job.

He leaned against the desk, facing me. "I'm not a typical Support agent." He flashed that smile at me.

"No, you have a sense of humor." Not to mention that charm.

"It's not forbidden," Sanchez said, deadpan. "Just discouraged."

The door chimed and I jumped. "Doorbell?"

Sanchez's eyes sparkled. "This isn't a prison, despite your first impression."

"Is the door locked for me?"

"For now."

"So I'm a prisoner in this not prison."

"Enter," he said. The door buzzed, and opened. Voice command activated?

A figure swathed in blue medical scrubs with a matching blue masked helmet entered. The helmet's mask was molded to look like an angel's face. Even the boots the figure wore were blue.

My hands twitched.

"Easy, Mat," Sanchez said. "This is Medico Blue."

"How are you feeling, Ms. Brandt?" The voice had a British accent.

I knew that voice. It was the voice I'd heard when I first came to, in the ICU or whatever that had been.

Her hands were encased in blue gloves made of some sort of synthetic. Every inch of her was covered. I don't know how she saw anything; there were no eye holes in her face mask. Was she blind?

She didn't move like she was blind.

Medico Blue knelt beside me, and ran her gloved fingers over my side, down my legs and arms. My skin tingled where she touched me. The tingling told me she was another Empowered. But why hadn't I felt her when she was outside?

She finished her examination. "Your wound has healed completely. I am very pleased as, no doubt, you are."

No kidding. "Thank you," I said. "You must be why I'm still alive."

Medico Blue laid a gloved hand over mine. "I am merely God's instrument. She saved you, for reasons She will reveal in due course."

Medico Blue sounded so certain. Her faith must run deep. I wasn't going to argue with her, but I wasn't so sure about God. Having your parents killed when you were only four years old makes it hard to believe.

Ruth was a Methodist. Her faith was a quiet belief. She hadn't gone to church in years and didn't push us to go, growing up. Ruth had said we had to discover faith on our own.

"Thank God for me," I said.

Medico Blue tilted her head. "I will, but you certainly can on your own, and in your own way." She kept her gloved hand over mine. "Your power is stronger than you realize."

"Could have fooled me." I shifted irritably.

Medico Blue rose and went to stand beside Sanchez.

"Self-knowledge is the hardest win," Medico Blue said. I think she said it for both my and Sanchez's benefit.

Sanchez nodded.

Medico Blue tapped her chest. "Have faith in your gift. Good day." The door buzzed and opened with that loud click I was beginning to find annoying. It closed behind her with an answering click.

I suddenly felt very tired, and stretched out on the bed. "A medical checkup and a pep talk. Is that the norm around here?"

Sanchez brought a chair over. "She's right about your power. It is stronger than you realize and potentially very powerful."

I snorted. "I can make weeds grow super fast, kill plants, and hear trees in my head. Tremble before me."

"We'll help you develop your power."

I sat up, startling him. "So sure of yourselves, aren't you?" His confidence pissed me off. "I never had enough control over my power, and it betrayed me."

"We can help you see it differently."

Jesus, but he wouldn't stop with the confidence.

My anger ebbed away. I was so tired.

"Get some rest," he said. "There're a few instant meals in the kitchenette. Read the files. They include contact procedures, which we'll go over again tomorrow."

He got up and took the chair back to the desk. "Oh, and if you need to speak to Winterfield or myself, just say so in a loud, clear voice. We'll be notified."

"Okay."

He shot me another thousand-watt smile. "Like I said, get some rest."

"No kidding."

He left, with the same damn buzz-click routine with the door.

I was alone once more. I needed to think, but sleep overcame me.

When I awoke, I ate one of the insta-meals--chicken couscous with broccoli-- and then tackled the files.

I sat at the desk, flicked on the little reading light, and opened the folder.

I would move into an abandoned house in North Portland, that Support had set up for me. I'd be a petty crook squatter, pretend to be on the down and out. I would be "estranged" from my family. I must make Gus and the others in the cell believe that was the truth.

Well, it wasn't far from the truth, if it wasn't the truth already.

But I'd still be meeting with my parole officer, who was valiantly trying to get me to come back to the straight-and-narrow. What a load of crap, but that was the story they'd cooked up, so I had to go with it.

I was to call Winterfield's number from pay phones. We'd still meet regularly because I was still pretending to be the good parolee as part of my cover. Seemed like a bit of flaw in Support's infiltration plan--but the terse instructions emphasized the value of my not being a wanted criminal. Hatcher's gang had just gone elsewhere as far as anyone outside Support knew.

How long would all this work? Especially since Ruth was going to believe I had gone back to crime.

I read about the Scourge cell next. There wasn't much info. Support figured the cell had between five and seven members. Aside from Gus, Support had names for two. There was a young woman close to my age named Keisha McMillan. There was one photo from a few years ago of an angry-looking black teenager glaring at the photographer. The other was only a name, the leader, Kai Jones, nicknamed "Mutter." Mutter: what kind of Empowered name was that? It sounded ridiculous. Stupid.

I had been named "Vine" back in the Renegades. Thinking about my old name brought on the memories again. "Eye-spy"--Tanya, my best friend in the group--had named me Vine because I loved to conjure and grow ivy vines, blackberry vines, any kind of vines; they were easy, and so useful.

I blinked away sudden tears. Damn it. We'd both been so young, and stupid.

I pushed the memories away. I had to focus on this. For Ruth and the twins.

Mutter had succeeded the Empowered who had originally formed the cell a year ago. That person had died in a mysterious "accident." Awfully convenient for Mutter.

Since then, Mutter's cell mostly spent its time lifting money from ordinary criminal gangs. No bank heists for him. Instead, crooks were his prey. I wondered how much of that money reached the Scourge's inner circle?

The short file on Mutter said his power was manipulating air currents. He possessed "the ability to finely tune the flow of air, concentrate it, and restrict it." His victims tended to be found asphyxiated. Not that there were many pleasant ways to croak off.

The report ending by claiming Mutter was believed to be extremely ruthless.

What had I gotten myself into?

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER an insta-meal breakfast, Sanchez--Alex--took me back to the briefing room where Winterfield made me recite what I'd read, and then went over it with me, again. It felt like hours, but when I groused about it, Winterfield told me it wasn't even lunch time.

I hated studying.

Then it was time for paperwork. God, but I hated that more.

I signed I don't know how many "allegiance"' forms, which all amounted to pledging my loyalty to Support, the UN charter on Empowered Conduct, the Hero Council Code, and so on.

I finally finished signing my life away.

Winterfield put away the ream of paperwork I'd signed. "We've got one more thing for you before lunch."

"What?" Damn him and his mind games.

"Just a little test."

"What kind of test?" I asked.

"The necessary kind."

I didn't like the sound of that.

He and Sanchez led me through a maze of yet more identical corridors to a huge, high-ceilinged, windowless room the size of a school gymnasium. The walls and the floor had some sort of padded armor. The floor felt and looked like metal that had some give to it.

In the center of the room were three big round wooden planters, spaced six feet apart. The left-hand one had what looked like a rose bush, the right-hand one, some kind of grass, and the center one, ivy on a little trellis.

A woman in a black jumpsuit and combat boots walked from the far side of the room to stand beside the right-hand planter She put a gloved hand on the planter's rim.

She looked Chinese. Her long black hair hung in a braid down her back.

I swallowed. My stomach felt like I swallowed a ball of lead.

The air in here was moist, like standing in a hothouse, despite the only plants being the three in the planters in the center of the room.

I looked at Winterfield. "I'm expected to fight her?"

"Don't be stupid, Brandt. Like I said, this is a test." He nodded at the woman. "Go to her. We'll watch from the sidelines." He and Sanchez went to a corner, crossed their arms, and waited.

Great, I had my own peanut gallery.

Medico Blue entered the room, and joined them. The peanut gallery was getting bigger, and now I had my own EMT on hand. Medico Blue being here meant someone could get injured, unless she just liked to watch. My money was on her being available to give first aid.

Damn Winterfield.

I took a deep, slow breath but my stomach still felt like lead. I forced my legs to march toward the center of the room.

She watched me approach. Smiled at me.

"Good morning, Ms. Brandt." Her accent sounded Philadelphian. I'd had a friend growing up who had come from our nation's capital, Philadelphia, and this woman sounded just like her. You could almost hear the liberty bell, the joke around school used to go.

She had to be an American--maybe her parents or grandparents were refugees from China, after the destruction of Beijing and Shanghai in the Three Days War, half a century ago.

"Hi." I shifted my stance. The flooring felt spongy and metallic at the same time. "What's your name?" I asked her.

She ran a hand along the planter's rim. "Sorry, I'm not allowed to say."

"Not even your Empowered name?" Assuming she had one--she was probably Hero Council, although some members didn't use an Empowered name most did. She wasn't hiding her face, and most Hero Council Empowered didn't. "We're the opposite of masked bandits," went the Hero Council line.

She gave me an apologetic look. "Not even that."

Figured. "So, what happens now?"

"You use your power." She pointed at the sharp-bladed grass in the right hand planter. "Reach into the sawgrass here with your gift, feel the sawgrass growing, taste it in your mind, tremble with it as it sways fractionally in the air currents."

I frowned. "I don't taste plants with my power, I hear them in my mind."

She walked around the planters to stand beside me. "That's because you are still numb to the greater part of your power."

"It's how I am. Numbness isn't part of it." My neck flushed with heat and I took a step back from her.

"There's no need to get angry. I am here today to show you the depths of your power."

Great, another helpful person telling me I didn't know my so-called gift like I should. It had always worked this way for me--it wasn't like my power was a world-beater.

"I'm not getting angry," I said, unclenching my fingers. But I was. She was irritating me.

"No, of course not." She pointed again at the saw grass. "Please extend your sense into the grass."

I did as she instructed, half closing my eyes. The grass whispered sandpaper murmurings in my head.

"What does it taste like in your sense?" She asked. "When you taste it, you will know how to grow it."

Taste it? That was crap. There was nothing to taste. "Nothing at all. I told you, I can't taste a thing."

"You can, if you try."

I shut my eyes. Taste what? My irritation made it hard to concentrate. "I don't need to taste the grass, as you put it, in order to make it grow."

"Do you 'make the grass grow,' or spur it to growth, encourage it to grow?"

I unclenched my fingers again.

"Same difference."

"Is it? That's your challenge--to understand the difference. Tasting the grass with your awareness will give you more control, and control is the key."

Screw this. She wanted me to grow the grass, I didn't need to "taste" it to do so, so grow it I would.

The air felt rich in nitrogen and carbon dioxide--this room must have a higher mix in the air. The soil was rich with nutrients and moisture. I urged the grass to pull nutrients from the soil, and inhale CO2.

I pushed my awareness further into the grass, willed it to grow, fueling the growth with my annoyance at my tester and Winterfield.

The green blades swelled and stretched toward the ceiling.

She waved at me. "Not so fast! Slow down!"

The saw grass towered above us. I yanked my power from it, and the grass collapsed into a green tangle, a low screaming in my mind. Pain stabbed at my forehead. I winced, shut my eyes.

Something yanked at my boots. My legs shot out from under me and I banged my tailbone on the floor. God damn.

I jumped to my feet. I'd show her. I cocked an arm back to punch her and my traitor legs were yanked off the ground and I banged my butt again on the floor.

"Call me Flick." She held her arms wide. She gestured, and my boots moved toward each other. I strained my muscles, fighting to get up, but I couldn't move my legs. She lowered her hands and the pressure stopped.

My legs spasmed and I rolled on the floor, eyes squeezed shut. Finally, the spasming stopped.

"That's an example of my power," Flick said. She could clench my muscles, send me into spasms. I hadn't imagined an Empowered could do something so precise.

I scrambled up. I wanted to punch the smugness off her face.

"You blindsided me."

She nodded. "A demonstration. Here's another."

She flicked a finger across the room, to a table beside Winterfield, Sanchez and Medico Blue. A half dozen water bottles stood on the table. Flick crooked a finger and one of them sailed off the table and floated to me.

"You look parched." Her face was deadpan.

"No thanks." My breath was tight in my chest. Show off.

"Suit yourself." The bottle went to her outstretched hand. She unscrewed the cap and took a long drink.

I licked dry lips. She wasn't going to show me up.

I pushed the anger inside me down, forced my voice to stay level. "What's next?" I sounded like an idiot, but I wanted to pass this test, already, and get on with my mission.

Flick strolled over to the left-hand planter and pointed at the rose bush. It had just begun to bud.

"Taste the potential before helping the rose to bud and flower."

I sighed. I'd play her game. "Okay." I reached into the rose bush, listened to its soft, wordless song. Taste it? How the hell could I do that? There was nothing to taste.

Flick continued. "Submerge yourself in your subject's physicality." She sounded like a school teacher.

"You're a TK, right?" I spoke with my eyes still closed. "So, what does a TK know about melding with a plant?"

"Physicality, remember." I could hear the smile in her voice. "It's all the same. I must feel what the object is experiencing."

The rose trembled in my mind as I pushed my awareness deeper into it. Open up. I urged the plant to drink from the air faster, moving nutrients through its body more quickly.

The faintest scent of a rose petal. I pushed, harder. Drink deep I commanded the rose bush. It shrieked in my mind, and I staggered.

The plant died before me, leaves blackening, half budded flowers curling and falling away in fragments.

I'd killed it.

All because Flick pushed me to taste it. I pushed into the ivy vines on the trellis behind her, extended them.

"Brandt!" Winterfield shouted but I ignored him, concentrated on extending the vines.

Flick smiled, pivoted. The trellis pulled free from the soil. The ivy shrieked, even more sharply than the rose bush had.

I urged it to grow faster, extending roots into the soil. I was going to show her.

The trellis floated upward, the ivy stretching out like a man on a torture rack.

My heart jackhammered in my chest, my breath came in huge, ragged gasps. Pain spiked my temples, but I plunged further into the dead rosebush with my power, found the seeds for life, and willed a new one into being. I had to save the ivy.

Sharp thorns grew from spreading branches in an eye blink.

The newly-born giant rose bush swung branches outward at Flick's back, inch-long thorns swinging toward her exposed flesh.

Flick pivoted, gestured, and the trellis flew into the rosebush, ivy vines entangling the rose branches.

The ivy vines moved without my command, constricted the branches. I pushed the vines to untangle, but they continued to constrict. How could Flick's power be so finely tuned? I fought harder to move the vines, but they were wrapped tightly around the branches and between them. I switched to pouring energy into the branches, to saw through the vines, but the branches wouldn't move.

I groaned. Exhaustion slammed into me, and I dropped to my knees.

The world dimmed. I fell to the floor, rolled onto my back.

Blue-gloved hands ran along my sides, and arms. Medico Blue knelt beside me. Behind her clustered Flick, Sanchez and Winterfield. Flick and Sanchez looked concerned, while Winterfield shook his head in disgust.

"You pushed yourself too hard," Medico Blue said. Soothing warmth filled me, and the pain fled.

She and Sanchez helped me to my feet. My strength returned, faster than I imagined possible.

The rose bush and ivy were a snarled mess.

"What now?" I asked Winterfield.

He looked at Flick.

She shot me a sympathetic glance, turned back to Winterfield.

"Mathilda must connect with herself in order to grow in her gift. Until she does, she will remain where she is." Her tone was matter-of-fact.

Winterfield nodded and looked at me. "You hear that, Brandt? You are your own worst enemy."

Thanks for the insight. I gave him a cold smile. I never would have guessed.

"Experience is the key," Flick added.

"If it doesn't kill her first." He nodded. "Thank you, Flick."

She and Medico Blue left.

Sanchez and Winterfield spoke in low voices for what felt like forever.

The room suddenly seemed chilly. Nausea swam up from my roiling stomach and a cold sweat ran down my back.

I had failed the test. They would send me back for life.

Winterfield stared at me, his gaze hard, ice blue eyes unblinking. I looked away.

"All right, then," Winterfield finally said. "You're in, Brandt. God help us."

"But I blew the test." That didn't make sense.

"I expected you would."

"Then why--"

He cut me off with a gesture. "We needed an expert assessment, and we wanted to see how you behaved under pressure. And you desperately needed a lesson. From now on think more clearly before acting."

Sanchez came over. "Like I said, we can help you grow into your power, but it will take time and, besides, we don't want to make your old associate, Silco, suspicious about how far you've come. Your improvement needs to seem natural, not forced."

Assuming I survived it.

And didn't kill anyone in the process.

|  |

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# Chapter 5

Afterwards, Sanchez and I went over contact procedures again in my room. I had to memorize phone numbers, code words, and the address for my new place. It was an abandoned house in North Portland, in a depressing part of town.

I started to argue with Sanchez again about having to move out of Ruth's, but he wouldn't budge.

"I don't make the rules," he said. We sat side by side at the little desk in my room.

"Mister Sanchez," I began.

"Alex, remember?" He interrupted with a bright smile. "I'm only a few years older than you, after all. Besides, you need to think of me as a low-level crook rather than a Support agent.

I still couldn't image Mister Charming here as a scummy lowlife type, but that was why they were called agents, I guess.

I struggled to remember how long I'd been in this prison-like place. It seemed like a month, but my confrontation with Raphe Hatcher's little gang had been on Tuesday afternoon. Sanchez--Alex--had said I'd been unconscious for eighteen hours, so I woke up Wednesday morning. So it was only Thursday afternoon.

"I need to get to Ruth's place. She'll be very worried." Not that she'd show it, but it would be eating at her inside.

He scooted his chair back, faced me. "You need to meet with Silco before that."

"Why?" I wanted to check on Ruth and the twins, before having to go meet weaselly Blender.

He didn't answer right away. He put the files back in his little folder.

This was screwed. What was the point in making my family think I was lying dead in a ditch somewhere any longer than I already had?

"All I can say is that we believe your best chance to be admitted into the Scourge cell Silco belongs to is for Mutter and the cell to believe you ran off already, and are becoming desperate."

I began pacing the tiny room. "Do you think Silco knows about my, uh, fight with Hatcher and his people?" Near murder was more like it. I shouldn't weep over nearly killing a bunch of nasty gangers--they had it coming--but still, why hadn't they just backed down?

"Unlikely. Remember, Support sanitized the area."

My jaw tightened. "That's right, you had me under surveillance the whole time."

Alex wasn't the asshole Winterfield was, he actually looked guilty. "I am sorry. Procedure is a harsh mistress," he said in a low voice, and in a way that sounded like a quote out of a Support Agents training manual.

I forced myself to take a slow breath. "Okay. I get it. It wasn't your choice." It was a lot harder to stay mad at him than Winterfield.

He smiled. "Thanks. We really do want to help you."

Sure, help me so that I can help you, but that was the way things worked.

I shrugged. "I'm ready to get started when you are." The sooner I met up with Silco and told him I wanted in, the sooner I could convince Ruth and the girls I was alive-- by showing up and then promptly moving out. It all sucked, but at least I wasn't in prison. I wasn't going to lose this chance to help them.

Not this time.

* * *

LEAVING WHEREVER THIS was turned out to be its own kind of rigmarole. In the cramped bathroom I changed into the clothes I had worn when I confronted Hatcher's gang, including an undamaged version of my shirt. When I emerged, Winterfield and the red-headed woman who had brought me lunch yesterday were there with Sanchez in the now crowded little room.

The woman carried a helmet, something like a deep-sea diving helmet, only there were no viewing ports. She put a breathing mask over my face first.

"Filters," she explained. She held up earplugs. "We need to isolate you, so that you have no idea of where you are when you leave."

"Gee, thanks."

"Procedure, Brandt," Winterfield said. "If you don't know, you can't spill it."

Paranoid much, Winterfield? I thought, but kept my mouth shut and let them fit me with the earplugs and the face mask, and then thick, rubber gloves that went way past my elbows.

Down came the helmet and the world went black. I was put on some kind of dolly and strapped in. The dolly began moving.

I lost track of how many times my stomach lurched. I went up, at least it felt like I went up.

Into a vehicle--a truck? Time passed.

When they released me from Special Corrections I never imagined I'd be doing spook stuff like a real spy. Okay, so I was a snitch. Okay, so Winterfield called what I was doing "infiltration," but a spy was a spy. Heroes didn't get wrapped up in all this crap and hauled God only knew where. Yeah, I didn't exactly have a cheerful attitude at that point.

Ghosts came to me while I was blind and deaf. Tanya, and the Professor. He may have been crazy smart, but he was a kind dude, too, and where had that got him? Dead. There were the other Renegades. All dead now. Except for Gus. I didn't want to think about him, so I thought about my family.

Ruth was tough, but beneath it all she cared. She was kind, and where had that got her? Dying is where.

It was easy to be in a black funk when everything was black. I suddenly realized I wasn't moving any more.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

My straps were removed, followed by the gloves. I flexed my arms.

The helmet came off next, and finally the mask. I took in a breath of unfiltered air, air thick with the mingled scents of pine and fir trees, leafy shrubs still dormant, and moss.

I opened my eyes.

It was nearly pitch dark. My eyes began to adjust to the gloom.

A greasy looking dude in a hoodie and torn jeans sat beside me, looking like a homeless man.

I blinked. He was pretty handsome for a streeter.

"Alex?"

He shook his head. "I guess the disguise needs to be tweaked."

I shrugged. "I'm good with faces." Besides, it was either going to be him or Winterfield, and I'd bet Winterfield never pulled on scummy old clothes.

"Could have been me," Winterfield said up front, sitting in the driver's seat. We were in a cargo van, with heavily tinted windows.

"He didn't look old enough."

He ignored the jibe. "We wanted you to see Agent Sanchez incognito here. We're in a rest stop south of Wilsonville. Your vehicle is parked outside. A Dodge Dasher."

"I have a car?" I'd never owned a car of my own.

"Only if you consider a Dasher a car. It functions. Barely."

I glanced at Alex, who might look the part if he let his beard hair become stubble.

Alex shrugged. "Car snob."

Winterfield cocked an eyebrow. "There are standards, Sanchez."

I stretched. Alex handed me an identical copy of the jacket I had been wearing on Tuesday.

"You guys think of everything, don't you?" For some reason that level of planning made my skin itch. Support had everything covered. Including maybe my own funeral in case I screwed up.

Alex grinned. "We wouldn't be Support if we didn't."

That actually got me to smile. Maybe being my own personal morale booster was part of his job description.

"All right, time to get going," Winterfield said sourly.

He, on the other hand, was a grade A downer.

The back of the van opened, revealing night. A lone streetlamp shone a cone of yellow light onto pavement about twenty feet away.

"Great place to be assaulted," I said.

"The other two street lights are due to be fixed tomorrow," Winterfield said.

Gee, that was a handy coincidence, wasn't it?

Alex took me over to the Dodge Dasher. Even in the darkness you could see the gray primer covering the body. The hood was bent, one headlight had been replaced and the glass on the other cracked. More cracks spiderwebbed the windshield.

Alex reached into his hoodie's pocket and handed me a set of keys. "At least it runs."

The other two keys on the ring looked like house keys.

"For your new place." He stepped close. Despite the grungy getup, he smelled nice.

"Thanks."

He repeated the address for the house. "It's abandoned and has foreclosure locks on the doors. These keys will get you past those and the deadbolt. But make sure you go in the back, not the front."

"Got it."

He handed me a cell phone. "Use this to call my number, which is the only one in contacts. You can also use it to call the other side, if they allow that." He lowered his voice. "Do not call Winterfield with it. Remember, pay phone only when you contact him."

"Sure, mom. I won't forget."

He laughed silently. He leaned in close, dropped his voice to a whisper. "I know we are expecting a lot of you; just remember you aren't alone."

I swallowed. Hugging him didn't feel right, so instead I clasped his shoulder.

"Thanks, Alex."

The Dasher coughed to life when I turned the key in the ignition. The lights and signals worked. Alex waved and disappeared inside the black van, closing the rear door with a quiet thunk.

I was on my own again.

* * *

HOW DO YOU FIND AN Empowered who can blend in with his surroundings, especially at night? Being able to sense the presence of another Empowered helped, but Gus was off the grid. Fortunately, having his address, thanks to Gus giving it to me, made finding him a lot easier.

I parked the Dasher a block from the boarded-up old building Support said he was squatting in.

It began raining as I crept along a low wall toward Gus's hidey-hole. Crabgrass brushed against my legs, murmuring in its slumber. The building was dark. Behind me the nearest streetlamp barely illuminated the faded letters painted on the side of the building--Druggist, it read. Must be a very old building. The front was boarded up. Gus had to go in and out of the back.

Plywood covered all the rear windows except for one. Drapes fluttered in the breeze. An old fire escape ran right up past the window.

That window had to be his way in and out. He probably stayed in the room just beyond it. Back in the Renegades, Gus had always wanted to be near the exit.

I circled around the fence and found an opening hidden by shrubs, wide enough for Gus to wiggle out.

I coaxed the shrubs to grow and pull at the fence, enough to warp the wood, and slithered through. I stood and looked back at the gash in the fence. Gus's first instinct was always to run.

I urged the branches to thicken until they blocked the opening and his easy escape route.

A shudder ran through me. This was the first time in five years I'd chosen to use my power, freely. That time with Hatcher's gang had been unconscious self-defense. I'd used my power during Winterfield's "test" with Flick because I had been ordered to do so.

I loved my power when I was younger. Before it landed me in Special Corrections. Now? I didn't know how I felt. I sure as hell didn't love it like I once had.

I climbed the fire escape until I crouched next to the open second-story window and could see the room past the fluttering curtain. An electric lamp lit a cluttered room filled with piles of magazines and books, and bundles of old newspapers filled the space.

"Gus!" I whispered. "Gus!"

Something fell with a clatter, then silence.

"Come on. I know you are in there. It's me, Mat."

Gus appeared at the window, looking frightened.

"Mat?" Relief washed over his face. "You're okay!" He slumped against the window frame. I hauled myself inside the room. Next to Gus was a chair. On it was a copy of Dickens's Great Expectations, with a blue leather bookmark. Gus's old bookmark. This was definitely his hidey-hole.

"I'm okay," I said. "Nice of you to care." Job or no job, I was still going to twist the knife.

He looked stricken. "I do care." His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "If I could change what happened five years ago, I would."

"But you can't."

He ducked his head. "No," he said in a quiet voice.

"But you can help me now." My words sounded so phony in my own ears, but Gus raised his head, looking like a puppy hoping it wasn't going to be hit again. "I'll do anything."

"I'll take your help," I said. I hated myself for saying those words.

"Awesome! I'm glad!" He looked like a happy puppy, eager to please me.

All right, it was time to get things moving.

"So, the Scourge survived?"

He nodded vigorously, probably glad I had bought into the whole Scourge is back from the dead thing. "The world thinks they were destroyed, but they survived and became a new organization. I'm in one of their cells."

I acted astonished, as Winterfield and Sanchez had instructed me. I wanted to slug him. This all was so phony--nothing had changed. Gus was still a little creep.

He must have seen the anger tightening my face because he vanished all of a sudden, blending in with the darkness inside the window.

I took a deep, ragged breath. "I'm sorry, Gus," I forced myself to say.

"Really, Gus," I added. "You were trying to help me. I want your help."

He materialized at the other end of the windowsill. "Great! That's great, Mat!" An enthusiastic smile lit up his face.

Time to cut to the chase. "I want in."

"I'm glad. We can help. You'll see." Gus was even more eager now. I guess the guilt about leaving us in the lurch five years ago still ate at him.

"The Scourge is really back?" I added that for effect.

He nodded. "Yes." Gus grew serious. "You sure you don't want to come inside?"

"I have to get going." I swallowed. "I have some unfinished business."

"Okay. Do you have a cell phone?"

"Yes. My grandmother gave me one," I lied. I gave Gus the number.

"Good, good!" Gus's head bobbed furiously. "I'll call you about meeting the Man as soon as I get the word." I could almost smell his relief. This was a chance to lessen the guilt he said he felt over what happened at the end of the Renegades.

"I appreciate this, Gus." I sounded even more phony to my own ears than I had a moment ago, but Gus kept nodding. "I'll wait for your call," I said.

"You'll be at your grandmother's?"

"No, not anymore." I made the words sound despairing.

"Why?"

"Long story."

Clearly, he wanted to ask about that, but one look at my face convinced him to keep his mouth shut. I climbed back down the fire escape. When I reached the ground and glanced back up at the window, Gus had disappeared.

* * *

IT WAS AFTER 11PM. I should wait for morning, but I had to see Ruth and the twins right away.

I parked the Dasher in a guest spot and went up to the third floor.

About to knock, I hesitated. I still had my key. My stuff was still there. I still lived there--for the next few minutes--until I told them the news. This was goodbye. Goodbye for I didn't know how long. I swallowed and unlocked the door.

The twins were on the couch watching TV. They jumped when they saw me.

"Mat! Are you okay?" Ella's eyes were wide. She sounded so relieved. I didn't want to move out, not when she obviously cared so much about me.

Ava frowned. She scrambled to her feet, and pointed at me. "We thought you were dead! Where were you? Ruth was worried! And what happened to Raphe and the guys? They haven't answered my calls."

I ignored her last question. "Well, I'm not dead, so you can just chill." Ava could stuff it as far I cared. I looked at Ella. "Is Ruth in bed?" It came out harsher than I intended.

Ella shook her head. "This isn't fair, Mat. We thought you had died. And then you come back, and just ask for Ruth, no explanation, nothing."

"What happened to Raphe and his friends?" Ava repeated. She actually looked worried. Worried about a bunch of scummy gangers that were just using her to get to me, and have some fun in the process. They made me sick.

"They're gone." I didn't even try to keep the scorn out of my voice.

She crossed her arms. "What do you mean, gone?"

"As in they aren't around here anymore."

Ella's lower lip quivered. "Did you kill them?"

There it was. What other explanation could there be? Winterfield and Sanchez hadn't talked to me about this; I was just supposed to come home, collect my stuff and leave, no explanations other than the most basic. Certainly nothing was mentioned about dealing with what the girls thought might have happened to their ganger friends.

I scrambled to come up with something. "Some people I know convinced them to leave Portland."

Ava's face darkened. "Miss High-and-Mighty called in her Empowered crook friends? You're a hypocrite!" She stamped her foot. "How dare you come home and tell me and Ella we can't hang out with our friends. Yours are worse."

Ella curled her lip. "What did you do to them?"

"Just some convincing, like I said." This was getting out of control, and I was getting angry. "Just let it go."

"You tortured them!" Ava's voice cracked in anguish, echoing in the room.

Ruth appeared in the kitchen, wearing her old housecoat. She looked frail, skin paper-thin. Sicker than the last time I saw her, only a few days ago. My heart sank.

"Mat!" She hugged me close. "We were worried to death about you. What happened?"

I ducked my head. "Just took care of a problem." It sounded phony in my ears, but what else could I say?

"I heard what the twins said to you just now. Did you have those men killed?"

"No! I just persuaded them to leave." I wanted Ruth to believe me, but part of me realized it would be easier to move out if she thought I'd done something to them. But if she did, she might turn me in. I had to stick to my story.

"How?" Ruth suddenly reminded me of a hawk, eyes watching me intently.

I made myself stand still, and looked Ruth in the eye. "Like I told the twins, I went to some old friends and asked for help."

"You're lying!" Ava's voice shrieked. She shook her fist at me. "You had Raphe and the others killed, and now you are lying about it!"

"Ava-" I began, but she threw open the front door and stormed outside, followed by Ella, the door slamming behind them.

A photo of the Rocky Mountains Ruth had had forever, mounted on the wall, crashed to the floor, glass shattering and the frame breaking.

Ruth began coughing and doubled over. It sounded like she was hacking out her lungs. I steadied her. The coughing fit finally stopped. Ruth pulled me over to the couch.

"Shouldn't I go after the twins?"

"They need to calm down first," Ruth said. "And I need to talk to you alone."

"I didn't kill those men."

"I appreciate that you were trying to protect your sisters." She lay back against the couch, half closed her eyes.

"It's the truth. Really."

She coughed again. "If you say so," she said when she could speak again.

"Is there anything I can get you?" I asked her.

She shook her head. "No." She drew in a slow breath, managed not to cough and sat up again. She squeezed my hand. "Mat, I need to tell you something."

My heart stopped for a moment. When Ruth said she "needed to tell me something," it was always important.

"I understand why you fell in with the Renegades and ended up in prison, back when you were sixteen."

"You do?" She had never said anything before. Not the last time I saw her before prison, not when I got out. I knew she was disappointed in me, but Ruth was always about moving forward and dealing with things as they were now, not as they had been.

"You wanted a place to belong."

"I was an idiot."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to have a place where you can belong." She squeezed my hand.

"But I..." I stopped. I wanted to say, but I belong here, with you and the twins. But if I did, that would make it even harder to leave now. Damn it.

I sighed. "I screwed up."

"We all make mistakes, Mat." She squeezed my hand again. "I've certainly made my share." She swallowed. A muscle worked in her jaw.

I got the impression she felt guilty about something. She wouldn't meet my eye.

She faced me. "I'm why your parents died."

"What?" I shook my head. "I don't understand."

"Your father wanted to get back to me in time for my birthday." She swallowed. "There was a snowstorm."

Her birthday was in December.

"The roads were bad. But he said he could make it." A tear ran down her cheek.

"I should have told him to stay in Colorado."

The anger went out of me like air from a balloon. I sat back down beside her.

"It wasn't your fault."

She shook her head. "I should have insisted harder than I did."

"Mom went along with it," I said, bitterness thick in my voice. My parents had done a stupid thing and the twins and I had ended up orphans because of it.

A muscle twitched in Ruth's neck.

"Don't feel guilty," I told her. "It wasn't your fault."

She hugged me close, wiped her face. "I appreciate that you think that. Thank you."

But she wasn't going to stop feeling guilty.

"Enough about me," Ruth said. She touched my face. "You've felt abandoned all these years. But you weren't abandoned. I'm still here. I'm not leaving. Not ever."

I hugged her back, hard. She was dying. She shouldn't make promises like that.

This was why I had to leave, so that I could accomplish the mission for Support and get her and the girls help.

Ruth pulled away, still holding me and looked me over. "I understand your anger, Mat. But you can't skirt the law anymore. You'll be caught and returned to prison for good."

"I'm not breaking the law." I hated lying to her but there was no alternative.

"Mat, we both know you are."

"I'm only trying to do what it takes to help this family. To help you." That was the truth. It was so unfair I couldn't tell her it was the truth. "I don't have any choice."

She lifted my chin and looked me in the eye. "Yes! You do have a choice." She spat out the words. Her weariness was gone, her gaze steady as she looked at me. "You always have a choice."

I ground my teeth. "Not now."

"You always, always have a choice, Mat."

I pulled away, got to my feet. "I can't hold down a job." Damn it, I blinked away tears, but they kept flowing, hot, down my cheeks and dripped onto the carpet.

"We'll find a way," Ruth insisted. "Crime isn't the way."

"I'm just doing what I have to."

"Mat, if you continue, you're abandoning us."

How dare she!

I smacked my fist into my palm. "I'm not the one who died," I said. "I'm not the one sick. I'm not the twins, who think the world owes them everything. I'm trying to take care of you, and them!"

"Not like this."

Damn her. She could be all high and mighty about what I should or should not be doing, but she had no idea. No idea at all.

I stormed into my room and shoved clothes into my duffel bag. Zipped it shut with a jerk and went back out to the living room.

Ruth grabbed at my arm, but I pushed her hand away.

"Don't do this!" She said. "We'll find a way. Don't leave."

I slammed the door behind me and stomped down the stairs to my car. I took a sharp breath. I wasn't going to cry. Not ever again.

I threw my duffle bag in the back seat of the Dasher and glanced back up at the apartment, half expecting Ruth to be at the window looking at me, but she wasn't.

I jumped in behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, and started up the car.

No one understood what I felt.

|  |

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# Chapter 6

It monsooned as I drove the Dasher to North Portland. I was gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles hurt; I was that angry. Stupid rain chose a great time to come down in buckets. The car's windshield wipers did a crappy job, and the headlights from oncoming traffic turned the water on the windshield into a sheet of glare, forcing me to slow the car to a crawl.

It seemed to take forever to drive the five miles or so from Ruth's apartment to North Portland.

The new place turned out to be an old house built just before the Three Days War, in the early 1960s. A willow tree stood in the front yard, behind an overgrown hedge. I drove past, as instructed in the file, and parked in an empty lot two blocks away, beside another boarded-up building.

Ruth liked to say Portland had its ups and downs, but mostly downs. While I had been in Special Corrections another recession had hit Oregon. Portland still hadn't recovered. Another reason why I'd had trouble finding work.

At least it made finding empty lots beside boarded-up buildings easier.

The rain came down even harder, pounding the pavement. I ran the whole three blocks to the house. The trees I passed murmured in a slumbering chorus.

I wondered if the green giants dreamed, or if the murmurs were just them trembling in their sleep? The thought rattled around in my head as I ran.

I reached the dark house. A towering row of arbor vitae surrounded the backyard. No fence. I eased my special sense into the arbor vitae, urged it to move. The bushes trembled and the branches shifted slowly to create an opening in front of me.

My stomach churned. I bent over and gagged bile. Awakening the slumbering plant hurt. It wasn't like urging blackberry vines to grow, the arbor vitae moved so much slower.

I staggered through the opening.

I couldn't do this every time I went through the arbor vitae. I sucked in air, straightened, and tried to ignore the flaring pain as I directed the hedge to close around the opening until a thin curtain of branches hid the passage.

That would have to do. I winced and massaged my side. The bullet wound was gone, but the exertion made my side ache where I'd been hit. Still couldn't believe I'd nearly died.

Now here I was, about to sneak into my new place.

I unlocked the padlock on the back door with the key Support gave me, then unlocked the deadbolt. The top corners of the door frame were covered in old spiderwebs.

The air inside the house was musty. Not a huge surprise.

No lights, when I flicked a switch. On the kitchen counter was a battery-powered lamp, I flicked the penlight I'd been given on, and looked at it. A note written in block print said "use this."

Okay, so I was an idiot.

I half expected to find a hoarder's paradise, but the house was nearly empty. The floors were bare and the place was actually pretty neat for being "abandoned." We-think-of-everything Support actually owned the house, and used foreclosure as a convenient cover. Must be nice to be able to control things like that. Assuming you didn't mind doing everything because you were assisting the Hero's Council. Yeah, I was feeling cynical.

The bedroom had a clean floor, a clean sleeping bag and pillow, and another battery-powered lamp.

I checked the bathroom--the plumbing worked. Thank God for small favors.

There were insta-meals in the cupboards--enough for weeks.

I should be starving, but I wasn't hungry, despite my nearly killing myself getting the arbor vitae to play open sesame. I was restless. I paced the house until I got bored walking around the dark rooms.

I knelt in a corner and stared at the hardwood floor in the yellow lamplight. I traced my finger along the whorls in the pine. The pattern the whorls made pulled at me. I caressed the wood. I couldn't help myself. I extended my sense into the dead pine.

Sensations flashed in my mind. Sticky hot. Dry hot. Warm. Frozen water. Rain soaking, splashing, pounding.

I gasped. Past seasons ran through my mind. I trembled. I had never tried to reach into dead wood before. The seasons echoed through my mind, so many seasons, flying by now.

I struggled to pull my awareness away. The wood was dead. It should be easy, but there was something locked inside, a final message.

Pain's sharp edge still screamed in the pine. Great pain. Searing pain still echoed in the dead wood. I jerked my awareness away from the tree, yanking my fingers off the floor. So much pain still locked away in that dead wood, the last impression of the pine tree's life.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING LASTED forever. I woke, ate an insta-meal of oatmeal and apples, drank some instant coffee, and sat in a chair in the kitchen, waiting for Gus to call. But the damn phone remained silent.

I paced the house. Lunchtime came and went. I had no appetite but ate anyway. Pasta with chicken and broccoli.

Still no call from Gus.

Damn him, this was supposed to be a shoo-in. I exercised in my bedroom, pushups, dips using the windowsill, followed with squats and lunges but the nervous energy wouldn't go away.

By 4PM I was ready to climb the walls. What was taking the little jerk so long? Screw it. I had to take a walk. I slipped out the back, checking to make sure no one was watching me, and slipped through the arbor vitae. I fast-walked down the street, hood up, face down.

I called the number Winterfield gave me from a pay phone at a gas station a few blocks away.

Always keep in persona, the briefing had stressed.

"Mister Winterfield, it's Mathilda Brandt."

"Good afternoon, Miss Brandt."

We sounded like cliched versions of the parolee and her PO, but this was the procedure.

"Have you heard back about that job?" Fake PO Winterfield asked.

I fought to keep the frustration out of my voice as I answered. "Not yet. I thought they would have called by now."

"These things can take time, Miss Brandt. Keep me posted."

Click. Gee thanks for the information, Winterfield. Always nice to chat with you. He was a big help.

All the next day, my phone remained silent. I didn't hang out well. I needed to be doing something, moving this job forward. Not just sitting around on my ass and watching moss grow in the backyard.

The day after that I was not only ready to climb the walls, I was ready to tear them down.

I had to get out again.

After the sun went down, I got in the Dasher and drove over to Ruth's. At least I could see how they were doing.

Yeah, I know, Support had specifically instructed me to not see my family, but the hell with them. I couldn't wait around any longer.

I parked the car next to the storage building, and sat there for a long time, warring with myself. I had left with lots of drama, left like I was supposed to leave. Burned my bridges.

Screw it. I went up the stairs, shoulders hunched, and knocked on Ruth's door. If I could talk to her, I could make things right.

I shifted my feet, stared at the door handle rather than the peephole.

The door's deadbolt clacked. The door opened a couple of inches, the door chain still hooked.

Ella peered at me through the crack.

"Mat? What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see how things were going."

"About the same." Talk about a non-answer.

"How's Ruth?"

"About the same." Ella wasn't budging. Come on open up, I wanted to shout. Let me in!

"Can I come inside? I want to talk to Ruth."

Her expression hardened. "She doesn't want to talk with you. I don't either." She closed the door in my face. I heard the sound of the deadbolt locking.

I stood there like an idiot, staring at the door, wishing it would open. I still had my key. I could unlock the door and slam it open, snapping the chain. It wouldn't be hard.

I slunk down to the car and drove back to the house.

* * *

NOON THE NEXT DAY THERE was still no word from Gus. I'd had enough. I was going to track that weasel down and find out why he hadn't called me. I had memorized his haunts from the files Support had me study. Typical Gus. Dive bars and bookstores, the grungier the better.

I went to his hidey-hole first. I climbed the fire escape and slipped inside.

No Gus. I cased the place. Just as when I'd first visited, piles of moldering newspapers and magazines clogged the place. There were dog-eared paperback books, a cassette player so old it was covered with chips and dings. The only tapes were classical. I hadn't known Gus's taste in music. He'd never seemed interested in music back in the Renegades, so I never imagined he would be into Brahms and Handel.

The copy of Great Expectations still lay on the old chair by the window.

I picked the book up. An Oregon Shakespearean Festival leather bookmark, one with a unicorn stenciled on it was in the book. The bookmark Gus had had since forever.

I left, and spent the rest of the day hitting up every dive bar and bookstore on the list. No sign of him. I asked around, mentioning I was a friend. None of the staff at the various places recalled seeing him lately. I got a few looks--no surprise there, they were probably all shocked that a young woman was looking for scummy Silco. That's what my best friend Tanya used to call him back when we were in the Renegades together.

I can't believe I had defended Gus, back then. Sure, he didn't stink--no matter how much time he spent on the street--and his clothes, despite being old, always somehow managed to be clean, but he was a weasel.

He was still a weasel. He was hiding, or dead. It would be just my luck if he were dead. My chance of getting into the Scourge cell would be blown for good and with it, my freedom.

Winterfield wasn't the understanding sort.

Then it hit me. I'd missed the obvious. Gus loved to read. He always had a book with him. Always. And he always had to finish what he started.

That copy of Great Expectations and the bookmark in it. He wouldn't be parted more than a day from that bookmark, or from reading the book it was in. He had to get in his reading fix and, like I said, could only read one thing at a time.

Stupid--I should have saved myself the runaround.

I raced back to his hidey-hole. Up the fire escape and into the grunge.

No Gus. My heart pounded as I reached the end table. The book was still there.

Good. Now I just had to wait.

Of course, if he was dead, then I was out of luck, but if there was one thing I was sure of about Gus, besides his being a weasel supreme, it was that he was a survivor.

I'd never read Dickens, this was as good a time as any. I found a place near the window but out of sight of the outside, and settled in to read.

A soft clumping on metal brought me out of the story. Someone climbed the fire escape. My skin tingled in that way it did when another Empowered was near.

I slipped further in the room, deeper into the shadows. I reached with my power, brushed the ivy growing up the back of the building, urged it to strengthen and pull nitrogen from the air.

A silhouette appeared in the window, framed by daylight, and dropped down into the room.

Grow, I commanded the ivy and it snaked up, vines like hot wires in my mind, until it covered the window behind the figure.

The hood fell back, revealing Gus's long tousled hair. He went to the end table, froze.

"Looking for this?" I held up the book. "Pretty good read."

He jerked away from me, stumbled over a pile of magazines and fell backwards into another pile. And then he was gone.

The mesh of vine trembled. I pushed my essence into the mass, thickened the vines into rope.

Gus reappeared against the window, frantically trying to burrow through the tangle of green.

I grabbed his hood, hauled him off the windowsill, and then whirled him around to face me.

"I thought you were going to help me, Gus." I pushed him away from the window and into a wall, still facing me.

"I tried, Mathilda, I tried, but they said no."

"Who said no, Gus?"

He flinched away from my glare. "Mutter. The cell leader. He said no."

"And you caved just like that? You promised me, Gus." I didn't have to fake my rage.

I slammed him into the wall.

"Ow," he grunted.

Blood pounded in my ears. Everything was on the line here: my family. My freedom. This weasel wasn't going to stop me from getting into the Scourge and completing my mission.

I leaned in close to him. "You promised," I said in a low voice.

He sucked in air. "I couldn't do anything. I tried, but you don't know Mutter. He'll kill me if I go against him."

"Weasels always say they'll get in trouble if there's something they don't want to do. You need to be worried about what I might do to you right now."

I shoved him, hard, back into the wall. Banged him again. He had promised me, and again, he was letting me down.

He yelped, eyes squeezed in pain, and he suddenly stank of fear. He tried to blend into the wall, but I still held him.

"Mat, please, please! You have to believe me, I wanted to help you, really!" The words tumbled out of him in quick bursts. "I went to Mutter, told him I had a new recruit. I figured he'd be pleased, but he asked all sorts of questions. When he found out you'd just been released, he lost interest. Said you wouldn't work out."

"Wouldn't work out, what the hell does that mean?"

He shrank against the wall.

I must have looked like murder.

"He doesn't think you are right for the cell.

Killing Gus wouldn't get me anywhere except back in prison for good. Think, Mat, think! I told myself.

I had to find this Mutter and show him I was what his cell needed.

I relaxed my grip on Gus. "I need this, Gus. Take me to Mutter and I'll convince him I can help."

He shook his head, suddenly frantic. "I can't! Wish I could, really I do, but he'll kill me. Slowly."

The fear in Gus's eyes was real.

I switched to guilting him.

"You promised me you could help," I said. "Promised. I'm in a bad way. I need money, help--a way out of this mess. I pull off a crime on my own, and I'll be caught, but if I'm in your group things will be different, I know they will." I laid it on thick. I hated lying, but what choice did I have?"

I let that sink in.

"You go and think about this, Gus." I dragged him over to the window. "I'll hold onto your book while you do, and just wait here."

I waved my hand, willed the vines to part. I brushed against one, heavy with seeds. I ordered it to separate just below the buds. Palmed a sprig.

Gus rubbed his face. "Mat, I'm sorry."

"Go, think about what I said. Talk to Mutter."

Gus's problem was that below his weaselly exterior there really was a conscience. I bet it would push him to go to the big, bad cell leader and ask Mutter to reconsider my application for Scourge membership.

He started to say something else, but he took one look at my face and turned to climb over the sill.

I snuck the sprig into a hole in the back of his jacket, and flowered the vine, filling it with life, willing it spread out in the lining of his jacket just enough that it could live.

He climbed down the fire escape and blended in with the junk around the fence.

I gave him a minute and then followed, holding another piece of the same vine in my hand.

* * *

BACK WHEN I WAS IN the Renegades I used to plant a sprig or a blossom on someone when I wanted to follow them. Worked really well on normals, and it also let me track Gus. Tanya and I used to call Gus "Creepo Supremo" behind his back. He liked to pop out of nowhere and talk to us in that nervous stutter of his. Once I planted a dandelion on him, kept it alive while I followed him around with Tanya. Tanya was a "peeper", an Empowered who could see out of someone else's eyes, as long as she could see that person.

Like I said, Gus's blending didn't make him invisible, it just made him really hard to spot. As long as I kept close after I "planted" him-- a hundred yards, or two hundred at most--I knew where he was. If I knew where Gus was, I could spot him. Then Tanya could see through my eyes to see Gus, and then see out of his eyes.

He'd come back and Tanya would spin all kinds of stories about how she could read the mind of a "susceptible" Empowered at a distance.

The Professor let us have our fun. Gus bought it hook, line, and sinker

He never got angry, just frightened. I guess it made Tanya seem awesomely powerful if she could scan him from any distance, because he was "susceptible" to her power.

I wonder if things would have gone differently if I'd "planted" a sprig on him the day the Hero Council came down on the Renegades like God's hammer.

I pushed the memory away. No time for bad memories.

No way I was going to blow this chance. Winterfield would be pissed when he found out what I was doing, but that was the breaks. No time to ask for permission, so I'd settle for forgiveness.

It started raining as I followed Gus over the Burnside Bridge. New high-rise buildings cut off the view of the West Hills. Broken bottles, old cigarette stubs, newspapers, and other crap littered the sidewalk. The Hero Council's "clean patrol," one of its youth organizations for "normals," could stand to make a visit.

I kept Gus in sight. The sprig riding in his field jacket pulsed in my mind. Gus was a shadowy figure, almost like one of those paper cutouts, standing out against the background of the city.

A car passing by me hit a big puddle. Water sheeted up. I ducked, threw up my arm to cover my head. Still got soaked. I wiped my face, swore. Blinked.

Gus had vanished.

I started running. I dodged a couple of streeters pushing shopping carts filled with junk. Jumped over an occupied sleeping bag.

It stopped raining, and the clouds parted. A white blimp was high overhead, with the blue Hero Council logo on the side, a stylized "HC" with a globe between the letters.

Shit. I skidded to a stop, my heart hammering in my ears. That thing bristled with high-powered cameras. I ducked my head. The surveillance blimps were new, rolling out while I was in Special Corrections. All part of the "keep the world safe for normals," initiative. They recorded everything out in public, to pick up any crimes. The UN was still hashing out building a camera network in US cities on the ground, so this was supposedly a temporary thing, showcasing what it could do. Portland shared one with Salem and Eugene to the south.

Worse, if the stories were true, there might be a finder on board. Legend had it that the Hero Council had Empowereds capable of sensing other Empowered at long range stationed aboard the surveillance blimps.

Maybe that was just a myth.

Maybe.

I wondered if the Hero Council had me on file as a Support operative?

Something about the way I'd been recruited into helping Support told me that the answer was probably no. Winterfield had always been tough to read, but after the whole fake parole officer routine, one thing was blindingly obvious--he liked to keep things close to his chest.

I walked, head down, and stretched out with my special sense, trying to locate the sprig. It wouldn't live long without me putting more vitality into it.

A twinge of agony echoed ahead of me. I sensed a thirst for nitrogen and a wordless cry in my mind. I extended my essence, managed to recapture the connection with the vine and send some of my life essence into it, using that to draw more nitrogen. Gus was two blocks west of me, on Burnside. I followed him up to Broadway.

The Hero Council Blimp meandered off to the north, toward the Columbia River and Vancouver, disappearing into a low cloud.

Gus turned south, walking slower now.

Reluctantly?

I smiled to myself. Heading to Mutter, Gus?

I kept my head down, my eyes on the sidewalk as I passed a newspaper stand. A headline--New Hero Council team for Northwest? bannered the front page of today's Oregon Journal.

Great, just what I needed.

The plant riding on the back of Gus's coat suddenly moaned as it went into shadow. I quickened my pace.

Gus must have gone into the Imperial Hotel, a block ahead of me.

The Imperial was a weather-worn five-story brick building. Moss covered the side facing me. I hurried to close the distance.

I stepped through the revolving door into the carpeted lobby, its ancient woodwork dull in the yellow light. This place might have been something once, many years ago, but now it seemed like a forlorn and forgotten place.

Why would Mutter choose a dump like this to hole up in?

Maybe Gus was meeting someone else. I closed my eyes, concentrated.

Gus was close by. The elevators. I went up a short flight of stairs to where the two elevators were, just in time to see Gus disappear inside the far one.

Once the doors closed, I watched the number on the elevator light climb nonstop until it reached the fifth floor.

I lost the connection to the vine riding Gus's back, but that wasn't the only connection I possessed.

I took the other elevator up to the fifth floor, got out, and started slowly walking the hall's faded carpet. Halfway down the hall my skin began tingling, becoming a thousand little electric needles as I passed the double door to the Regency suite.

More than one Empowered was in the suite.

* * *

I RAISED MY HAND TO knock, hesitated. What would Mutter think about me following Gus here? Would he be suspicious? Maybe I should have waited longer before acting, but I couldn't. Time was wasting. If I'd waited any longer, maybe the opportunity would have been gone.

My knock was louder than I intended, and I jumped at the sound.

The air rustled at my feet and the top of my head, ruffling my hair.

The handles turned, and the doors swung open.

"Come in." The words were a whisper, seeming to come from right beside my ear. I whirled around.

No one there.

I walked into the suite.

Gus stood next to a beat-up couch. He looked scared shitless.

Sitting on the couch was a skinny guy in a fancy green suit, the kind with a high collar that covered his throat. He had a styled mop of dark blond hair, bangs down over his eyes. He looked like the kind of a guy that spent his time in art galleries and swanky penthouse parties, not hanging out in a dump like the Imperial Hotel.

He was good looking, if you liked guys without any meat on them. He had this smug half-smile thing going on. Gave me the creeps and annoyed the crap out of me at the same time. The weirdest thing was that his fingers were cupped around his mouth to make a funnel.

The air around me rustled and the doors behind me shut with a rattle. The intel on the cell had said Kai Jones, the leader, could control air currents.

Bingo. My plan had worked. Gus had led me straight to him.

"Kai Jones?"

The air whispered beside me. "Call me Mutter."

Dumb name, but I'd play along. One thing was for sure, I wasn't going to let him intimidate me.

I walked to a chair across from the couch, sat.

His stared at me like I was a bug that had just crawled out of the carpet. I wanted to look away, but kept my eyes on him.

After what felt like forever, Mutter half turned toward Gus, fingers still funneled around his mouth. His lips moved, but I couldn't hear his words. Gus's field jacket billowed opened, and he wobbled.

The vine I had planted in the back of Gus's jacket rose up like a cobra from a snake charmer's basket. It corkscrewed through the air and floated down to Mutter's lap.

"That was a neat trick you pulled on Gus." Mutter's voice was low, calm sounding, in control. "You were named Vine for good reason." He smiled, showing fine, white teeth.

I shrugged.

"However, Gus told you I said no, yet you did not take my no for an answer." The smile was gone.

Icy fear settled in the small of my back.

I lifted my chin. "I wasn't sure Gus was telling me the truth. He often is full of it."

Mutter gave a sharp laugh. "You can do better than that, Vine."

The way he drew out the name the second time he said it set my teeth on edge. "I don't go by that anymore," I said.

"You don't like nicknames, do you?" Mutter tilted his head. "You think my calling myself Mutter is ridiculous, don't you?"

"I didn't say that." What was he getting at? Who cared about his stupid name?

"It's plain from your reaction when I asked you to call me Mutter." He whispered under his breath, a cross between shushing and mumbling, and then something like "whisk, whisk."

Air gusted around me. Hotel stationary fluttered off the desk by the window.

"This is nothing," Mutter said. "I can do much worse."

"I'm sure of it," I said. I kept my head up.

He went on like he hadn't heard me.

"Someone else gave me the name Mutter." His eyes took on a faraway look. "Long ago. He thought he was being funny, that my power was nothing."

A blast of air slammed Gus off his feet. My chest was tight. I held myself back from helping Gus to his feet. Poor Gus grabbed onto the armrest of the couch and hauled himself up, his face white. "I get it," I said.

Mutter arched an eyebrow. "Do you? The fool who first called me Mutter thought that he had "got it," when they gave me that name, that somehow he knew who I was."

The air grew very still.

"He most certainly did not know." He whispered again, a deep sound. My throat was squeezed shut.

I couldn't breathe.

"You think Empowered names are old fashioned, don't you Mathilda?" Mutter asked me. "You don't comprehend their power to shape how others see you." He leaned toward me.

I struggled to suck in air, but my throat stayed closed. My neck muscles strained, but I still couldn't breathe. I didn't want to die.

"How much the right name can make them fear you," Mutter went on, like he was talking about choosing lunch.

I couldn't open my throat.

Gus got to his feet. "Please, Kai, let her go."

Mutter watched me like a snake, his lips pursed.

My chest hurt like hell. The room began to turn red and ripple around me.

"You don't have to imagine what happened to that fool," Mutter said.

I nodded desperately.

He smiled thinly, and whistled. My throat suddenly opened. I exhaled the air trapped in my lungs. Breathed in fresh air in big, shaking gasps.

"I call myself Mutter now. It is a name I wear proudly. Because I know what it means."

I nodded, chest still heaving as I sucked in more air.

His lips curled in a sneer. "Now you almost understand." I nodded. I didn't have to fake that nod, I meant it. He'd nearly killed me, the bastard. I had to be more careful.

He shot Gus a venomous look. "Don't ever call me Kai again."

Gus paled. "No, Mutter, I won't," he said, voice quaking.

Mutter smiled at me. "And you, Mathilda, should embrace your Empowered name." He said Mathilda like it was something he'd found washed up on the beach, weird and rotting.

"Mat. Everyone calls me Mat."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes." My lungs still ached, but his mocking my name annoyed me enough that for an instant I didn't care. "Really." My face hardened.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself, Mat. I still think you should embrace Vine, but that's up to you." He shrugged again. "Now, why didn't you take no for answer?" he asked.

"I figured I could convince you to let me join your group."

Another short bark of laughter. "Interesting choice of words." He looked over at Gus, made a face. "Go take a bath, Blender. You stink of sweaty fear. And get rid of that moldy old jacket of yours."

Gus slunk off without protest, head down, disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.

Mutter shook his head fractionally. "I have given him a new jacket, a better one, but he insists on wearing that stinking army relic."

As long as I'd known Gus he'd worn that old army field jacket. "Gus's grandfather died in the Three Days War," I said. He might be a weasel, but everyone who knew him knew why he wore the army field jacket.

Mutter waved a hand dismissively. "Ancient history. Blender needs to live in the present, just like the rest of us."

The sound of running water came from the bathroom.

Mutter nodded. "About time Blender took a bath and washed the stink off." He leaned forward. "So, back to you, and your not taking no for an answer. You don't follow instructions very well, do you?"

I swallowed. "I need things to happen now."

"You need money. Gus said you haven't been able to hold a job."

I swallowed again and wiped the sweat from my lips with the back of my hand. The room was suddenly very still. "That's right."

He sighed. "Really, are you surprised? So-called normals distrust us when they aren't afraid of us. They envy us, despise us, but mostly they fear us. That is our advantage. Not our powers. Fear. If others fear you, you can control them."

I listened, and took slow breaths as my heart rate finally slowed. "Yes," I said. Better play along with Mister-likes-to-block-airways.

He leaned back, cupping his hands beneath his chin. He'd be able to make a funnel in no time. I struggled not to shudder.

"I see that you do understand," he said. "Now, as to why you are here. You didn't take no for an answer."

Suddenly he seemed pleased. I couldn't figure him out.

"You do want to join my cell."

"Yes." I tried not to sound too eager.

"Well, joining means passing a test."

"Test?"

"A multi-part test. You've already passed the first part."

"I don't get it." A cold knot formed in my stomach. He had been screwing with me. The whole you didn't take no for an answer routine was probably just another part of his weird "multi-part" test.

"It's simple. You successfully followed Gus to me, just as I wanted you to. Now you need to undertake a little job." The smile edged back around the corners of his mouth.

"What sort of job?"

"There's a lot of criminal trafficking in illegal drugs in this city, as you no doubt are aware." His smile went wide "What matters to us are the shipments to Portland and payment for the shipments by the middlemen."

"You want me to knock off a drug shipment?"

He leaned back on the couch. "Bring back the drugs and the cash."

I laughed, despite the knot of fear in my stomach. "Is that all?"

"It is. If you want to become a member of my organization, you must successfully complete this job." His organization. He meant his cell, I think, but I couldn't read him.

His eyes glittered beneath his dark blond bangs as he waited my response.

I didn't dare hesitate. "I'll do it."

"Excellent."

He gave me details on where the drug distributors were going to meet the local middlemen: on an old abandoned factory along the river in Oregon City, sometime tomorrow or the day after, most likely at night. The timing seemed convenient, awfully convenient. He just happened to have a job ready for me to pull off?

My face must have shown my disbelief, because Mutter tapped his head.

"I have more than just a power, Mathilda. I have three things nearly as useful--a network of information, the ability to always have a plan at the ready, and the intelligence to execute it." His face darkened. "What I require is willingness to carry out those plans on my behalf."

On his behalf. Not the Scourge's. He hadn't mentioned them at all, and I wasn't about to ask him at this point.

"I understand."

He brushed his bangs back. "We will see, won't we?"

The water stopped running.

"Gus is finished," Mutter said. "Let's hope he doesn't stink of fear, at least not for a little while." He smirked. "Gus is easily frightened."

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# Chapter 7

The abandoned factory was still deserted.

After twelve hours spent waiting for those drug ganger knuckleheads to show up to make the switch, my car smelled like the inside of a locker room. The vinyl had stains from God only knew what, and I hadn't been able to shower in a couple of days, not since leaving Winterfield's secret dungeon or whatever it was. I was at the point where I hated my own smell. Yeah, it would be nice if Empowered didn't get ripe like everyone else, but we did. Worse, maybe, because of our hyped-up metabolism.

The stakeout, or whatever it was I was on, was as boring as hell. Rain pelted the Dasher nonstop. I hunkered down in the back seat and tried to stay warm. I'd forgotten to bring a book and listening to the radio got old. None of the music they played did anything for me.

Finally, after snatching sleep and sneaking off to pee, I resorted to leafing through the ancient Newsweek magazine I'd found moldering under the driver's seat. It was twenty years old, pages yellowed, with a headline screaming something about The Ubermensch, those European Empowered neo-Nazi terrorists who tried to overthrow the Hero Council back in the 1990s. I was a baby when it happened, but like I said, we had to study history in Special Corrections, and that was after Ruth had talked about them when I was young, so it wasn't like I didn't know about it.

The Ubermensch idiots had tried to seize the Hero Council's European headquarters in Berlin and proclaim a new order run by Empowered. A few sanctioned Empowered, French and German mostly, who had joined in that stupid attempt to change the world. Somehow the Hero Council saw it coming, and took out the whole sorry bunch with a combined force from North and South America, Asia, and Europe. The Ubermensch never stood a chance.

I tossed the magazine back under the seat. Ancient history. Empowered served humanity. The Hero Council and the United Nations Charter on Empowered both made a huge deal out of that.

The old Scourge had showed up a couple of years after the Ubermensch got stomped. Supposedly they wanted to free Empowered from servitude, but the whole thing was a crock. If you were a sanctioned, you were in the Hero Council, and you got free housing, spending money, etc. If you were a Forsworn, then yeah, you got a little stipend after signing an agreement and swearing an oath in court that you'd never use your power. I'd tried keeping my power a secret at first. I had just turned fifteen. And then, when I got drunk on it, I went to the local Hero Council office. They checked me out, and said I would need to swear an oath never to use my power. Just like that. They could care less about my power. Didn't even ask if I wanted to join them. Assholes. So, I ran off to join the Renegades. When the Hero Council took down the Renegades, I was the only survivor. Rogues like me got sent to Special Corrections, for life, if they weren't executed for their crimes. I was lucky. I'd been sixteen. Underage for the death penalty. And young enough I earned a chance at parole.

I was bored out of my mind. I fiddled with the radio again, fumbling around until I found a news station.

They interviewed Karl Cooper, the hot new star of the Hero Council North America's so-called "First Team." He'd been dubbed Dynamo, because of his super strength, which meant he could wear powered combat armor that apparently weighed half a ton. Half a freaking ton.

Cooper sounded like one of those All-American jocks I used to avoid back in school.

The host asked him a bunch of softball questions, like what was it like to wear all that armor, how did he feel about the fame, blah blah blah until finally asking him what he felt about Empowered criminals. I straightened up in my seat and leaned forward.

"I feel sorry for them." Cooper sounded like he meant it.

"Why?" the host asked. "Is it because they are squandering their gifts?"

Cooper waited a thoughtful few seconds before answering, probably to seem like he was actually considering the question. "Because they are being controlled by their gifts."

The host started to ask Cooper something else but I turned the radio off with a savage twist of the dial.

What a load of crap. I was a criminal because of the dumb-ass choices I'd made. Gus was a criminal because he was a weasel. I was pretty sure Mutter was a criminal because he liked being in charge.

The night wore on. Waiting was as boring as hell. The only thing I had left was remembering things, like my fight with Ruth, and nearly killing Hatcher and his gangers.

No thanks.

The best I could do in the sleep department was cat nap. I'd parked the Dasher near the entrance to the old factory's parking lot. The gangers' vehicles would pass right by my car.

I woke up to my phone vibrating in my coat pocket.

Fumbled it open, put the receiver close to my ear. "Hello?"

Alex. "What's up?" He sounded laid back, like he was calling to see about a movie or something.

I struggled to clear my foggy head. "Not much." I swigged some water from a bottle I'd been rationing to cut down on pee runs. "I'm doing a job as requested by contact in order to prove value as requirement for admittance." The words came out awkwardly, the briefing had stressed the need for phone conversations to be circumspect.

"The man is concerned about elapsed time." The man? Had to be Winterfield. Probably irritated I hadn't made more progress. Too bad. I was back to being a crook, and that means crookish ways, sleeping in late, and focusing on the task at hand, namely pulling off the heist.

"Necessary in order to be accepted."

Silence. Finally, "Got it. How much longer?"

I glanced at my watch. "If not within the next four or five hours, cycle begins again late tomorrow." Listen to me, I sounded like posted rules in Special Corrections. Yuck.

"Okay. Take it easy." Still so casual sounding, just like he should, in case God only knew was listening in. Not that anyone was, but at some point, they might be. Better get in the habit now.

"Later." Alex hung up. Hearing his voice had been nice. Now it was back to the sound of the rain spattering the windshield and roof.

I drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

I WOKE TO THE GLARE of headlights illuminating the interior of the Dasher. I sat up, blinking, in time to see two black sedans turn into the abandoned factory's parking lot.

Showtime.

I didn't know if it was the dealers or the middlemen. I slipped silently out of the Dasher and ran at a crouch to the side of the abandoned factory.

My watch showed 5:06 AM. The night sky was still black.

By the time I reached the derelict building there was a sharp stitch in my side. I bent over, had to stop to catch my breath.

The factory's windows are six feet off the ground. Below the windows, it was just concrete, scrawled with graffiti. On this side of the building a window had been broken, leaving only a few shards of glass around the edges, like broken teeth. A wild rose bush grew below it, just starting to bud. That was lucky. For me, maybe not so much for the rose. My jaw tightened, I couldn't waste time feeling sorry for a dumb plant.

I ached already. I would be expending a lot of energy. I pulled a stim drink from my pack, a twenty-ounce can of "Voltage." Chugged it.

I put my hand on the plant, prodded it gently with my essence through my outstretched fingers. I felt the rose shiver. I sucked in air, pushed farther into the rose bush, urging the roots to grow deeper, to drink deeply of the nutrients and water in the soil.

The bush trembled, began growing, sending barbed branches up to the window.

My nerves felt like hot wires. Now came the hard part. My muscles screamed as I twisted the rose into something nature had never intended. It shrieked in my mind. I pushed past the pain and reshaped the plant, flattening the thorns and using the material to thicken the branches until they could support my weight.

I blinked away hot tears. There hadn't been a choice.

I pulled myself up onto the bush. Sharp pricks against my flesh. Ouch. I had forgotten about the thorns on the lower branches. I wriggled higher up and then, hand over hand climbed up to the window.

I flashed my penlight down, and saw a concrete ledge maybe four feet below me. I swung from the branch and dropped onto the concrete with a soft thud.

I squatted on the ledge. A low murmur of voices echoed from the far side of the factory floor. Clumps of crabgrass and thistle poked up from cracks in the cement. Flashlights waved around in the darkness on the far side of the factory.

I crept toward the voices, staying low. I urged the weeds to grow and spread until the lines of crabgrass and thistle rose to shoulder height.

I was over halfway across the factory floor when bright white lights flicked on ahead of me. I ducked down into the weeds, shading my eyes.

The two black sedans had parked side by side near the back wall, facing the entrance. Battery-powered lanterns set on the cars' roofs pushed back the darkness with bright white light. One of the sedan's trunks was open, and two figures wrestled a boxy object onto the floor, while more men with automatic weapons watched. All were dressed in sharp business suits and leather shoes. They looked Chinese--must be one of the refugee Tong syndicates.

Right then a white paneled truck drove up to the entrance, turned around, and killed its headlights. The truck's back door rolled up. The interior light was on. A half dozen men were inside, standing around what looked like a money box. Five were tattooed, holding pump shotguns. The sixth was actually a skinny teen boy. His hair was flame red--probably dyed. He kept looking around nervously.

A strikingly handsome Chinese man in a brown suit emerged from one of the sedans and walked into the light. He wasn't carrying a gun. He walked easy, arms at his sides.

"Where is Parker?" he asked the goons in the truck.

The driver's side cab door opened, and a giant dude with a crewcut got out. He had a big, bowie-style knife in a scabbard on his leather belt.

"Greetings, Parker," the handsome Chinese in the brown suit said to the giant guy. His voice was confident, in control.

"Wong. Thought you might make this run."

Wong nodded. "We have your goods, assuming you have our cash."

Parker stepped around to the back of the truck and pointed at the strong box. "We have cash. Fifty thousand." He said it casually, like it was no big deal.

But apparently it was a big deal.

Wong scowled. "One hundred thousand was the agreed-on price."

Parker spread his hands. "Hey, the market has gone soft." He wasn't apologetic.

"Don't waste our time. We have other buyers further north who are happy to pay full price. In fact, they are desperate enough it will be more like one hundred and fifty thousand."

Parker drew the bowie knife, ran a finger along its edge, and stared thoughtfully at the edge. "You know us, you don't know them. They'll stab you in the back."

A drop of sweat slithered down my spine. This was about to turn ugly. I'd have to move damn fast.

"Whereas you, Parker, will stab us from the front." Wong spat the words.

"Fifty thousand, Wong. It's a fair offer."

One of Wong's men turned to his boss and said something in Chinese. Wong answered.

Parker cocked his head. "Speak English."

Another of Wong's men said something in Chinese and the others laughed.

"I said English."

Wong smiled. "They agree your price is ridiculous."

I crept closer to the truck, and my skin started to tingle. Another Empowered was here.

Parker turned and jerked a finger at the kid, who jumped down from the truck's gate. The tingling got more intense. The kid was Empowered. Had to be.

"Last chance, Wong. Take the fifty grand and count yourself lucky."

"We are finished here, Parker," Wong replied. More Chinese.

I tensed. This was where things got ugly, really ugly. I'd seen and been in enough fights to know a boiling point when I saw one.

"Not so fast, pal." Parker gestured at the kid. The boy grinned and raised his hands. Flames erupted in the air before him. He shoved his palms forward and the flame turned into a geyser. He aimed at a clump of thistle weeds on the far side of the building. The weeds vanished in a whoosh of flame.

Shit! A flame thrower! Nasty. I hunched down.

Both sides pointed automatic weapons at each other.

"This doesn't have to get any nastier, Wong." Parker's voice was thick with glee.

A Tong guy moved behind the far side of the second sedan, out of the giant's line of sight, next to a metal box. He was across from me, where I hid in the tall grass. A cable ran from the box to connect to what looked like a megaphone in the man's hand. He pointed it at the kid, who idly let fire dance ceilingward from his fingertips.

Parker and his gangers were fixed on Wong and the other Tong members, didn't see the man point the strange weapon at the Empowered teenager.

The air suddenly hummed and my stomach lurched. The megaphone-like weapon was a nullifier, functioning like the cuffs we wore in Special Corrections. Portable nullifiers were outlawed, unless you ran a prison. They took a huge amount of power, and burned out fast.

I felt the familiar nausea I'd lived with for five years. The kid needed to run, get out of the nullifier's cone of effect, now. Even off to the side like I was, I wanted to vomit. The flames dancing from the kid's hands winked out. He bent over and threw up.

"What the hell!" yelled Parker.

"An advantage," Wong replied. "I suggest you either pay up now or get out of our way."

Parker's face twisted in anger.

One of his men on the far side of the standoff edged slowly toward the nullifier. The damn thing's humming changed to a loud screech, sounding like fingernails on a chalkboard. It was going to burn out soon.

I wondered if Parker was smart enough to know that?

The kid tried to stand up, but failed and dry heaved over the ground.

His goon at the far side palmed a pistol. Wong and his men were still facing Parker and his thugs.

The goon fired a round into the nullifier's power case. Sparks exploded from the case and the damn thing died. The man holding the nullifier gun dropped it, sprang back, drawing a pistol from his coast.

Everything went to hell. Both sides opened up.

Wong took a shotgun blast in the face and fell. The briefcase tumbled from his hands onto the ground.

I needed that case.

Wong's men returned fire with their machine pistols, spraying bullets into the truck. Two of Parker's gangers, riddled with bullets, toppled out the truck's cargo area and sprawled on the ground.

The kid straightened up. He should have run then, gotten away. We Empowered weren't indestructible. But his face turned nasty. He spewed fire from his outstretched hands at two of the Tong, who screamed and dropped to the ground, rolling. The kid followed their movements, spewing more fire on the rolling bodies until the men's shrieking stopped. A Tong guy fired a burst from his machine pistol into the kid, who flopped backwards. Another Tong ganger fired a second burst into the kid's body.

The kid wouldn't be able to heal from that, even if his power hadn't been nullified.

I swallowed. Stupid.

I crouched down and sent vines coiling around the briefcase that lay on the ground beside Wong's body. I pulled the briefcase across the floor by ordering the vines to shrink toward me and sent more vines writhing into the van.

Men were still firing at each other, but Parker saw me.

He charged, knife out. I dropped and spin-kicked his legs. Tripped him. I engulfed him in monster stalks of spiked thistle. He tried to get up, but the thistles' three-inch long super-sized needles pierced him. He screamed, and one of the surviving Tong members shot him.

I ducked back down, commanded vines to pull both cases to me, while men continued killing each other. My head hurt like hell from pushing my power, like someone was driving nails right behind my eyes.

I grabbed the briefcases by their handles, turned, jumped up, and started to sprint. Gun shots banged out behind me, and I heard bullets whizz by, but I was already hidden in the tall grass and shadows.

The firing continued, more sporadic now.

I reached the ledge, flung the briefcases out the open window, hauled myself up and then over the rose branches, thorns tearing my hands. I tried to urge the rose bush to pull its thorns back in but I couldn't. My hands were a bloody mess by the time I reached the window.

I dropped down and rolled, my ankle twisting. Damn it. Hoped I hadn't broken it.

I snatched up the briefcases and ran across the parking lot.

Behind me the firing stopped and the night was suddenly still again, with only the rain's pitter patter, and the echo in my head of the kid's dying scream.

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# Chapter 8

My hands still hurt like hell as I drove back to Portland. They had stopped bleeding, but the healing took time, and would take even longer because of the way I'd spent my power.

I couldn't shake images of the firefight out of my head. Bullets ripping through bodies. The kid grinning like a maniac as he burned two men to death. The sounds of their screams. Mutter hadn't said squat about gangers having a nullifier. Where the hell had they gotten such an illegal weapon?

I shuddered at the thought that maybe someone had wanted them to have it.

The nullifier was military grade hardware. You needed special power packs, and the things burned themselves out damn fast. They had short range, and they had to be aimed right at an Empowered to work, and even then, it was tough. Unless you were a stupid kid who was high on his power.

The whole thing had been an idiotic bloodbath.

And the flamethrower kid, maybe he called himself Firestarter, or maybe he had thought of himself as one of those stupid mystical "flame warden" types. Whatever. It didn't matter now. He was dead.

The kid couldn't have been older than sixteen, might have been fifteen. He'd been a tool, just like the rest of Parker's gangers, and the Tong as well. Parker and Wong had been in charge. The rest paid for being tools with their lives.

I got off the Interstate and headed toward a gas station just as the sun was coming up. The gas station had to have a pay phone.

I eased my foot off the accelerator. Just in time. A police car waited at the first side street. I passed him and turned into the gas station's parking lot. A phone booth stood at one corner. I parked the car.

I rubbed my eyes. Exhaustion hung on me like chains. My clothes smelled like roasting meat, but there was no time to change. Mutter had emphasized the need for a prompt check-in, clearly that was part of the test.

The phone booth's glass was spiderwebbed with cracks, while the phone itself was covered in handwritten numbers and graffiti. I lifted the receiver and heard a dial tone.

I dropped in a quarter and dialed the number Mutter had given me. Let it ring three times, then hung up. Dropped the quarter back in, dialed again.

Mutter picked up after the fourth ring.

"Did you accomplish the assignment, Miss Brandt?" Mutter sounded like the cat who had caught the canary.

I swallowed my anger at not being told about the Empowered kid or the nullifier. Maybe Mutter didn't know about either, but I doubted that. It didn't matter now

"I have both," I said.

"Were there any complications?" Apparently, he liked to twist the knife.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Are you certain?"

I nearly yelled into the receiver but caught myself in time. "Yes." I hated myself right then. "Yeah, I'm sure. Now where do you want to meet?"

"Columbia Park in Vancouver. At 9AM sharp. Do not be early."

I wasn't sure I heard him right. "Don't be early?" What the hell?

"Exactly. Be there at 9AM."

"Understood." It had to be another part of his crazy test.

I hung up the phone.

No doubt here who was in control.

* * *

I DIDN'T WANT TO EAT breakfast, but I couldn't let all the death I'd seen stop me from recharging. I couldn't.

I stopped at a greasy spoon and forced myself to eat a stack of pancakes. I snapped at the waitress when she brought bacon along with eggs to go with the pancakes. The smell of meat made me want to throw up. I drank about a gallon of coffee.

Then I headed to Vancouver. Columbia Way Park faced the ancient Interstate Bridge, a big green monster of a bridge. There was a line of homeless people on the sidewalk as I drove up to the park.

A new model Cadillac Monarch with tinted windows sat sideways to the river in the parking lot. It was the other car from last night.

Across the river, a dark cloud dumped rain on North Portland, but here the sky was a patchwork of fluffy white clouds and blue. Thank God for small favors.

A bag lady pushing a shopping cart stuffed with cardboard and plastic blocked the entrance. She looked at the Cadillac. A tinted window rolled down and a long-fingered hand gestured at her. She nodded, then pushed her cart out of the way. Creepy. That had to be Mutter.

I drove into the parking lot. Gus stood on the curb kitty-corner across the lot from where the Cadillac was parked. He pointed at the pavement in front of him.

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled under my breath. I could take a hint. I parked the car.

An old guy with a face so wrinkled he looked like a basset hound in a torn parka stared at me from underneath a tree. On the sidewalk another old guy in a rain poncho pushed his own shopping cart piled with cardboard. The homeless convention was here for a reason, which probably spelled Mutter.

Just as I got out of the car the sky got dark and rain began smacking the ground. Geez, that was fast.

I pulled the collar up on my coat.

I ran over to the tree where Gus now waited. The rain fell in hard sheets. Shit, it was really coming down.

I jerked a thumb at the rainstorm. "This Mutter's doing, too?" I tried to sound confident, but fear coiled like a snake at the bottom of my spine. Just how strong was Mutter? His power had a lot of range to be able to pull a thunderstorm over here that fast.

One thing was for sure. No way the Hero Council surveillance blimp was going to spot us during this monsoon. The same went for any local cops. Visibility was down to a dozen yards. The homeless people clustered on the sidewalk ran to the shelter of the trees that lined the road.

"It is." Gus looked past me toward where the Cadillac was parked, raised an arm.

"So, do I pass?" I asked Gus.

Gus nodded at the Cadillac. "Yeah. Sorry, it's the way things are."

"Yeah, I can see that." Freaking obvious.

Damn control freak.

The Cadillac's front passenger door was flung open. A pissed off looking dark-skinned woman about my age wearing cargo pants and a hooded raincoat emerged and ran through the rain to reach me. Her hood fell back from her head about halfway across. Her hair was cut short, shorter than mine, and got thoroughly soaked.

She reached me and scowled.

"You'd better be worth it." Her scowl went to a glare.

"Isn't that up to Mutter?"

"We all get a say." She wiped her hair with her hand and pulled up her hood.

"Good to know," I said. "I like it when I get to have a say."

The scowl deepened. "You aren't in yet."

Great, I already had an enemy. Whatever. I ignored her glare. "Now what?"

Her face got more pissed off looking. "Grab the goods and go to the Caddy, idiot."

I bit back a snarl. I wasn't going to play her game. So I went to my car.

Of course, the rain now fell even harder. It was like charging into a waterfall. I yanked the briefcases from my car, sprinted to the Cadillac.

A rear door opened. I slipped inside, slammed the door behind me, and wiped the water from my eyes.

Mutter sat across from me on the wide bench seat. He wore a high collared navy-blue suit, not a drop of moisture on that blond mop of his. His skin looked paler than the last time I saw him and sweat beaded his upper lip. Pulling a rainstorm across the river like a yo-yo had to take a lot of you. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy as far as I was concerned.

A creepy looking guy wearing big, plastic-framed glasses with coke-bottle-thick lenses grinned at me over the driver's seat. The thick lenses made his watery eyes look huge.

Mutter nodded at the guy. "Mathilda, this is Lyle."

Lyle didn't say anything, but his grin got wider when Mutter said my name.

"Call me Mat," I said. Lyle didn't say anything. My eyes suddenly itched. Lyle's face went blank, like he was suddenly elsewhere.

"Not now, Lyle," Mutter said.

Lyle shook himself. "Sorry, boss," he said.

I was about to ask what the hell was going on when Keisha yanked open the front passenger side door and jumped inside, slamming the door behind her. She looked even more pissed off, if that were possible, and gave Mutter an ugly glare.

"You could've just told Silco to send her over."

Mutter made a tsk-tsk sound. "Keisha, it's your job to keep an eye on our newest member. I wanted you outside to cover things."

"I could have done that without getting soaked," she growled.

Mutter cocked an eyebrow. "Procedures matter, Keisha." He turned to me, patted the seat between us.

I slid the briefcases over.

"It might have been easier to meet at a house," I said.

Mutter stroked one of the cases. "Meeting here keeps my houses safe."

I opened my jacket, wiggled out of it and wiped my face on the lining.

Keisha pointed at me. "This stiff isn't getting into our group," she said.

Mutter gave her a sour look. "That's not up to you, Steel Witch."

I laughed. "Steel Witch? I would have thought Steel Bitch was more like it."

Keisha brandished a razor blade. "Shut the hell up, newbie, or I'll carve you a new one."

I stared back, not blinking. Tough girl wasn't going to intimidate me.

"Ladies, ladies," Mutter said after the silence had gotten real uncomfortable. "We're all on the same side here."

Loyal creep Lyle nodded.

I forced a shrug. "Whatever."

Keisha gritted her teeth. "Fine." I was already looking at the driver.

Creepy Lyle smirked at me behind his thick lenses. "You control plants, is that it?" The sarcasm was thick in his voice.

"Sure, what of it?"

"Not sure we need someone with such a crap power."

"And you are?" I asked him.

He leered at me. "Call me Peep."

It hit me. That was why my eyes had itched. The creep had been looking out of them. My fingers dug into my jeans. "You're a peeper?" I kept my voice low.

His lip curled. "Yup."

I jabbed a finger at him. "Look through my eyes again, and you won't have any eyes of your own to use." Pond scum Lyle didn't deserve to share that power with Tanya. "You got that, Peep, the Creep?" I asked him.

His leer became an ugly look. "Shut the hell up," he said.

"That's enough, children." Mutter snapped open the case with the money, considered the neatly bundled stacks of cash. He frowned. "Only fifty thousand?"

"That's what they had."

Keisha gave me a nasty grin. "Sure it was," she said.

I needed to lay things out fast. "Things went to hell during the deal because the local gang dropped their payment to half and the Tong said they'd take the shipment elsewhere."

I gave them the details.

"Pretty tall story," Peep the Creep said.

Keisha leaned over the seat to me. "Smells like bullshit."

I ignored her, turned to Mutter. "You didn't say anything about an Empowered being with the locals." I swallowed hard. "Or the Tong carrying a nullifier."

Mutter shrugged. "I didn't know they'd bring Kid Kindle."

The driver and Keisha both gasped.

"That little punk was there?" Keisha shook her head. "We should have let him join us."

Mutter closed the briefcase, opened the second, and examined the wrapped contents.

He snapped the second briefcase closed. "The boy wasn't reliable. Consider what happened."

Keisha glared at me. "Yeah. If you take her word for it. Where would those punk drug runners get a null projector?"

Mutter rubbed his chin for a moment. "An excellent question. They must have better connections than we realized." He looked at me. "You used vines to break the power coupling?"

"Vines can have incredible strength." Sweat ran down my back. It was like being interrogated all over again.

Mutter tapped his fingers together. "So I understand."

Keisha gaped. "That story is a load of bullshit, it..."

Mutter cut her off with a sharp gesture. "That's enough. She pulled off the job I gave her. She is now a member of this cell." His tone was iron.

Keisha crossed her arms, glared out the front window.

Mutter placed the drug case on the floor, opened the one with the money a second time, pulled out a stack of bills and handed it to me.

"Payment for services rendered," he said.

I blinked. Nothing had been said about money.

Coke-bottle lenses looked amazed, and Keisha whipped back around.

"You paying her?"

"I am."

Great, now Keisha had another reason to hate me.

But surprise, she only scowled again and kept her mouth shut.

Mutter leaned toward me. "There is one further condition for being in this cell."

"What's that?"

"If you work for me, you obey. Understood?"

I nodded.

"Good. Now leave. We will be in touch."

Just like that, I was dismissed.

The rain had stopped. Thank God for small favors.

* * *

WINTERFIELD WAITED for me in the same booth in the back of the same diner near I-205 we had always met at back when I thought he was just my PO.

He wore the same windbreaker as always. I slid onto the bench across from him. It was weird to be acting out our old roles. I wasn't hungry but he insisted I order some food, so I ordered a salad.

"You ever have a reaction from eating all those vegetables?" He eyed me.

"No." I used to get the same shit about eating greens when I was in the Renegades, and even more in Special Corrections. I wasn't going to tell Winterfield that I was able to wall off my special connection to plants when I ate them. None of his damn business.

My guess was my new "teamie", Keisha, would be just the type to continue the tradition. She seemed as much a hard-edged wiseass as Winterfield. I wasn't going to tell her, either.

Winterfield ignored my lack of reaction to his cutting wit. "The interview was successful, then?"

"I have a job. My supervisor is the micro-manager type. I passed the multi-part test thing he had for me." I gave him the CliffNotes version of what had happened.

"Good."

I couldn't help myself. "Good? That all you have to say? A bunch of people died, including an Empowered, and oh by the way the freaking Tong had a nullifier. What the hell?"

Winterfield sipped his coffee before answering.

"Crooks die. I'm sorry about the kid."

I was too, but the little maniac had been an idiot. "But what about the nullifier?" He needed to get it that the nullifier's being there was important.

"We knew about it."

"Great, and you didn't think to tell me."

He shook his head. "Brandt, keep in mind we must allay suspicion."

"Maybe Mutter's, but he's not the only paranoid here." I mentioned Keisha.

"The Steel Witch," he said. "She has a resentment issue."

"You could say that."

Our food arrived, and I ate my salad.

Winterfield's pocket buzzed and he pulled out a device that looked like a flip phone only with a larger screen. It had to be some sort of Support tech.

His eyes scanned the screen, thumb swiping it at intervals. He made a few presses on the screen, put the device away, and took another swallow of his coffee.

"Your "test" is all over the news," he said matter-of-factly. "Bloodbath on the factory floor," I think the Oregon Journal headline ran.

It felt like someone smacked me upside the head with a fat trout. Great. "I didn't stick around to deal with the bodies."

"Obviously." His voice was acid. He leaned over the table, dropped his voice. "Did you kill any of them?"

"No way. I was lucky to get out alive and with the goods while they were shooting each other. Why would I murder anyone? Besides, if I did, it wouldn't have been murder, it would have been self-defense."

Winterfield put on his Spook glasses. "Hold still." The demon eye lasers appeared and began searching my face.

"Yes, I used my power," I whispered.

"That's not what I'm checking," he said.

So, the rumor was true--Support had some kind of truth teller. I wanted to smack those glasses off his face.

He put the glasses away. "You are going to have to be even more careful. The survivors might have fingered you if we didn't have them."

I froze. "Survivors?"

He nodded. "Two apparently, one local and one from out of town. Both in critical condition at the moment, and neither is conscious."

"What's going to happen to them?"

"They might not survive. Even if they do, the survivors aren't going to see daylight for a long time, if ever." Couldn't have happened to nicer guys as far as I was concerned. He leaned forward. "Remember: stay away from your family, for their safety."

"Understood."

"I mean it. This is important."

"I hear you," I said.

I just didn't plan on listening.

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# Chapter 9

I pushed my way inside Ruth's apartment when Ava opened the door, shoving her back.

"We don't want you here!" Ava frowned at me, looking like a five-year-old being forced to eat her peas.

"I don't care." The living room smelled of clove cigarettes. Ava's favorite. "You know you can't smoke in here!"

"What you think doesn't matter anymore." Her mouth quivered but she kept her chin up. I took the ashtray with the still burning clove cigarette and hurled it outside as hard and high as I could. It sailed over the storage building. A moment later there was the satisfying sound of glass shattering on pavement.

"Hey. Hey!" Ava shoved me.

I twisted her arm behind her and forced her up against the wall. "I may not matter to you any more, but Ruth should."

"Mathilda, that's enough."

Ruth stood in the kitchen, pale and trembling, her house coat looking two sizes too big for her.

I let go of Ava.

"She shouldn't be smoking inside."

"You've bigger problems," Ruth said.

Ella came out the hall, rubbing her eyes. Must have been napping.

"What do you want, Mat?" she asked me.

"To help, that's all."

I looked at Ruth. "I don't expect to move back in," I told Ruth.

She wobbled, and Ella helped her into a chair. Her skin seemed even more paper-like than the last time I'd seen her. She started to speak, broke into a long, racking cough.

Ella brought Ruth a glass of water.

"I got a job," I blurted out as she drank.

She waved at me silently, wiped her mouth with her housecoat's sleeve. "Where?"

"For a research company."

"How."

"They wanted an Empowered."

Ruth sat up. "You can't use your power.

I paced the room. "My PO knows. He got me the job."

"Don't lie, Mat."

"I'm not." My face was hot.

"I mean it."

Ruth always knew when I lied, damn it. But I couldn't tell her the truth. I reached into my coat.

The envelope of cash was bulky in my hand.

"What's that?" Ruth asked.

Ella and Ava both stared at envelope. I held it out to Ruth. "It's an advance on my salary."

"Mat, I won't take dirty money."

"It will help you."

"No."

I thrust the envelope at her a second time. "Take it."

She pushed it away. "I won't take dirty money." She crossed her arms.

I stomped toward the door, whirled, and flung the envelope on the floor, twenty dollar bills falling out. I stormed outside and slammed the door behind me.

I ran down the steps. It was dark now, but my heart was in darkness already. I stalked over to the curb next to the Dasher and, head in my hands, fought to muffle my sobs.

I did this for them--why couldn't Ruth see that?

I lost track of time.

Footsteps came toward me. I looked up, and Ella, her eyes red and face tear-streaked, crossed the parking lot to me.

I stood, feeling dizzy and angry and afraid.

"Ava and me helped grandma back to bed," she said, her voice small. "She's getting worse.

No. She couldn't get sicker, not now, not when I was starting to earn the chance to save her. "Bad?" I asked, feeling like an idiot.

Ella nodded, sniffled, and wiped the tears from her nose with the back of her hand.

"Very sick. But she'll probably get better again. She...she has these episodes." Ella sounded like a lost little girl.

I wanted to hug her to me then, tell her big sis would take care of everything. I kept my arms at my sides. "What about Ava?"

"She's mad at you, but she's also scared. Like me."

Damn Winterfield and his deal with the devil.

"I'm sorry," I said.

Ella nodded. "I picked up the money. I'll use it to help pay for things. If Grandma asks, I'll say I have a job, I've been helping her balance her checking account, so it should be okay."

"Thank you."

She put her hand on my arm. "Why did you leave, Mat?"

The outdoor lights flickered on. A sliver of moon hung low over the trees to the west, just below a cloud.

"It's better this way." That was all I could tell her.

I got in the Dasher and drove off.

* * *

IN SPECIAL CORRECTIONS my best friend was a woman named Lenore. She was a lifer, but they were nearly all lifers in Special Corrections. Having a shot at parole was exceptional, and it was only because of my age when I went in--sixteen. Lenore had been in for twenty-five years. She never talked about her life outside, and never told me what her power had been. "It doesn't matter," she said when someone brought it up. "What matters is now, and making the most of now."

She had no patience for fools who got "despondent." She didn't care about sad, or even depressed. No, it was despondent that she held up as an example of the mindset that would ruin everything for you. She worked out each day in the yard, always wearing a red knitted cap. It was one she'd knitted herself, unlike that crap machine- made cap Gus wore. Her dark skin would gleam in the San Diego sun as she ran. She didn't grin like an idiot at the endorphins like some muscle-heads inside did. She was serene. When she got angry, she didn't holler and shout. Her anger was like quiet thunder.

She'd have no patience at all for the despondency squeezing my heart now. She'd probably tell me despondency could get me killed, and then how could I make up for screwing up all those years ago? I'd shout about how this sucked and wasn't fair, I was trying to help Ruth and the twins, and they had locked the door on me.

She'd just shake her head and tell me I was being a fool.

I was royally pissed off from the imaginary argument in my head by the time I got back to my new place in North Portland.

I made the arbor vitae's outer branches pull back fast, too fast. The trees scream in my head went on and on, even after I gently urged it to close behind me. I stood there in the backyard, listening to the screaming until it finally died away. My damn anger wrecked everything.

On the back porch I fumbled with my key in the dark and dropped it. I bent over to pick it up and the deadbolt drew back. I stumbled and fell on my butt, then jumped to my feet, heart racing. Raised my fists.

The door opened and a shadowy figure stood there. I could just make out a hoodie. I cocked my right arm back to take a swing.

"Mat, it's me!" Hoodie whispered.

I knew that voice.

Alex.

"Hey, sorry about that," he said. "I heard you drop your keys and thought I'd help."

Yeah, help get himself decked.

We went inside. He led me through the kitchen to the living room, turned on one of the battery lamps. We sat down, him cross-legged, me with my knees pulled up. "Why are you here?" I asked, once we were both seated. It was too much to hope I'd be able to have privacy when I needed it.

"Are you always this blunt?" Alex asked. Was that disappointment in his voice? He pulled his hoodie back. He had a thick five o'clock shadow. "I'm checking up on you."

I rubbed my hands on my pants. "Isn't that Winterfield's job?"

He smiled. "It's both our jobs."

Of course it was. He'd given me his cell phone number, and I had it on mine. Calling Winterfield meant doing the pay phone tango.

"Besides," he added, "I'm easier going."

That made me laugh. "True." I grew serious again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"We need to keep things on a need-to-know basis. You didn't need to know until now."

I pushed myself up, loomed over him. "Oh, I see how it is. You wanted to make sure I was trustworthy first."

He sat there and watched me, his eyes half in shadow. "Is that what you think?'

I began pacing. "Yes."

"Well, you should have been back here hours ago. I've been waiting since 2pm."

"I had to meet with Winterfield."

He gave me a sour look. "Thanks, I knew that. But where were you afterwards?"

"I had to think."

He shook his head. "For five hours? You must be tired. You should have come back here sooner to rest."

"I think I know when I need sleep."

"Oh really? Look at yourself now."

I wanted to hit him. Instead, I stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets and kept pacing. "What of it?"

"You visited Ruth and the twins, didn't you?"

This shouldn't be any of his business. Or Support's. "Yes."

"You can't do that, remember? It's too risky."

"I won't be going back," I said. My heart sank. Back in Special Corrections, Lenore had been right about despondency being the enemy, but how could I help but feel alone now?

He helped me sit down on the futon, listened while I slowly told him what had happened.

Okay, so Alex is Support, but I had to talk to someone. Right now, a sympathetic, concerned, and incidentally handsome guy was the only one I could talk to. My only other friends were plants, and that was a pretty one-sided relationship

I rocked back and forth as I talked to him. I thought I heard the house creak, but I wasn't sure. It didn't matter.

Alex looked around, eyes wide. "What was that?"

The world was branches, roots, growing, pulling water from the earth. I tasted the sweet tang of earth.

"Mat, stop it."

The branches stretched, aching for sunlight, but it was night. I willed them to stretch higher.

A hand slapped my face.

I blinked. I was on the floor, looking up at the ceiling.

Alex knelt beside me. "You all right?"

I sat up, rubbed my jaw. "You hit me." Still smarted, too. "You pack a mean right slap."

He chuckled. "Sorry, but you were circling."

"What?" I had no idea what that meant.

"Caught in a looping state with your power."

I gave him a hard look. "I was?" I twisted my hands. Funny. I was the Empowered one, but Alex, the normal, knew more about being an Empowered than me.

He nodded. "Seeing your family must have been wrenching."

I shrugged. "Yeah." I couldn't stay put. I started pacing. The house felt like a tomb. The air was stuffy. Alex stood silently and watched me walk back and forth. He must have thought I was nuts.

I went into the kitchen. And gasped. Outside, a wall of branches pressed against the window. The arbor vitae had grown into a twisted monster freak.

I had done that. Somehow my anger had spurred its growth without me consciously trying.

"Wow." Alex stood beside me, hoody pulled up again. "You said you weren't powerful, but man." He shook his head. "I'm impressed.

"I didn't exactly plan this." My angry subconscious had done it.

Alex peered out the window. "The yard is completely hidden. You know, you can't leave the trees like this."

"Gee, you think?"

"Yeah, I think," he retorted.

"Sorry." Actually, Alex was being pretty damn nice about the whole thing. Winterfield would have torn me a few new orifices for doing this."

I closed my eyes, imagined the arbor vitae shrinking. The trees shuddered and moaned. Began to scream. Eyes still shut, I worked with my hands, shaping the power, fighting to ease the branches back.

I opened my eyes. The bushes were smaller, but not as small as they had been

"I guess that will have to do," I said. My whole body ached. I looked at Alex, who watched me with obvious worry.

"I'll live," I said. "I don't suppose you brought some wine? I could sure use a drink." I'd had enough of dealing with my power for the day.

He raised an eyebrow. "Winterfield doesn't authorize alcohol consumption," he said.

"I can dream, can't I?"

He left the kitchen, came back a minute or two later with a bottle of red wine, plastic cups and a corkscrew. Alex grinned. "Not that I always listen to him."

I smiled back at him. He opened the bottle, poured us each a glass.

I took a swallow and closed my eyes. God, but I'd needed that. We drank in silence. When I'd finished my glass, I put it down and looked at him. "So, what's your deal?"

Alex looked surprised at the question. "Not sure what you are asking."

"Are you really just Winterfield's partner, or more like his apprentice?

He laughed. "Yes, I'm really his partner." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sure, I'm junior to him. That means I get to play undercover cop and dress up in the fine attire you see me in."

I laughed, really laughed.

We sat at the table and ate insta-meal dinners by candlelight. I chuckled at his stories from his time in the International Peacekeeping Force in Russia and his run-ins with the mafia there. I so needed this.

I wondered what the real reason he was here tonight was.

I didn't care. I was happy he was.

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# Chapter 10

Two days later, in the morning, my phone rang three times, then stopped.

Mutter's signal.

He and Winterfield both had a thing about phone protocol. Screwy and irritating.

I drove to the nearest pay phone, and called the number Mutter had given me, using the same three rings. Hung up. Then called again. Stupid, but what choice did I have?

Mutter picked up on the fifth ring. "Time to go to work," he said.

I swear I could hear the smug smile in his voice.

The address he gave me turned out to be an old garage in a canyon in Southeast where trains dropped off and picked up freight.

The building looked freshly painted, dark green. Metal shades covered the windows, and the garage doors were down. The place seemed deserted.

As I walked up, a side door was flung open and Keisha stomped outside. She gave me the stink eye. She was dressed all in brown leather: jacket, pants, boots. The jacket was zipped up all the way.

I crossed my arms. "Oh, did you open the door for me? Thanks!" I made sure my sarcasm was obvious. With a hard-ass like Keisha, it's always good to go with obvious.

Her eyes narrowed. "Very funny, bitch." She jerked her head toward the open door. "Inside."

I gave her a wide-eyed, innocent look. "Gee thanks, teamie, I never would have guessed that's what you intended. Thanks for spelling it out for poor little me."

She flicked her fingers together and a pair of razor blades floated out of her jacket's sleeve. The polished steel and sharp edges glinted. A four-inch steel nail floated up from the ground, joined by half-dozen shorter, tack nails, and the collection began to spin around itself, like a serial killer's mobile.

"I won't kick your ass if you get out of line," she said. The mobile spun faster. "I'll cut your ass."

If we were inside Special Corrections, we'd have to have a stare down. When someone is out to rule you, you either stand up for yourself or buckle under and let the other woman run you.

If we had been in Special Corrections, our powers wouldn't matter. We'd be wearing null cuffs, and our powers would be blocked.

But we were outside.

Spiky weeds grew up from the bare earth beside the garage. The weeds quivered, all potential, spikes ready to grow. I could surround Keisha in an embrace of green, a living version one of those medieval iron maiden torture devices, and she'd scream out how sorry she was.

I let out a slow breath. I had to stay calm.

"I'm not going to play," I told her, and walked into the garage. Razor blades and nails spun faster as I passed, but I didn't flinch. Couldn't back down. I went inside

The Cadillac Monarch was parked inside the garage.

Gorilla shelving lined both walls, filled with plastic storage bins. The back wall had racks of power tools and two work benches.

Peep leaned against one of the benches. I laughed when I saw him. He had a long black duster coat, open over black jeans and a black silk shirt. His blond hair was slicked back. He looked like a scarecrow trying to be stylish. His thick lenses gleamed in the harsh white light from the overhead fluorescents. Way too much black for his complexion. Made him look like a cartoon Western villain.

He frowned, but kept his mouth shut.

Gus appeared next to me. He was dressed in a new parka, olive with white fur lining the hood, clean cargo pants, red woolen lumberjack shirt and work boots. Mutter had made him clean up big time.

He looked like a nervous rabbit, which is to say, practically panic stricken.

Mutter stepped out of the Cadillac. His high-collared, tailored black suit must have cost a fortune.

The door slammed behind me. Keisha came up beside me, close, trying to intimidate me by getting into my space. We glared at each other, almost nose to nose.

"Ladies, ladies," Mutter said. "Please."

I shrugged. Keisha ground her boot against the concrete.

"That's better," Mutter purred. "This is an important day." He snapped his fingers. Must have been a cue for Peep, because he rolled a workbench over beside Mutter, then retrieved a slim briefcase from the Cadillac and laid it on the bench.

Mutter snapped open the slim briefcase with flourish, and pulled out a hand-drawn map of a building interior.

He pulled out a telescoping pointer and tapped the map. "This is Sylvan Investments. They occupy floors six through eight of the Lansing building on 4th in downtown. However, Sylvan is just a cover. The office space is actually utilized covertly by Support."

Keisha didn't look happy. "We're going after a Support installation? That's a good way to wind up dead."

Peep took off his glasses and polished the thick lenses with a silk handkerchief. "There's no money in knocking off Support operations."

Mutter tapped the center of the map, middle floor, the one labeled Seventh. "There is in this case."

That got everyone's attention. We all leaned forward to get a better look

"What kind of money?" Keisha asked. "Cash?"

Mutter shook his head.

"Bullion?" Peep asked. He pointed on the map to a room with thicker walls than the rest. "That looks like a strong room."

"It's not."

"Then what is it?" Keisha's exasperation was obvious.

Mutter reminded me of a cat toying with a mouse, in this case, four mice. He was enjoying the hell out of taking the long way around to an explanation.

"Records worth more than millions. This is an archive, not a strongbox."

Keisha's eyes narrowed. "You want us to break into a secret library and steal some documents?"

"That's precisely want I want you to accomplish."

"Shit."

She took the word right out of my mouth. So I kept it shut. One angry woman was enough here. I agreed with Keisha, but Mutter was in charge, and besides, this was all about bringing him down. Couldn't take my eyes off that prize.

"These rare documents?" Peep asked. He put his glasses back on, making him look like a very myopic fish.

"No."

"Then why bother?" Keisha demanded.

"Because we have been told they are important and needed."

Peep blinked, his wide-eyed expression freakishly exaggerated behind the distorted glasses he wore. "The Inner Circle wants them?"

"Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies."

"Shit, shit, shit." Keisha shook her head and turned to Peep. "It's like I always say, Peep Creep, we're mushrooms. Fed shit and kept in the dark." It felt weird to agree with my new archenemy, but she was right.

"Why we are doing this is on a need-to-know basis," replied Mutter. God, I hated that expression.

"And we don't need to know." Keisha's voice was bitter. I felt another pang of sympathy for her.

Mutter shrugged.

Just like that, the argument ended before it had really begun.

"Now, let's turn to the plan." He pulled an index card from his pocket, which had neat handwriting in a column--a list.

"Keisha and Lyle will be computer technicians, bringing some replacement drives to the company's server room on the seventh floor. Gus will be an American Package Delivery courier." He looked at me, his lips in a slight smirk. "Mathilda will be delivering plants."

Very funny.

He winked at me. "Miniature palms and climbing ivy for office space on the seventh."

"Do the elevators run all the way to the eighth?"

"In fact they do. Keisha and Lyle will be able to get into the archive through a back door in the server room."

"Won't that door be locked?" Keisha snapped.

Mutter brandished a keycard. "Keys unlock doors."

"What's the security look like?" I asked him. This was sounding way too straightforward. Almost boring is how easy he made it sound.

"There is uniformed building security, during the day. Three to five personnel, depending upon lunch breaks, etcetera."

Apparently Keisha wasn't done being annoyed with the plan. "But what about Support people? You can't tell me there won't be black suits there?"

Keisha had a point. It seemed unlikely that there wouldn't be Support agents onsite. After all, it was a Support office.

Worse, I had a dilemma. Since the target was Support, I should tell Winterfield. But if I did and he changed things up, Mutter might get suspicious.

"There are no Support Agents on site," Mutter said.

"Never?" Peep asked.

"I never say never, but not normally."

That did it. I had to tell Winterfield. If I got the opportunity.

Keisha walked around the workbench and poked a finger in my face. "What about you? You think there are Support agents?"

"If the boss says there aren't, there aren't." I shrugged.

"Aren't you little miss kiss-up." She spat on the floor and looked up at Mutter. "You sure about this?"

"The intel is reliable."

She crossed her arms, obviously unhappy but obviously unwilling to cross Mutter.

Mutter had mentioned nothing about his own role in this job. "What will you be doing?" I asked him.

"I will not be directly involved."

He said it casually, like he was telling you he'll meet you at the theater rather than catch coffee with you beforehand.

"Need to know, right?" I said to him. I did my best to sound amused.

Keisha spat again. "Kiss-up."

Mutter ignored her outburst and went back to explaining his master plan.

* * *

AFTER HE FINISHED, we split up. Someone followed me outside. Keisha.

"Kiss-up!" She called from behind me.

I ignored her and kept walking toward the Dasher. I had to call Winterfield as soon as possible. The gravel crunched loudly behind me. I tried to keep my breath slow and regular. Couldn't get angry. Especially not now.

"I'm talking to you, Kiss-up."

I whirled around. Balled my fists. "All right, what is it?"

She got right up into my face and jabbed a finger at me. That damn finger jabbing.

"What was that bullshit back inside?" she demanded. Her nostrils flared.

"Just listening to the man."

She leaned even closer, her breath hot on my face. "Listen to this then, bitch. You'd better not screw this up. I got my eyes on you."

It would be so easy to gut punch her right there. See her on the ground, before she could work her steel voodoo, summon up blackberry vines to pin her arms, lash her face. I heard a whisper in the weeds behind me. Took a deep breath and forced the anger down. "I'll do my job."

"You'd better, Kiss-up. I will be keeping my eyes on you."

I shoved her. I didn't think it was very hard but she stumbled and fell on her ass.

I loomed over her. "Watch yourself, bitch."

She scrambled up and threw herself at me. We grappled. She punched me in the side of the head and my ears rang like a bell. I tripped her but she hung on and together we smacked the ground hard. Damn she was strong. She tried to gouge my eyes. I ducked my head and punched her in the kidneys. She yelled then, and I rolled on top of her, raised my fist to smash her face. I was going to end this.

The air went boom. Keisha and I were flattened against the gravel. The rocks dug into my butt and back.

"That is enough!" Mutter's voice was a scorching whisper in my ears. "STOP NOW."

I pulled away from Keisha. Got up.

Keisha also got to her feet and started to lunge toward me again. She stopped and grabbed her throat. She gasped but no air came out. Mutter was doing his vicious air blockage trick. Her eyes bulged. My stomach twisted. A moment ago I had wanted to kill her, but now I felt badly for her.

Then she drew a ragged breath and doubled over. Took more ragged breaths.

Mutter strode up to us, radiating ice-cold anger.

"Idiots! Control yourselves."

His anger actually made me look away. I scuffed my shoes in the dirt.

"I don't trust her," Keisha said.

"But I do," Mutter said. And that must be good enough for you." I looked up. He was calm, collected now, in control.

She nodded, chest still heaving.

He looked at me, pursed his lips. "I imagine you were provoked, but nonetheless, fighting in my cell is off-limits."

"Yes, sir." I didn't have to fake my agreement.

"Good." His lips curved into a nasty smile. "Never forget this is my cell."

I watched Keisha follow Mutter back into the garage like a whipped puppy. The side door closed. I stood there for a long while, trying to calm down, blood roaring in my ears. Mutter was a cold-blooded, sadistic control freak who probably wouldn't bat an eye when it came to killing someone. Including one of us. What the hell had I wound up in?

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# Chapter 11

I was cold and wet, thanks to the misting rain, as I huddled against the wall-mounted pay phone at the Night&Day Mart off 82nd avenue. Why were phone booths so freaking rare now? This was all thanks to Winterfield and his damn phone security "protocol." I could be dry and warm in my car right now if he would let me use my cell phone, but no. Had to be by the book. His book.

The connection crackled with static. "Say again," Winterfield ordered.

"It's the company store," I repeated, using the old-fashioned term he'd given me to refer to Support. "Did you get that?" I hated pay phones.

I wanted to meet with him in person, but Winterfield nixed the idea. Wouldn't say why, but I got the message anyway. Clearly stuff was on a need-to-know basis, and I didn't need to know. Just like Mutter. Ironic, huh?

"We got it," Winterfield answered after a long pause. "No change to the plan. No alterations. Your manager has the situation in hand."

I wanted to know what Winterfield thought the Scourge was up to, but no way he'd tell me over the phone.

"Okay." Being a mushroom sucked.

"Check-in after your visit, when you can."

"Will do." I hung up.

A police cruiser rolled toward me on Foster. The last thing I wanted was to have to talk with the cops. I didn't want any attention from the police. Who knew, maybe some neighbor had said something to the cops about me being the last one to see Hatcher and his goons.

I ducked into an alley between the Night&Day and an adult video store. Pulled up my hoodie. I suddenly wanted to wear stylish clothes, like Keisha, and not skulk around in ex-con duds. I heard a car door open behind me, the crackle of a radio.

"Miss!" The officer's voice was a deep baritone. "I need to speak with you." Why, why now, did some random cop decide I looked suspicious?

I ran past a dumpster and around the corner to the rear of the adult video store.

A graveled lot lay behind the video store with a wooden fence on the far side that was leaning over from the weight of overgrown bushes. The door to the store was right beside me. I opened it, reaching out with my sense to the bushes, made them tremble and thrash against the fence. It swayed.

I ducked inside the video store, praying the cop would think I'd vaulted over the fence.

The room was lit by a sparkling light from a disco ball suspended from the ceiling. Spindle racks filled with porn discs stood in front of me. Great. Last place I wanted to wind up in. Off to one side was a counter with a cash register and a guy in a pork pie hat.

"Can I help you, miss?" Pork Pie Hat asked, brightening when he saw me. I swear he stood up straighter.

"Just browsing," I blurted. I know, lame. The guy gave me the once over with his eyes. My jaw tightened. I didn't have time to deal with perverts. Too bad.

I went past an interior wall and discovered a little stage where a skinny, pale woman gyrated against a pole while a dozen or so men sat in folding chairs and drooled at her.

Yuck.

The front entrance had an emergency exit sign over it with a crash bar below a sign on the door that said "alarm will sound." Trust an adult video place to have the front entrance in the back, and the emergency exit facing the street. Didn't want to scare the neighbors. Or let them get a good look at the customers.

Crap.

I circled the stage. A grimy curtain hid the far end of the room. I hesitated. The curtain parted, and a young woman gestured at me. I slipped inside, and she closed the curtain behind me.

It was a dressing area with lockers and two old antique bureaus with mirrors. It smelled like clove cigarettes, reminding me of Ava. God, I did not want her to wind up in a place like this.

The woman's hair was dyed blue. She had high cheekbones covered with lots of sparkly makeup.

She leaned in confidentially. "You need a back way out of here?"

"Uh, how did you know?"

She pointed at a TV monitor mounted on a wall behind me, screen split into three views. The top one showed Foster Road, and the police bureau cruiser parked at the curb, the lower left showed the little lot behind the store. The police officer jumped down from the fence and strode toward the back door, face set in an angry line. He looked like the arresting type. He opened the door and disappeared from camera view.

"Yeah, I need a way out, fast."

She pointed at the lower right camera view on the monitor. It showed another alley, the opposite side of the building from the Night&Day.

"Employee exit," she said.

"Thank you!"

"No problem." She flashed me a sympathetic grin.

I went out the employee entrance. My car was parked in the little parking lot on the far side of the Night&Day. Chances were the cop would spot me before I could drive off.

I ran down Foster to another side street and into a neighborhood. I needed to hide for a little while.

A deserted lot filled with chest-high grass waited for me. Was I always going to have to hide in the weeds?

Beggars couldn't be choosers, so I slipped into the wet grass, and sat cross-legged. The grass moaned in my mind, crying out from where I'd trampled it.

My stomach was empty and my head ached, but I sent vitality into the grass, helping it stand tall again, growing it even taller than it had been before, until I was surrounded by a wall of jade green grass.

My head pounded and I closed my eyes. The tall, tall grass sang in my mind, content, and I let myself get lost its song.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY THE CELL assembled at the garage. A bright crimson American Package Delivery truck with the box and arrow logo was parked on 17th while a white paneled van was parked alongside the garage. Inside Mutter, wearing a familiar-looking cobalt blue jumpsuit, stood beside a black van with tinted windows. The side door was open. Computer equipment lined the interior.

I spotted another figure in the familiar-looking cobalt blue jumpsuit walking inside the van from the driver's compartment. The head was hidden inside a close-fitting blue helmet with a reflective visor. From the way the hips waggled, I guessed incognito person was a woman.

Then I finally noticed the stylized gold HC on the left breasts of both jumpsuits.

Damn. No wonder the jumpsuits looked familiar. They were Hero Council uniforms.

"Are you ready for the big day, Mathilda?" Mutter asked.

"Uh, sure." I couldn't tear my eyes off the uniforms.

"You will be eating flies if you keep your mouth open like that."

I shut my gaping mouth. Hero Council jumpsuits made me shudder.

I shook myself. "Who's that?" I nodded at incognito person, who now sat at a computer station inside the van, back to me.

"Someone you haven't met yet." Mutter gave a Cheshire cat smile. Yeah, yeah. This was on a need-to-know basis, and once again I didn't need to know.

Just then Keisha and Peep entered the garage through the side door. Keisha's mouth shot open, just like mine must have when I realized Mutter and his secret friend wore HC uniforms.

"What are you doing in those?" Keisha demanded.

"Insurance," Mutter said.

"They'll kill you for wearing those," Peep said drily.

Gus looked scared shitless. His face gleamed with sweat and he kept wiping it with a rag.

Peep was right of course--the UN charter of 1965 mandated the death penalty for both non-sanctioned Empowered and normals caught wearing the uniform of the Hero Council. The prohibition against wearing an official Hero Council uniform had been drummed into our heads in Special Corrections Empowered Codes class, which all prisoners took as part of the Rehabilitation curriculum, even though nearly all the convicts were lifers.

"Wearing Hero Blue will get you killed," went the slogan.

"We will not be caught." Mutter's certitude felt like gravity. It conveyed absolute confidence.

Keisha looked like she thought this was a very bad idea but said nothing. I also kept my mouth shut.

It was weird to agree on anything with Keisha.

Peep just listened, wearing his tech support outfit--gray slacks, slip-on shoes, white shirt, portable computer in a sling case. Keisha was dressed in a gray skirt, sensible shoes, white shirt. She carried another portable computer.

Gus wore a red American Package Delivery uniform and lace-up shoes. His hair looked combed beneath the red baseball cap he wore. The last person I'd ever expected to see in an APD uniform.

Mutter tapped the gold HC symbol on his breast. "These jumpsuits give us the proverbial ace in the hole. In all likelihood, they will not be required," said Mutter confidently. His voice seemed deeper, like it was coming from the ground rather than through the air.

He waved us over to the van. We stood in a semi-circle around the van's open door. His mystery driver sat at the computer station inside the van, facing us, still helmeted, face hidden behind the opaque visor. I saw my reflection shining faintly in the visor.

Mutter's voice changed, now a secret whisper right beside me. The air tickled the inside of my ear like a lover's tongue. I shuddered, and I saw Keisha's jaw tighten. The whisper routine must be to protect against any bugging devices that might be listening in, or it could be just because Mutter enjoyed making us uncomfortable.

"Steel Witch and Peep, you will enter the lobby of the building, check in with building security, presenting your ID badges as required. You will then proceed to the seventh floor. Once there, you will head to the server room."

Gus looked like he wanted to disappear into the surroundings as Mutter turned to him. "Gus, you will deploy the Scrambler at the front security desk, using your blending ability. You will then monitor the lobby."

Mutter pointed at me. "Mathilda, your job is straightforward. Take the plants up to the seventh floor and wait. You are the reserve, to go into action if I tell you to. Or if Gus tells you of a problem and you need to intervene. Obviously, you are carrying plants for a reason--your power." Keisha snickered at this. I bristled, but kept my eyes on Mutter. She could laugh all she wanted. If things went south, she'd be glad I was there. If I didn't hang her out to dry. Mutter kept on going. "I'll be monitoring the operation nearby. Each of you will be issued military-grade CB radios. If interference is needed, Mathilda will take action."

Keisha glared at me. "I don't trust you." She growled the words.

"You don't have to trust her," Mutter said. "You only have to follow my orders."

Keisha's lips curled into a nasty sneer. "I'll kill her if she screws up."

"Anyone who fails to obey my instructions will die," Mutter said. He pinched his fingers together, muttered something.

Keisha clutched her ears.

"Pain," Mutter said to the rest of us, "can come in many different forms."

His lips twisted back in a sadistic smile, like he was pulling the wings off a fly and enjoying it.

Keisha rocked back and forth, and sweat ran down her face.

Mutter lowered his fingers, closed his mouth.

She wiped tears from her eyes.

"You understand, don't you?" Mutter asked her.

"Yes," Keisha gasped. "I do."

His grin became a satisfied smile.

* * *

I SAT IN THE DELIVERY van, stuck in a traffic jam on the Nixon Parkway just past the Ross Island Bridge exit and tried not to think of that little scene back in the garage. Past the waterfront, wind whipped up waves on the Willamette River. The office buildings on my left were a mixture of old brick and, newer, higher, glass and steel towers.

The woven poly-carbide flex armor beneath my white painter style overalls itched against my skin. It felt like I'd gained ten pounds and was bloated to boot.

I glanced at the dashboard clock. Damn it. I was five minutes behind schedule already. What was the delay?

I craned my neck to see what the holdup was, and spotted a Rose City Transit Bus blocking the left lane up ahead. Stalled.

Crap. Another five minutes to pass it, crawling down Nixon parkway. A statue of President Richard M. Nixon stood on the waterfront facing the Parkway. Pigeons sat on the statue's shoulders and head. The big bronze plaque at the statue's feet said "President, Chief Justice, and Savior of the World."

President Nixon had led the nation during and after the Three Days War from Colorado Springs after Washington D.C. had been destroyed by a Soviet nuke fired from Cuba. Congress had been annihilated along with the capitol. When the old CIA sponsored a rebel attack on a Soviet nuclear missile site in Cuba, the Soviet commander there panicked and fired nukes. The war would have widened but President Nixon, counseled by Doctor Prometheus, held off, even when the Soviets launched a larger strike. The new U.S. defense network Prometheus had created stopped nearly all of the follow-on missiles. If nuclear war had broken out in Europe between the old United Kingdom and the Soviet Union, we would be living in a very different world today.

Nixon went on to become Supreme Court Chief Justice, dying in 1994.

I knew all this because of Ruth, and because U.S. History was required in Special Corrections.

Finally, the line of traffic passed the stalled bus and I swerved into the left-hand turn lane and the intersection at Nixon and Agnew. Another endless wait for the light to cycle, then onto Agnew and toward Fourth.

Keisha and Peep would have arrived at the Lansing Building by now, with Gus close behind as an APD man in green. I turned onto Fourth at last, but the street ahead was blocked off by a city crew working on the sewer drain. Great. Why today of all days?

I made a quick U-turn and drove down a side street, past where Mutter said he would be stationed, but his black van was not there. I suppose he could have chosen a different street, but he had been very specific.

I finally found a loading zone a block away from the Lansing Building.

All that time there was no sign of Mutter's van. Strange. Mutter had stressed that his van would be just two blocks away from the Lansing Building. But it wasn't.

I parked, loaded miniature palms, climbing ivy, and bonsai trees onto a dolly. Headed to the front of the Lansing building. Ten minutes late.

Gus would have deployed the Scrambler by now. The building would be isolated, the computers offline, the guards running around like chickens with their heads cut off. It would be chaos.

But that's not what I found when I entered. It looked like business as usual.

An older man in a navy blue suit held open a door for me. I pushed the dolly past him.

"Thank you, sir," I said.

The lobby's floor was marble. The palm trees in the big wooden planters on either side of the entrance were fake.

Ahead was the security desk. Two guards waited there, looking bored.

If the Scrambler had gone off they would have been anything but bored. Why hadn't it?

No sign of Gus.

I pushed my cart to the elevator, pressed the button for the seventh floor.

Security was way more lax than we'd expected. I thought there would be cameras all over the place, not just one mounted on the wall facing the elevator.

I pushed the cart inside the elevator and turned around.

A guy in a business suit tried to join me. "Sorry," I told him, "no room."

He gave me an annoyed look but didn't try to barge in. The doors closed and the elevator began to climb.

My thoughts raced around in circles. Why hadn't the Scrambler gone off? What had happened to Gus? What was happening with Keisha and Peep? For that matter, why had Mutter sent Peep, a peeper, along with Keisha instead of me or Gus? It made little sense.

Mushrooms. Mutter treated us as mushrooms.

At last the elevator reached the seventh floor. Another standard office level, nothing special.

I pushed my cart down the long hall, reaching the end to turn into a short corridor which ended at double doors. The archive.

Just as I reached the doors my radio buzzed.

"Mat!" Gus's voice was frantic. "The police are here! I can't reach Keisha or Peep."

Shit. Funny how it's always hurry up and wait until things go pear-shaped, and then it's hurry like hell.

"How many?"

His voice dropped to a whisper. "There's a bunch of police cars outside, and an armored SWAT van."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The area was deserted. The stairs were on my right, the elevators my left. I had to haul ass.

I shoved palm trees in planters in front of the elevators and the stairwell door. The climbing ivy was on racks. I hesitated, then flung the racks, one by one, from the cart onto the floor. The ivy cried out in my mind. The smell of green, living plants warred with the heavy, antiseptic smell of the hallway.

The elevators had all gone down to the 1st floor. Two were now coming back up.

I wrenched at the plants with my power, pushing past their pain and fear. I trembled. In the past when I had sensed a plant's fear, it had always been a very distant thing. Not this time. It felt like a chasm had opened up in my stomach.

I pushed past the fear, pushed my power harder until palm trees and bonsai, now huge, filled the space in front of me. Ivy snaked from tree to tree, from palm fronds to bonsai branches until a thick mass of vines clogged the hall. The air was now thick with the smell of jungle.

I bent over, breathing hard. I needed to rest, but there was no time.

I staggered into the archive. Keisha was yanking open a filing drawer at the far end, a dozen others were open, their contents dumped on the floor.

"What are you doing?" I asked her.

"Shut up, bitch," she yelled at me.

"There's not time for that," I growled back at her, but she continued dumping filing drawers, frantic. She was acting like a panicked idiot.

Peep wasn't in the room. "Where's Peep?"

"The damn computer room," she yelled without looking at me.

I staggered to the blue door marked "Computer Closet." Banged on it.

The door opened. Peep was a disheveled mess, drenched in sweat, wire cutters in his hand. He stood in front of an open electrical panel, a tangle of cut cables and cut wires hanging out. He looked at me when I entered, his eyes wide with fear.

"I don't know how to shut down the security system." No kidding. Support wouldn't make it that easy--that panel might have been a dummy system for all I knew.

"We have to go," I told him. "The police are storming this floor."

"I don't understand," Peep said. "The Scrambler should have knocked out communications, prevented the alarm from sounding." He looked back at the open panel. "None of these wires seem to do anything.

"We have to get out of here." I grabbed his arm, pulled him after me into the archive room.

Keisha slammed a filing drawer hard. "Where the hell is it?"

Peep was still going on about the Scrambler not going off.

Keisha made a face. "Asshole probably panicked."

I hadn't thought of that. If Gus had panicked--damn it. Mutter would kill him, if Keisha didn't first.

"You found the files yet?" Peep said, panicking. Great, now he was losing it.

"Does it look like I found it, fool?" Keisha shouted. Files were scattered all over the floor.

"Mutter said it had a red binder," I said.

"Damn it, I forgot!" Keisha raised her arms, gestured, and a file drawer fragmented into shards. She hurled the shards into another cabinet, pulled her hands toward her chest, and that cabinet exploded in a shower of metal and paper. Peep and I ducked, shielding our faces with our arms. Hot steam from the shattered metal cabinets filled the room.

"This isn't going to help!" I yelled. She ignored me.

I grabbed Peep's arm. "Pull the index drive." That was what Mutter had called it.

Peep didn't argue. He must be in shock now.

A paper index--there must be one in this mess, too. It was all I could think of. Pointless probably, but what else could we do? There was no time for anything else.

God only knew where it was.

Wait, Mutter's briefing. First cabinet to the left of the drawer.

Found it. Mutter said the target was a file called "Dorado." Flipped to the Index--"Dorado was cross listed under Sandeer. What the hell?"

"S's," I shouted to Keisha, but she was deep in fugue state now, her power possessing her, gesturing madly. I ducked below a metallic cyclone, my hair plastered by the gust from the flying metal fragments. This was getting deadly.

I did a quick count--okay, second to last cabinet, which still miraculously stood. I hit my knees and rifled through the file drawers. Sandeer. A slender file. It wasn't red.

I brandished it at Keisha. "Got it. Let's haul ass."

"It's not red!"

It wasn't, but it said "Sandeer," and that was good enough for me.

A chainsaw started up and a pain spiked into my head. They were sawing through the palm trees and vines. My head pounded. I couldn't think through the chorus of screaming and dying plants

"Peep, lead me to the back door."

He looked confused. "Lead me out of here. The plants are dying and it's taking all I have to stay focused."

He nodded, snapped out of his shock. Took my hand. I was too filled with the cries of the dying bonsai and palm to shudder. Keisha still wouldn't leave.

"Come on Keisha!" I gasped. My head felt squeezed by a giant's hand. The chainsaw revved higher.

Peep dragged me out of the room. I caught a last glimpse of Keisha in the center of a hurricane of metal.

Down a flight of emergency stairs. After a long descent we stopped, and Peep peered around a corner.

"Two guards," he said. "Hold on." His eyes seemed to grow larger, becoming unfocused. Gave me the creeps, but I wasn't about to complain, not if it got us out of here.

"Okay, I have a viewing chain," he said. He was suddenly all business. "SWAT is at the front entrance. No sign of Empowered or Support agents yet." His eyes twitched. "Wait, I see the surveillance blimp."

The door below us started to open.

"Peep," I hissed at him. "I don't have any plants to work with." I was weak from my exertion upstairs, too. The world began to spin.

Peep's eyes snapped back into focus.

"But I have a stunner." He palmed what looked like a flip phone, a heavy plastic oval. Thumbed the device. A quiet hum started up.

Where the hell did he come off having a stunner?

"That's banned tech," I said. The prison guards used them.

Two police appeared in the doorway below.

"I always have banned tech," Peep said, and fired twice.

I heard the thud of falling bodies and then we were out in the street and racing toward a parked truck. Peep's.

"Damn you, Keisha," Peep said as he pushed me inside.

The police must all be around the front.

"What about the blimp?" I mumbled.

"Gus?" I heard Peep call on the radio

I couldn't see very well.

"If he can't get out, he isn't worthy of his name," Peep replied. He did a U-turn and we drove off.

What had happened to Gus and Keisha?

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# Chapter 12

I coughed. My throat was so damn dry.

"We're almost there," Peep said.

I opened my eyes. We were driving somewhere southeast. I sat up and groaned. "Thanks," I told Peep. Thought I'd never be thanking him for anything, but he'd gotten us away.

He shrugged. "I wanted out of there, too."

I felt like someone had worked me over with a sledgehammer.

The safe house turned out to be a rambling two-story split-level, the kind popular in the 1970s and 80s. Ruth's old house had been one of those.

I staggered inside after Peep and collapsed on a couch in the living room, where I fell into an exhausted sleep.

When I woke it was dark outside. A microwave chimed. Peep appeared from the kitchen.

"You hungry?"

I sat up. "Yes." I could eat a horse.

We ate TV dinners at the dining room table. Oil paintings of seascapes hung on the wall, and knick-knacks filled a curio cabinet. The shag rug was chocolate colored. Yuck. The safe house was like some sort of sick time capsule.

Headlights shone into the living room as a van pulled into the driveway. Mutter, at last?

I recognized my delivery van. It stopped. The Headlights went off. A moment later the driver's side door opened, and Keisha got out.

She marched to the front door and pounded loudly on it.

"She's pissed," Peep said. The understatement of the century.

He unlocked the door and Keisha stormed in.

"You!" She launched herself at me, charging into the dining room. I jumped up.

She got right up in my face. "Cut and run. You screwed up."

"I covered our asses." If I hadn't used those plants, we'd be in jail. I wasn't the one that wouldn't lead.

"That's coward talk. We would have done just fine. Instead, you ran off with Peep." She glared at him.

He edged away, hands out. "I was just following Mathilda."

Coward. "I thought Gus was the weasel in this group," I told Peep. "And what the hell happened with Mutter?"

Keisha gestured at me. "I don't care--you are the one that caused this."

"I didn't see Mutter's van."

"So what?" Keisha's eyes narrowed. "We follow his orders. Maybe he held off Hero Council Empowered."

"You're kidding me, right?" There was no sign of an HC team there. We would have known.

She shoved a fist in my face. "Don't push this off on somebody else. You cut and ran."

"You wouldn't leave."

"You left me, asshole."

We glared at each other. The front door opened again and Gus entered.

"Glad you are in one piece, man," Peep told him. Gus slunk over to the couch, but seeing Keisha and I doing the death stare at each other, he stopped and edged toward the kitchen.

"What happened with the Scrambler?" I demanded.

Gus gestured wildly. "I don't know. I deployed it, but it didn't work. I mean, it did work, but it didn't go off like it should have. As soon as you guys got into the archive, the alarms went off. The cops were there in five minutes, tons of them. It was like they were waiting.

Keisha shot me an ugly look. "Or were tipped off."

"What the hell are you saying?"

We circled each other like two lionesses, staring at the other.

"Someone had to tell them," Keisha said.

"It wasn't me. Why the hell would I do that?"

"How do I know that?"

"What the hell reason would I have for turning us in?" My hands were claws, we were practically bumping chests we were so close. She couldn't know I was an infiltrator. And if she didn't know, then she was just bullying me again. Either way, I couldn't back down.

"Hey, let's just all chill," Gus said, his voice cracking.

Peep had disappeared. The front door was open.

"Stay out of this, Blender." Keisha scowled. Her scowl became a sneer.

"Face it, Mathilda, you ran, just like you did back when you were in your precious, special Renegades."

"Shut up." I raised my hands, flexed the fingers

"And what? You going to make that African violet on the windowsill come get me? Your power is weak, just like you."

Knives floated from the kitchen and began orbiting around her.

"I told you I wasn't going to kick your ass," she said. "Tilly." The knives began to twirl. "I'm going to cut it. That's what we do to snitches."

Shit, she had no evidence, she was just out to get me. For some reason that made me even angrier, the random bullying and her making fun of my name. She'd hated me from the start.

A shallow ceramic planter hung from the ceiling over our heads, ivy spilling over the rim. I felt the trembling of its tendrils.

I pushed my power into the ivy, pushed past the plant's screams and the hot pain slicing into me and forced the ivy into a new form, pouring my anger into it. The ivy's slender tendrils thickened and grew into jungle vines.

The writhing green rope looped around her neck. She thrashed as the vine constricted. The knives flew into her open hands and she slashed at the vine. The ivy screamed louder in my mind as it parted, and died. My head throbbed.

Keisha raised her hands and the knives floated up, spinning. I wasn't about to get sliced by those knives.

I charged down the stairs. Knives thunked into the wall at the bottom of the stairs, missing me by inches. I reached the bottom of the stairs, rounded the corner and found myself in what looked like a darkened family room.

Gus yelled something upstairs but I couldn't make it out.

I ran to the patio door, fumbled at the latch in the darkness, flung open the door and stumbled across the cement and onto the grass. I hated fleeing, but I had to get outside where there were plants for me to use.

Rhododendrons grew along the back of the house. I pushed a big surge of energy into them. Their branches lunged forward, some extending into the ducts in the foundation, others shattering the cracked glass of the patio door.

Light came on in the den. Keisha stood at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the light switch, bits of metal circling her. On the wall beside her was an old red and yellow pachinko machine. The machine exploded and dozens of metal balls hurled toward me. I crouched down, covering my head with my arms. The metal balls struck me in a dozen places. Hurt like hell but the armor I still wore from the job absorbed most of the force and protected my flesh.

Did I say it hurt like hell? It really hurt like hell.

Damn her. Rage tightened my jaw. I'd show Keisha real anger.

I stood, commanded the rhododendron branches beneath the house to press skyward. Wood snapped and cracked like rifle shots.

Keisha staggered as the house began to sway.

Three lodge pole pines loomed behind me, their granite-like presence heavy in my mind. I reached into one with my power, pulled the roots closest to me down with a savage command. My gut twisted. Only my anger kept me going. The pine's roar of pain almost drowned out my own thoughts. I ground my teeth, and killed the pine tree's roots. The tree trumpeted its final agony. My head felt like I was having a stroke. I exhaled sharply. I had to focus. I wasn't finished with the pine yet.

Keisha had a cloud of metal shards around her, once more a spinning steel cyclone, faster and faster.

Gus ran around the corner of the house, waving his arms.

"Stop, Mat! Don't do this."

I ignored him.

Die, I ordered the pine, turning its sap into toxins. The tree leaned over me, a drunken giant, and fell with a slam into the house, crumpled the roof, crashing through the shattered frame and the first floor, down onto Keisha. The ceiling light went out.

I wasn't done with her yet.

I reached out to the second pine towering behind me with my power, sending my essence into the tree.

Gus's hand tugged frantically on my arm. "Stop it, Mat, please." He tightened his grip, hanging on as I fought to pull at the second pine, beginning to turn its sap into toxins like the first.

"Mat, stop."

My face was twisted in a grimace. My lungs ached for oxygen. I took in a ragged breath, and fatigue slammed into me. I staggered, released the pine. Gus caught me before I could fall.

The world swayed, grew dark.

* * *

I LAY ON THE GROUND. A siren blared far away. Grew closer.

Gus helped me to my feet.

"How long?" I asked him.

"Only a few minutes. Someone must have called 911.

The house was dark. The pine's fall must have knocked out the power.

Keisha. I ran to the house. She lay beneath the tree bole, a limb the size of an axe handle punching down through her chest.

God damn her. She'd made me do that. I felt my stomach heave.

Why did she have to be such a nasty bitch, and make me kill her? Gus knelt beside her. Pushed tree branches out of the way. Listened.

He looked up at me, his face slick with sweat. "She's breathing. Just."

The pine moaned faintly in my mind. Just like Keisha the tree hadn't died yet.

My chest felt hollow. The tree had just enough life left in it that I could interact with it, and thus kill it.

I hoped. "I'm sorry," I whispered to the tree. I felt hollow, numb.

I urged the trees limbs around Keisha's body to curl.

"Get her out of there," I gasped.

Gus scrambled and pulled her out.

The limb impaling her had separated at my command from the tree.

I lifted her up in my arms, Gus took her legs and we hurried up the slope around the house to the truck. Peep's van was gone. Coward. I swore. His courage this afternoon had been a fluke. I swore I'd kill him if we met again.

The sirens grew closer.

We laid Keisha in the bed of the truck. Had to get her help, somehow.

"Stay with her, Gus," I ordered. I got behind the wheel, turned around and slid open the dividing window between the cabin and the canopied truck bed, so I could talk with Gus while I drove.

I started the truck, reversed into the street and drove toward Division as the fire truck and EMT screamed past heading toward the house.

"Where are we going?" Gus asked.

"My place." Where else was there to go? I didn't have anything there, but maybe Alex could help. But if I called him, I'd break my cover.

I tasted copper. My lip was bleeding. Too bad. As I drove I kept glancing in the rearview mirror at Gus kneeling beside Keisha, but I couldn't tell how she was doing. Pretty badly I guessed.

I had nearly killed her. Maybe I had killed her. She'd been trying to kill me, so I fought back, and went all out.

Because I gave in to my anger. Anger drove everything I did these days.

I shook my head and concentrated on driving.

* * *

"MAT, SHE'S DYING," Gus said as I turned onto Division.

A police car flashed by, sirens wailing.

"I know, I know," I replied, my eyes fixed on the road. We stopped at the intersection with 39th, the pavement slick with rain.

"What do we do?" Gus was panicking. Again.

"I don't know, Gus."

Keisha needed medical aid fast.

We couldn't take her to the ER or even an urgent care clinic. They'd figure out she was an Empowered and call the authorities. Then the police, Support, or worse, the Hero Council, would swoop down on her. I squeezed the steering wheel until my hands ached and leaned my aching head against the cool plastic. Think.

My chance of doing this damn assignment and getting help for my family would be over. I'd be back in prison.

And Keisha would be dead.

There was no place to turn for help.

Except an old contact from the Renegades. I lifted my head.

Doctor Silverly.

Professor Insight had called him our secret physician. The Professor loved his clever expressions. Back then, when one of us was badly injured or having trouble healing despite our power, the Professor would contact his old friend, Silverly. I don't know what the Prof and the Doc had that bound them together, but Silverly would drop whatever he was doing to help if one of us were injured.

But that had been five years ago. I didn't know if Silverly was still in Portland, or if he were even alive.

I turned right onto 39th, and drove faster.

Gus must have sensed a change in my attitude.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

I was careful to keep at the speed limit even as I longed to floor it.

"A place we can get her help."

Silverly's place was a three-story house, sitting back from the street behind an ivy-covered brick wall. Must be nice to have that kind of money. I parked in the turnaround drive beneath a weeping willow. My hyper-attuned plant sense picked up the tree's gentle murmurs and I let myself float in the sensation for a moment before jumping from the truck, sprinting to the big oak door, and banging the knocker.

A light winked on above me in a third-floor window. I knocked again, four more times, each time harder.

The door opened, and Doctor Silverly peered up at me, silver hair tousled, silk bathrobe loose around him. He was barefoot.

His eyes widened in recognition. "Mat? It's you?"

"Yeah, Doc, it's me. I'm out of Special Corrections."

"I'm finished helping criminals, Mat."

"How do you know I'm a criminal, Doctor Silverly?"

He raised his eyebrows, still black despite the rest of his hair having gone as silver as his name. "Really, Mat? You show up in the middle of the night with a wounded person in the truck bed, and you brought that person here rather than the ER?" He shook his head. "It's all on camera."

My stomach twisted. Were the police already on their way? But Silverly didn't seem afraid.

"Cameras?"

"Sure. My security system. I thought the driver looked familiar, but it was hard to tell. But the camera picked up a prone body accompanied by a kneeling figure in the back of your truck."

"That must be some security system."

"It is."

"My, uh, companion got impaled by a tree branch, and she's lost a lot of blood."

"How did she get impaled?"

"My fault. We got in a fight."

Silverly shook his head, suddenly looking a hundred years old. "Mat, I had hoped that if you ever were released from prison, you'd choose a different path."

Gee, thanks, Doc. Silverly had no idea what my life was like now. And it wasn't like I could tell him I was actually an infiltrator for Support.

"Doctor Silverly, she'll die if you don't help."

The indecision on his face vanished. "All right." He disappeared inside the house, returned carrying a black medical bag, and followed me to the rear of the truck.

I lowered the truck's gate. Keisha lay on her back. She was no longer moaning, but her chest still rose and fell. Gus looked up from where he knelt beside her and wiped his eyes.

"Gus, you remember the Doc."

"Hi, Doc."

Silverly nodded, scrambled up onto the truck's gate without asking for help, spryer than I would have thought for a man who had to be past seventy. He crawled over to Keisha and began examining her. He unzipped his medical bag and I heard the hiss of a hypo.

"Adrenalin," he said over his shoulder.

"Can you save her?" The words felt heavy in my mouth.

"Not here." Silverly put some sort of flexible bandage around the wound. "She needs a hospital."

"Yeah, but won't they get suspicious."

He scooted out and jumped down, brushing at his bathrobe.

"Not if we sneak her in the back way."

* * *

THE GURNEY'S LEFT FRONT wheel vibrated loudly as I pushed it. Keisha lay under a space blanket, head elevated. My borrowed hospital scrubs were too tight.

Gus walked beside me. Silverly had had one spare pair of scrubs and, incredibly, a gurney (I didn't ask), so Gus was still dressed in his jacket, t-shirt and jeans, and tennis shoes. He was rubbing his hands nervously. We'd dropped the Doc at the front of the hospital. I'd wanted to keep him with us to help us get inside, but he insisted he had to go in separately and prep the room. Whatever. I smelled coward, but we were asking a lot of Silverly.

We crossed the parking lot. I half expected police to suddenly surround us, guns drawn. That would complicate things royally. I kept rubbing my sweaty hands against my scrubs and glancing nervously at Keisha, unconscious on the gurney.

My phone vibrated, three times. Stopped. I didn't glance at it. When it began buzzing again a few moments later I knew it was Mutter. Wasn't gonna answer that, not now. I'd have to face the music eventually, but not now.

Silverly had told us to meet him in Room 1C. But without him to talk our way past anyone we ran into, our chances sucked. Sure enough, just as we reached the side door, a security guard appeared.

Gus jumped away from me. The little weasel was going to disappear and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. A second later he had vanished, blending into the shadowy parking lot.

I swear, if Keisha lived I would kill Gus for leaving me in the lurch.

The security guard strolled toward me. "Can I help you, orderly?" He was a large, dark skinned man, with a holstered pistol on his hip, what looked like a pepper spray canister, and handcuffs.

I wore the generic badge Silverly had given me--the one you had to sign out for if you forgot your real one, he said. He kept that and the scrubs at home. He must still do some unauthorized medical work at the hospital. Lucky for Keisha.

"This patient has experienced a trauma and blood loss." I searched my memory for the right words.

"Why didn't you go in the front?"

This was where things went south.

I shifted my stance. Suspicion started to creep across his face.

Gus appeared right in front of the guard.

"Because I told her to come back here," he said.

The guard jumped back, yanking at his gun.

Gus vanished again.

"Shit, one of them!" The guard's eyes were wide and he jerked around, looking for Gus.

Think fast, Mat, I told myself. Keisha was dying.

"Protect me, sir," I said. The door was only twenty feet away. "Get us inside."

He nodded. "Go." He drew his gun and assumed a firing stance, scanning around us. Thank God, the guard had reacted without thinking. Hopefully his adrenalin would keep him from doing that until after all this. I pushed the gurney up to the door, the guard backing up to cover me.

A rock landed nearby and the guard pointed the gun where it landed.

"He's trying to draw you off!" I said. It wasn't hard to put fear into my voice.

I reached the building. The guard backed up next to me as I opened the door and pulled the gurney inside behind me.

The guard followed, pulling out his radio. "Central, this is Kyle. We have a situation on the north end of the ER building, Door 3B."

In moments the place would be crawling with guards.

The guard motioned down the narrow hallway. "Go ahead and take her to the ER. I'll be right behind you."

I nodded and pushed the gurney down the hall. The gurney's left wheel kept squealing in protest. I pushed past the intersection and the sign for ER that pointed left.

"Hey, that's not the way." The guard's shout made me jump.

Gus was in between the guard and me, at the intersection. "Boo!" he shouted at the guard.

What the hell? Gus was suddenly fearless.

The guard pointed his gun at Gus. "Freeze!"

"Careful. Miss me and you hit her," Gus said. He vanished.

Blending in with a brightly lit, white hospital corridor must have been hard for Gus to pull off. It was going to eat him up doing that. The guard ran toward me, skidding to a stop at the intersection. "Down here," we heard Gus call from the direction of the ER.

"Shit!" The guard lifted his radio. "Central, we have a rogue intruder, headed toward the ER. He ran down the corridor after Gus.

Gus was being fearless. No, make that freaking crazy. I didn't know what had gotten into him.

I pushed the gurney onto another juncture. So far the intercom had remained silent. No other guards appeared. Yet.

There it was. Room 1C. I pushed open the door.

Silverly waited inside, beside banks of medical equipment. It was an operating room.

"Security has been alerted," I told him. "Gus is playing hide and seek, but things are going to get noisy real fast."

Silverly laid out scalpels on a tray, along with a hypo and motioned for me to bring the gurney over beside the operating table. "We aren't going to move her."

"Did you hear me?" I demanded. Why wasn't he more concerned?

"I heard you." He thought for a moment, nodded to himself and went to wall a phone. He was turning us in. I took a step toward him.

He put a finger up to his lips, dialed a number. "I have one favor I had been saving." He looked at me sourly. "This wasn't how I wanted to spend it."

He talked into the phone. "Greg, its Rance. Sorry to bother you, but I need to call in that favor. Contact hospital security and tell them the present alert is a training exercise. Have the guard that made the initial call report to you. Have him give you a rundown."

Words from the other side I couldn't make out.

"Yes, I know. Now I owe you. Thanks." Silverly hung up. He frowned at me, shook his head.

"Hey, thanks for doing this," I said.

He lifted the sheet. Keisha's bandages were wet with blood and my stomach lurched. The anger was gone from her face, she looked smaller somehow and so very vulnerable.

"Steady, Mat," Silverly told me.

I swallowed bile. "I'll be okay." Focus, I told myself, but it was tough. A tree packed more power than I'd realized. My stomach was in knots and my shoulders felt like rocks.

The room's antiseptic smell made me want to gag. I wiped my mouth.

Silverly cut away her shirt. I winced as the clotting blood made the shirt stick to Keisha's skin. The bandages were soaked with it. I couldn't watch.

"Oxygen!" Silverly's command focused me. Had to stay focused. Keisha depended on it

I fitted the mask over Keisha, checked the airflow.

He hung a plastic bag of blood on a pole, and inserted an IV into her arm, then gave her another shot of adrenalin and got to work.

I kept my eyes on the readouts, passed him instruments when he asked. He really should have a nurse helping him. Hell, he should have a whole staff assisting instead of just me. But it was just me. So no way could I pass out. I forced myself to go numb, not feel anything, just be there, helping the Doc.

"Mat?" His voice pulled at me. "I'm going to pull out the branch, be ready with bandages.

I nodded stiffly.

He lifted the limb. Blood oozed from the cavity and I pressed down the bandages.

"Mat, Mat, not so hard."

He pushed my hand aside, got to work in the bloody cavity. I didn't look; I just focused on handing him whatever he asked for. Zombie me.

After what seemed like forever, Silverly finished, pulled off his surgical gloves, and mopped his forehead. He looked so damn old, and tired.

"Her accelerated healing along with your bringing her to me made the difference. She just needs rest now." He leaned against a counter.

My phone vibrated again. I let it vibrate.

"Thank, you, Rance," I said.

He sighed. "Is this really not what it seems?"

I nodded my head fractionally. "You could say that."

"Good, I'm very glad to hear that." He put the instruments into an autoclave. "Life is too short to be spent making all the wrong choices."

I leaned over the gurney and watched Keisha's breath rise and fall. I hoped Silverly was right.

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# Chapter 13

I found Gus waiting by the truck.

The sun was almost up. I had caught a few snatches of sleep while Keisha recovered in a post-op room. Silverly had given her painkillers and a massive dose of antibiotics, telling me that would be the only dose she'd need, thanks to her Empowered healing. An orderly who didn't ask questions pushed her wheelchair to the truck.

I helped her stand with Gus's help.

"I didn't think I was going to live," she said, her voice barely audible.

"You're gonna live," I told her.

"How did I make it?" she asked as I buckled her in.

"We got help."

Her eyes focused on me. "You nearly killed me, bitch," she said and then slipped away into sleep. How long would it be before she started another metal cyclone and tried to kill me again?

The sun was shining by the time we arrived at my house. Going to have to forget about being stealthy. Support might get pissed. That was tough.

I parked the truck in the garage. Gus jumped out and rolled the door back down. Keisha pulled away when I tried to help her out of the truck.

"No more help from you," she said. "You've done enough."

Screw her. I let Gus help her out of the truck. Sunlight shone through the garage door windows.

"Thank you, thank you," she kept murmuring to him.

I had nearly killed her, granted, but she'd started the damn fight. I had saved her freaking life. If I hadn't taken her to the Doc, she'd be deader than that dead mouse in the corner of the garage.

The inside door to the house opened, and Alex looked out, wearing his scruffy hoodie and torn jeans.

Gus gave Alex a funny look, surprise mingled with I don't know what, distrust? He definitely acted like someone had given him a wedgie. Maybe he still had some of last night's iron in his backbone. Old Gus would have blended and vanished as soon as he saw Alex.

For an instant, Alex looked surprised, but he covered it nicely.

"I thought you said the house was empty, Mat," Gus said accusingly.

"You're not supposed to be here," I told Alex.

He shrugged. "You said I could crash here, didn't you?"

"I don't remember that."

"Hey, not fair to go pulling the rug out from under me because you want to loan your crashpad to someone else. You said I could, and now you're acting like you don't remember you told me that."

"I didn't say you could." We stared at each other; me the annoyed keeper of the crashpad, and Alex, the friend being denied what he wanted.

"This sucks." His gaze wandered over to Keisha. "Your friend looks hurt, dude." The stoner slacker he was playing had a short attention span.

"We got it covered, thanks."

Alex shrugged. "You gonna get help for her?"

"Already done."

He shrugged. "Okay, just thought I'd point it out."

"Go out through the back, remember?"

Alex slouched off back inside the house, conveniently leaving the door open.

Keisha kept silent through all this, watching.

"Friend of yours, Mat?" Gus asked.

"Just some guy I met on the street. I fixed a problem he had with a drug dealer, he pointed me to this place, but the agreement was that this is my house. Not ours."

Keisha's lip curled. "Since when does a streeter like him stick to 'agreements'?"

"Sometimes they do." I wasn't letting her under my skin. Not now.

She frowned. "You're still a fool."

Inside the house Gus helped Keisha stretch out on the futon. I checked her temperature. She tried to pull away, but I insisted. It was almost normal.

I went into the kitchen to make her breakfast and Gus followed me.

"She's going to be okay, isn't she?" he said.

"Yes." Relief washed over me. She was going to live. Her healing had taken over. You could already see the old Keisha coming back. I opened an egg omelet with fruit Insta-Meal, added water, pulled the tab underneath, and the mix began heating. I felt lighter than I had in days. I never would have guessed I'd feel so good at her not dying, but I did.

"You're a lot alike," Gus said.

"Keisha and me? Don't be crazy." I opened the fruit packet, then fished around in the cabinet for the package of plastic cups, poured some orange juice.

Gus leaned on the counter next to me. "But you are. You're both headstrong and fearless."

"You were pretty fearless back at the hospital, Gus."

"I couldn't leave you in the lurch." He didn't look away. "I'm sorry about the Renegades, more than I can tell you."

I stiffened. "Why did you have to go bring that up?"

He didn't flinch. "I was afraid, Mat. The Professor had sent me out to look for something."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter now. Not after what happened."

"But you were the perfect lookout Gus--that was your job. What the hell were you doing going off on some stupid errand when we needed you?"

He pushed himself off the counter, and his eyes narrowed. I'd never seen Gus angry before.

"It was for the Professor--medication."

"What?" Empowered don't need medication.

"He was dying. And there was a lab nearby that had a drug he could alter to help him."

"What did he have?"

"He had Thalik's."

"Thalik's?" I suddenly felt heavy. What were the odds the Professor and Ruth had the same thing? Seemed really unlikely to me, but there it was. Thalik's. Stinking disease.

"He never said a thing." My anger fled me and I leaned back, rubbed my eyes. God I was exhausted.

Gus laughed sadly. "Prof never did."

"True." For a short Empowered wearing glasses--nearly unheard of for one of us to have eye trouble--he had been charismatic, but he played things close. He'd been unbeatable in poker.

Thalik's.

"I was on my way back when the hammer fell," Gus said. His voice got small and his eyes widened, staring into the past and reliving a horror I couldn't feel.

"So you did the only thing you could do."

"Ran like a coward." He gulped air. "I didn't even get what the Professor wanted. The lab I broke into didn't have the drug he wanted. Nobody did. It was a dead end. I only lived because I was sent off on a fool's errand."

I swallowed. I had wanted to kill Gus ever since that day. But really, what other choice did he have? None. I was the only one who had survived the attack on the Renegades, in the underground haven we'd made. Everyone else had died. I'd spent years in Special Corrections reliving that day and being angry at Gus.

He hadn't fled because he'd tipped off the Hero Council. He'd been doing a secret job for the Professor.

I squeezed his shoulder. "No. You stayed free."

Gus blinked away tears, stared outside. He wiped his eyes and sobbed. I hugged him close then, let him cry against my chest, my hand on his head, pressing him against me.

Keisha was sitting up on the futon when I returned with her breakfast.

She wrinkled her nose. "What is that crap?"

"Insta-meal mushroom and cheese omelet."

"Where the hell did you get those?"

"Liberated them from a food services outfit that had extra." Back in the Renegades, Professor used to say that the best lies were the plausible ones.

"Great," Keisha grumbled and began forking egg into her mouth. "Tastes like shit," she said around a mouthful of omelet.

Nice to know Keisha was still Keisha.

* * *

MY PHONE WOKE ME UP, vibrating in my pocket. I groaned, rolled over and blinked. I was in one of the other bedrooms, lying on my coat. Wind rustled the arbor vitae outside. It was around noon.

Not a huge surprise, the caller. Mutter. The phone kept vibrating. He didn't stop at three.

I went into the living room. Gus sat in the one chair, lost in thought. He looked up as I came in.

I held up the phone. "Our leader calls. He's just letting it ring and ring." Up to fifteen rings now.

"Better answer then."

"Yes, but it isn't..." I trailed off. It wasn't the damn phone protocol Mister Big had insisted on using.

Gus shrugged. "He must really want to talk to you." Great. I stared at the phone.

The hell with it.

I thumbed the receiver button. "Hello."

"About time you answered me." Mutter's voice was ice-cold. I was glad we weren't having this chat face to face. My throat ached already.

"We've been busy." No excuse in my voice, just kept it matter-of-fact.

"Too busy to answer your phone?" Ice-cold, but there was rage underneath. Royally pissed, but controlling it. For now.

There was no easy way around it, so I just told him. "The job went south. The Scrambler--"

He cut me off. "No details over the phone. This needs to be discussed in person."

His voice deepened on that last word. Made it sound menacing and dangerous.

"Got it." I struggled to keep worry out of my voice. "Where do I find you?"

"Call me from a pay phone in one hour, and I'll give you the address. Bring the others with you."

He hung up. Why couldn't he have just given me the address over the phone? If I had been fingered, wouldn't I be followed? Okay, so I actually was compromised, in that I was an agent for Support, but Mutter didn't know that. Unless he did, and I was taking myself to my own funeral. Crap. Couldn't worry about it. If I didn't go he'd be suspicious for sure.

The kitchen suddenly felt like my old prison cell in Special Corrections. Too small. I paced the house.

Gus trailed behind me, asked me something, but I was lost in thought. I was in deep shit--we all were.

There was a tug on my arm. Gus. "Stop for a second, Mat."

Keisha watched from the futon, her anger clearly bubbling just below the surface. She was barely keeping it together.

"Mutter's mad at us," I said. "He wants me to call him in"--I glanced at my watch, "fifty-three minutes."

Keisha leaned back on the futon. "Of course that asshole is angry. We screwed the job."

"It wasn't our fault," Gus said. "The Scrambler didn't work."

"You'd better hope he sees it that way," Keisha told him. She looked at me. "You wrecked his goddam safe house."

"Maybe I wouldn't have, if you hadn't been trying to kill me."

She pulled herself up, began gesturing.

Gus looked from her face to mine, and back to Keisha. "Stop it," he said.

Keisha looked astonished. I must have looked surprised, too, because Gus smiled.

"Where do you get off being so tough all of a sudden, Silco?" Keisha asked him.

He looked at his hands. "You guys have a lot in common."

"No we don't," Keisha and I said in unison.

Gus gave me a sideways look. "Like I said, you two have a lot in common."

"Don't go spreading lies, Blender," Keisha said. She looked pissed.

Keisha and I didn't have anything in common.

He pointed at me. "That look you just gave me? That's an annoyed and soon to be angry look."

I pushed my boot's toe into the floor. "I'm not annoyed. Irritated maybe."

Keisha shot him a dirty look. "Where do you get off saying she and me are the same?"

He shook his head. "I didn't say you were the same. I said you have a lot in common."

She crossed her arms, simmering anger tightening her forehead. "Lots of people get angry."

Yeah, and Mutter was one of them.

Gus turned on a portable radio. "Music calms me down," he said.

He didn't have nearly as much to be worked up about as me or Keisha, but I wasn't going to argue. His nervous pacing made me twitchy, and I wanted to punch him when he pointed out that I did the same thing. But I didn't want Keisha to lose it, and I didn't want to get angry again, either. This time one of us could wind up dead.

A blander than bland boring pop music tune finished. Thank God for small favors. Then a news update came on.

"Police and the FBI are investigating the apparent murder of billionaire tech titan Jonathan van Cleeve, founder of three technology companies and three-time recipient of the Friendship Medal, awarded by the Hero Council for Meritorious assistance by a civilian to the Empowered. Van Cleeve and his security detail were found dead in his West Hills mansion late last night."

Gus paled and looked sick.

"What is it?" I asked him. The news story seemed to have smacked him upside the head. But why? No way Gus knew someone like Van Cleeve. Billionaire tech dudes didn't mix with rogue Empowered guys like Gus.

His eyes took on a haunted look. "I can't say."

"Spill it, Gus," Keisha said. "Otherwise, buck up and don't let on you know something we don't."

"Why can't you say?" I asked him.

"Mutter wouldn't like it."

Keeping secrets for Mutter was no surprise, but this was different. Gus was scared to death.

I wasn't going to push him. But I'd damn sure tell Support.

* * *

THE DEAD NEON SIGN in the grimy window said "Atlas Motors." The two-story brick building wasn't far from the old National Guard Armory. The place looked like a total dump on the outside, but inside bright fluorescents lit clean, uncluttered garage bays.

Mutter waited for us in the main bay, perched on a stool, tapping his fingers together. He looked like a fashionable undertaker, wearing a high-collared black suit. His snakeskin boots were gray-green in the garage lighting.

A spendy four-door was parked behind him. A silver Pontiac Elegant, from the looks of it. Funny how Mutter always had nice rides. Peep stood next to the car, fiddling with his glasses and not looking at us.

"Nice of you to show up, asshole," I shouted at Peep.

Keisha surprised me by joining in. "Thought you'd be long gone by now, coward." He flinched, but kept his head down, still fiddling with those damn glasses of his.

Mutter's face was a mask of cold fury, making me take a step back. He raised a hand, made a twirling motion. "You are the last ones to take umbrage at Lyle's actions." The air gusted around me, rustling the remains of an old newspaper lying on the garage floor. I breathed faster, desperate to keep the oxygen coming. My throat throbbed.

I pointed at Peep. "He ran off."

Mutter's mouth moved, he gestured and wind slammed me. I fought to keep standing. Keisha and Gus backed away.

Mutter raised a hand and the wind whirled around me, tighter and tighter, squeezing my sides. He didn't smile this time, like he had back at the Imperial Hotel. Instead, he looked like a psycho who was ready to kill me.

"He cut and run!" I yelled.

Mutter snapped his fingers and the air was still. "With good reason." He gave Keisha and me both the stink eye. "You wrecked the safe house after making an absolute hash of the assignment."

I stayed silent. No excuses.

Mutter stared at us like a judge.

"Good," he said. "You understand your failure." His sudden attitude swings gave me whiplash.

He ordered us to report what happened, so I did. I left out the part where I wondered were the hell he was. This was all on my team, even if his being gone might have helped screw things up. That wouldn't help things here in the garage with our deadly boss.

I finished and watched his reaction.

"That was certainly quick thinking on your part to block the hallway," Mutter said. I couldn't believe it. A compliment? At least a kind of compliment.

"Keisha? Why couldn't you find the documents?" She didn't answer. He began twirling his fingers. She flinched.

I spoke up. "We did find the file, but it wasn't in a red binder like you said."

He arched an eyebrow. "Rising to your enemy's defense? My, my, how things have changed since you tried to kill her in the house. My house." Everything seemed to be Mutter's, including us.

"I started it," Keisha said.

"Really?"

"Yes--I was mad because she and Peep left when I wanted to search further.

Gus was shaking visibly.

Mutter raised his fingers to his lips. "Guilty conscience, Blender?"

Gus shook his head.

"The Scrambler was fully functional, Gus. I wonder why it didn't go off?"

"I deployed it, Mutter, I did, really." The words tumbled out of Gus's mouth. "I did what you ordered. The lights were green, they were!"

Mutter walked over to Gus, a nasty grin on his face. He put a finger on Gus's lips. "Something is rotten in Denmark, and I will learn what the source of the stench is." He wrinkled his nose. "The urine stink is obvious."

A dark stain spread down the front of Gus's cargo pants. "Oh, God," he wailed.

"It is me you need to worry about," Mutter said. He turned to Keisha and me.

"I'm surprised at you, Keisha. Why aren't you angry with Mat for nearly killing you, even if, as you say, you started it?"

"She saved my life." Keisha glanced at me. "Thank you."

"Touching," Mutter said. "And how did you manage that, Mat?" He steepled his fingers. My heart pounded faster.

"Got in touch with someone from the old days."

"Really?" His voice went ice-cold again. "Did you compromise my cell's secrecy?"

"No. I told him nothing."

"And who was it?"

"I'd rather not say."

Again air slammed me, and I staggered backwards. "You'll answer my question."

Keisha got between me and Mutter, stumbled back toward me and caught herself.

"It isn't important," I heard her shout over the wind.

The wind stopped. Mutter cocked his head to one side.

"And how do you know? You were unconscious? Do you suddenly trust her that much?"

I squeezed Keisha's arm, stepped up next to her. "Doctor Rance Silverly," I said.

"Never heard of him."

Good.

A sound like a celestial bell pealed in the garage.

Mutter scowled. "Do not move," he ordered us, and sauntered to the far side of the garage. I glimpsed him loosening his collar and fingering a medallion around his neck. His lips moved, but he was too far away to hear.

"His boss," Keisha whispered. "The Scourge inner circle."

Talk about bad timing for Mutter. The bosses wanted to know how his job had gone. The answer was the job had gone south.

"Thanks for speaking up," I told her.

She shook her head. "You're still an idiot, but I had to say something."

Peep smirked at Gus. "Nice going."

Gus ducked his head.

"Leave him alone." I glared at Peep.

He backed away, hands in front of him. "Hey, I don't have a beef with you."

"Because you're afraid I'll clean your clock. Which I will if you don't shut the hell up."

Peep cringed. "Okay, okay, I'll leave it."

Mutter returned.

"Now, where were we?" His brow furrowed. "Ah, yes, Gus's betrayal."

Gus shook his head, desperate. "I told you, the Scrambler was operational."

"Precisely. It would have worked if it had been functional, which it was. Therefore, it wasn't activated."

"I did activate it."

"We'll see." He muttered low, wordless sounds, making lazy circles with his arms.

"No, it's not my fault, Mutter. Please, don't," Gus begged. The air howled around Gus and pulled him off the ground. The wind changed, became a rushing sound, like water over rocks. Mutter pinched his fingers. Gus thrashed in the air. His face began to purple.

"Stop it!" I yelled. Gus continued to thrash and Mutter ignored me. Gus's eyes rolled up.

I wanted to make Mutter stop. I wanted to run to Gus, protect him somehow. But I stayed put like a good little soldier. Watched the horror show, my stomach churning.

"You tipped off the police by not correctly activating the Scrambler. The question is, was it deliberate or mere incompetence?" Mutter lowered his arms.

Gus fell to the ground, gasping for breath, and sobbed.

"Well?" Mutter asked.

"I swear I didn't tip off the cops. I didn't."

Mutter stared at Gus with a snake-about-to-eat-a-mouse expression. Gus got to his knees, and crawled toward Mutter, whimpering and begging not to be killed.

I looked away.

Mutter grinned wickedly. "I'll forgive your incompetence, Gus. This time." He laughed. "All things considered, the job went well." Another whiplash from another sudden attitude switch. He was pleased with himself. Toying with Gus. Bastard.

It hit me then.

"We were just a decoy, weren't we?" A slow rage began to build in my gut.

"Smarter than you look, Mathilda." He laughed again, sending ice down my spine. "Yes, you were, and you played it well."

"What the hell?" Keisha said. "This was just a frigging red herring?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes, but quite important."

The Scourge's inner circle had commanded Mutter to do this job, so he set us up to do it, but he had been up to something else. Whatever it was, it had been something he was willing to risk the rest of us to accomplish.

He and the secret member of our cell had been dressed in HC jumpsuits and visored helmets--sanctioned Empowered, or so people would think.

The news story about Van Cleeve's death.

Somehow that was connected.

* * *

THE DIVE BAR WAS CALLED "the Hole-in-the-Wall," and the name fit. Cracked plaster walls, and linoleum so yellowed it looked like lemon peel. A red neon Schlitz sign glowed on the wall below a stuffed bear's head. Two slouching trucker types played a lazy game of pool on a beat-up billiards table across the room while a muted TV over the bar showed a boxing match.

A couple of scummy looking dudes gave me the hopeful eye while I waited in a booth for Winterfield to show up. I ignored them and drank my beer. Empowered can actually get drunk or high, but it takes some work, and the buzz doesn't last long.

I hadn't hit the booze when I got to "the Hole-in-the-Wall," but I was still shaking inside after that scene in the garage. Gus had disappeared as soon as Mutter finished the briefing. Keisha took off as well, while Peep followed Mutter around like a puppy that's been swatted a few times and is desperate to prove it can obey. He made my skin crawl.

I finished my beer. Mutter's briefing at the garage had been bullshit. He had ranted at us and tortured Gus, nearly killed him. What had been the point? Just to make Gus crawl? I couldn't get the sound of his begging Mutter not to kill him out of my head.

"You look like hell," Winterfield said. He slid onto the bench across the table from me. He took one look at my face and motioned at the bar maid. When she looked over he pointed at my bottle, and held up two fingers.

I did a double take. He didn't look so good himself. He had dark circles under his eyes and beard stubble on his chin. Winterfield was the alert and razor sharp type, always clean shaven and button-downed. Now he looked like a stockbroker who'd just lost his shirt.

"What happened?" I asked him.

"Investigating a murder."

"Whose?"

He gave me a sour look. "Brandt, you should know I can't tell you that. Let's focus on your assignment."

So sue me for being curious. Whatever.

The waitress brought the beers he had ordered. He took a swig of his. "Report."

So, for the second time in the past few hours I had to go over the foul-up of a job and the aftermath. I didn't editorialize; I just gave him the facts. He listened, didn't raise an eyebrow or even ask questions.

I finished with the debriefing at the Atlas Motor's building in Old Town.

Winterfield looked at me thoughtfully, long enough that I began to squirm on the bench seat.

He wrote an address in his notepad, tore off the paper and handed to me. "Your new place."

"Why do I need a new place?"

"Really, Brandt? Isn't it obvious?" He closed his eyes, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Your new friends know where the old one is. Which no longer makes it an effective place for Sanchez to visit you."

I flushed. "I hadn't planned on that."

"Speaking of not planning, no more covert trips to the ER with a retired doctor." He opened his eyes. "However, that was a good use of the resources you had on hand."

"The whole thing was a disaster."

He shook his head. "Not entirely. Your account ties in with what we've been investigating," he said slowly. "Especially your information about him using Hero Council jumpsuit uniforms. They would give admittance into certain locations. The suits have electronic signatures which identify them as official."

"You mean he could get into the Decahedron in Colorado Springs?" The thought of Mutter and his secret associate walking into the North American Headquarters of the Hero Council and Joint UN-US command as sanctioned Empowered was chilling.

"Possibly."

"But why?"

"It's obvious," he said.

I frowned. "Obvious? What was obvious about it?"

"Stay calm." He took another swig of his beer. "I'm normally not a fan of beer, but this is pretty good." He leaned forward, lowered his voice. "I'm wearing a device that will foil any listening in attempts by bugs or in-the-flesh spies, but keep your voice down."

I glanced around. No one sat within ten feet of us, in fact there were less than a dozen people in the place all together counting the bar tender and bar maid.

"Safety first," he said. "Precautions never hurt. This is too important not to have those precautions in place."

"Okay, so we were played. Why?"

"Your leader wanted to cover his tracks."

"I don't get it. Cover his tracks from whom?"

"His bosses in the Scourge. You said he told you this was deemed a high value target by the Scourge."

"Yes, but it was just records."

"Records can be important. We don't know how these might fit into the Scourge's plans."

"What were they?"

"I can't tell you that."

I snorted. "I bust my ass helping to break into that place, and you can't tell me what we were there to steal."

"Did you look at the index or the computer files?"

"Come on! I didn't have time to look at either."

"What did Mutter say about that. Did he ask you?"

"No."

"Interesting, and it fits with what we think he was doing, namely, distracting the Scourge, and giving himself cover while he did something else."

I rubbed my eyes. I could use more sleep. Sure, being Empowered meant I didn't need as much as a normal, but I still needed some.

"You think this is connected to Van Cleeve's murder, don't you?" Had to be.

"He was murdered during or shortly after your 'job' at the Lansing Building."

"I knew it was a diversion." I banged my palm against the tabletop. The empties rattled and people looked over in our direction.

"Easy," Winterfield ordered. "You need to calm down."

"We were nearly captured." And the fight with Keisha wouldn't have happened except for that fouled up job. "He went after Van Cleeve."

Winterfield tapped his head. "Now you are thinking rather than just reacting. Yes."

"Why? Why kill a rich dude? To steal his coin collection?"

"Not money. Something else. Information."

"What kind of information could a tech guy give Mutter?" Something Mutter wanted to keep from the Scourge.

Winterfield smiled grimly. "That's what you need to find out."

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# Chapter 14

I forgot to check my phone until after I'd gotten to my new place, a little bungalow across town.

Three calls from Mutter's number. I called him back, and went through the whole ring three times, hang up, ring again, wait for the pick up after the ring, but he didn't pick up.

I took a shower. There were insta-meals in the freezer, a microwave, and clothes my size in the closet, the sort of jeans and shirts I'd wear. Support had everything figured out.

Except how to find out what Mutter's real target was, other than just playing along until Mutter told me.

I was finishing my dinner when my phone vibrated on the Formica counter where I'd left it.

Mutter.

I tried not to snatch it up. Had to remain calm. I opened the phone, put the receiver up to my ear. "Brandt here." I had to convince him I'd just been out of touch by accident.

His voice was silken. "I am pleased you're available this time, Mathilda."

"My phone's battery ran down. I called you back as soon as I had recharged it and saw you had called."

"Oh, let's not worry about trivialities. We have more important matters to discuss."

Something in his voice started me sweating.

"Like what?"

"Oh, this needs to be discussed in person, Mathilda." He sounded very pleased with himself. Pause, then the other shoe dropped, the nasty one.

"I want you to meet me at your grandmother's apartment."

My heart stopped. Ruth's apartment? God, no. No!

"Why?" My voice cracked.

"Like I said, we have certain things to discuss. In fact, I am visiting here as we speak."

"You are?" My hands were suddenly clammy and my stomach twisted in knots. You have such an interesting family, Mathilda. I am thrilled to have this opportunity to get to know them.

"Please join us."

I raced to Ruth's in the Dasher. Slammed the car door and charged up the stairs to her apartment, praying he hadn't hurt them. If he had... I couldn't breathe from the panic filling me. If he had, I swear I'd kill him, no matter what.

I flung open the door.

Ava was on the couch, hair loose, eyes wide while Mutter perched in Ruth's chair his arm around Ella's waist as she stood beside the chair, her eyes wide as well. His fingers tapped at her hip.

Ava sobbed silently.

Mutter smiled as I barged in. "Ah, Mathilda, so glad you could join us." He withdrew his arm, patted Ella in the small of her back. "Go join your sister," he said to her.

She scurried over to the couch and sat. The twins huddled together, arms around each other.

"What are you doing here?" I blurted out like an idiot.

He tilted his head. "Well, for one I wanted to meet your family, since they mean so much to you."

My hands seemed to have a life of their own, fingers curling and twisting.

His expression went cold. "I also wanted to ask if there's anything you would like to tell me." His eyes narrowed. "Anything you would like to admit to."

Shit. Did Mutter suspect I was an agent for Support? I had tried to cover my tracks. Had kept my mouth shut.

It hit me.

God, Gus had seen Alex at the house. What if he'd blabbed that to Mutter, and that's why Mutter was asking?

Ella began crying.

He cupped his hands, whispered in that low wordless way he had when he used his power. A tissue box on an end table bobbled up into the air and wobbled across the room, landing on the coffee table beside Ella.

"There you are, my dear. Happy to help you dry your eyes. There's no reason to fear me."

Mutter leaned forward, like a python eyeing a rabbit. The twins shuddered.

"Leave them alone," I said. "They aren't part of this."

His half smile was all sharp edges. "That depends on you"

"Who are you?" Ava asked in a tremulous voice.

"I'm an Empowered, like your sister."

"Let's go outside," I told him. I had to get him out of here. Now.

"I've only just arrived." He cocked his head to one side. "Don't tell me you hide things from these sweet sisters of yours." He made a tsk-tsk sound. "Secrets can destroy relationships."

I looked him in the face. "You can count on me to do what you ask. To follow...your instructions."

He pursed his lips. "I want more than that. I want your loyalty. To me and me alone."

"You got it. Promise." I couldn't read him. Did he suspect I was an agent, or did he just want to be sure I wouldn't play him for my own advantage? Mutter loved being the cat and the rest of us were mice to play with.

Ruth came into the kitchen from her bedroom, housecoat thrown over her floor-length blue nightgown. She walked steadily, chin up, looked Mutter right in the eye.

"Who are you?" She crossed her arms. "And why are you here?" I wanted to tell her be quiet, but it wouldn't have made any difference.

Mutter inclined his head in mock respect. "As I told your granddaughters, Mrs. Brandt, it is Mrs. Brandt isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, sir." She didn't flinch.

"I wanted to meet Mathilda's family, since she and I work together."

"You mean you're a criminal."

His eyes glittered dangerously. "Well if I am, you should be careful. Very careful."

Ruth lifted her chin. "This is my home. Leave. Now." Ruth was fearless. She might feel like crap from the Thalik's, but she didn't show it. She stood there, back straight and faced Mutter without flinching.

Mutter twiddled his fingers. The silence stretched out. The twins held each other close, frightened gazes darting back and forth from Mutter to Ruth.

I was frozen in place. A muscle between my shoulder blades tensed. The air rustled and then grew still again.

Finally Mutter chuckled and gave Ruth a little mock bow. "Of course, madam. I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome." He smiled, strolled past me and went outside, the door closing with a soft snick behind him.

The knot between my shoulders loosened and I let out my breath.

"Ruth, I'm sorry," I began.

She raised a hand. "I don't want to hear it." There was steel in her voice.

"I didn't tell him to come here."

She turned away. "It doesn't matter. He's here because he knows you. I told you I wanted nothing to do with your criminal associates. I can't keep you from being on the wrong side of the law, but I will not allow him or any other dangerous people in my own home." She squared her shoulders, still looking away. "That includes you, Mathilda. Please leave. Now."

My legs felt like lead. I staggered to the door and slipped outside. As far as Ruth was concerned, I was as bad as Mutter.

Mutter waited for me at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up at me with a wicked smile and motioned for me to join him.

Knee-high thorny weeds grew in the dirt next to the stairs. If I pushed into the weeds with my power, made them thrash and grow, perhaps I could impale him with elongated, spike-like thorns.

Urge the leaves and the stalks to grow faster, and the thorny leaves would coil around his throat, choking him.

But it wouldn't be fast or sharp enough.

I'd be dead, or worse, he'd bring me to my knees, then go back into Ruth's apartment. I would only hurt them.

"You have a charming family," Mutter said as I came down the stairs. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Bastard.

I stepped off the last step and onto the pavement next to him.

He twiddled his finger and a dust devil formed nearby, rustling shrubs. "You are mine, and mine alone. If I discover you are working with others, no matter who they are, anyone outside my cell, I will pay this sweet family of yours another visit." The dust devil whirled closer, whipping up my hair and bits of dirt into my eyes, forcing me to squeeze my eyelids shut.

"Do you understand?" Those words thundered in my ears and I put my hands over my ears.

"I do," I said. "My family doesn't need to be involved."

"That is up to you. As long as you follow my instructions, do not make trouble, and do exactly as I request, nothing will happen to them."

Right then I would have promised to do anything he asked. Anything at all if it meant keeping them safe.

"I will," I said.

He walked over to the silver Pontiac parked in the fire lane, waiting for him. His hand on the back door, he stopped.

"Remember. It's entirely up to you."

I nodded, numb.

He slipped inside the car, closed the door. I watched it drive off and disappear around the corner.

* * *

I WANTED TO SHOOT THE son of a bitch. Stab him. Strangle him with blackberry vines. Drop a tree on him. He had threatened Ruth and the twins. I should tell Winterfield. Would he pull me? I didn't know. I sat in the Dasher and desperately tried to think how I could protect my family. If I left the cell, the mission failed. And he might kill Ruth and the girls just to punish me. I had to prove that Mutter was up to something that was not in the Scourge's interests, expose him to the Inner Circle.

Forget Special Corrections.

My family's lives were all on the line.

I kept running all this through my head all the way back to the bungalow, right up to the point where I found Alex sitting on the couch, reading a book and obviously waiting for me.

"Doesn't matter where I live, you are going to feel free to break in and wait for me, aren't you?" I was ready to take off someone's head, and Alex was the lucky winner.

He grinned in the face of my boiling anger. "All part of the deal."

I flung myself into an old barcalounger, hard enough for the chair to tilt back and extend the leg rest. I stared at the ceiling fan. Cobwebs stretched from the blades to the plaster ceiling, it was hard to tell where the cobwebs ended and where the shadows began.

"I'm just a mushroom," I said under my breath. I thought I'd said it too low for Alex to hear, but he heard it.

"We're all mushrooms," he replied. "It's the way things work in this business. Those in the know call the shots."

I rubbed my eyes. "Like Winterfield and Mutter."

"Among others."

I yanked on the chair's handle and sat up, the seat back bouncing. "I'd like to be in the know. I'm sick and tired of being a mushroom."

"Something's got you upset," he said.

No shit. But there was no way I could tell him the truth. "I hate not knowing what's going on."

"Is that all?"

"Isn't that enough?" I wasn't going to tell him about Mutter's threat. This was my problem.

"No, it's not enough." He got up from the couch and knelt beside the barcalounger. You aren't just angry about not knowing what's going on."

Screw it. "Mutter threatened Ruth and the twins."

Alex didn't seem surprised. In fact, he just listened and nodded as I went on about what Mutter had said.

"You knew he might do this," I said.

"It fits his personality profile."

"Wait, what personality profile? I thought Mutter was an unknown until I joined the cell. No picture, no information beyond him being dangerous. Isn't that what you said?" Or was it Winterfield? God, I couldn't keep who knew what straight. I felt like such a fool. Of course Support had known.

"We have other sources of information."

I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Gulped it down. Alex watched me from the doorway.

Of course they had other sources of information. God, I hated this. Just another sucker to be used. I was just a pawn to be sacrificed. That's what Ruth would say if she knew.

"The less you know about the other sources, the better."

"You mean so I won't let it slip to Mutter that I found out stuff I shouldn't know?"

"Yes."

"Damn it!" I yelled, getting right up in Alex's face. He didn't flinch. "Why didn't Support get a safe house for my family?"

He didn't look away. "Winterfield wouldn't allow it."

"Oh, so you tried, did you?"

He shook his head. "Yeah, I tried, Mat. But he didn't want to compromise your cover, and moving your family would be suspicious."

"Come on, how? So they move."

"It isn't that simple. A safe house would mean protection, and isolation, with your sisters taken out of school."

Damn it, he was right.

Fuck this. I wanted to get drunk, really drunk, but there wasn't anything remotely alcoholic in this dump. "I need a drink."

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

I got in his face. Nose to nose. "Then what the hell do you suggest I do? Just drop down on the floor, get into lotus position and chant?"

I needed air.

It was raining outside. The grass sang and the trees murmured. It was almost spring. I wrapped myself in my anger and ignored the world. Walked toward the river, past a quarry.

Someone followed me. Alex.

I kept walking.

The quarry had shut down for the day. All the mixers were parked, and the gates were closed. The whole area was fenced off, and the fence was mostly hidden behind overgrown bushes and trees.

I commanded a tree branch to grow earthward, over the fence.

"Mat!" Alex called after me.

I pulled myself up the branch, hand over hand. Swung onto a branch above the double line of barbed wire topping the fence. Urged that branch earthward.

I dropped onto the ground and walked to the embankment that overlooked the river. I was like that water, rushing on with no way back. I stared at the water for a long time.

"I was worried about you."

I jerked. Alex stood nearby, hands in his pockets.

"Mat, I know you feel trapped."

"How would you know, Alex? You aren't like me. You aren't still a prisoner."

The night breeze ruffled his raven black hair. "I was an infiltrator of a kind, once upon a time. I felt alone, trapped, ignorant. It scared the hell out of me."

"I didn't know." Mutter wasn't threatening his family.

He shrugged. "Why would you?" He picked up a pebble, flung it into space and down toward the river. "Support gave you a very hard assignment. We need to know what Jones is up to. Find out. Let us know."

"What happened to exposing him to his bosses?"

"That might not be possible."

"So, you want me to rat him out to you instead. And then what?"

"Then we'll close in and nab him."

Something had spooked Support. But what? Turning Mutter in wouldn't save my family. He was a nut-job Empowered. Smart enough to put things together. He was the kind of murderer who wouldn't let being locked up stop him from getting revenge. And he knew where my family lived.

"Mat, do you understand?" Alex asked.

Yeah, I saw how things were.

"Yeah." Support didn't matter anymore. I had to figure out a way to kill Mutter.

Alex smiled, looking relieved, dimples showing. "Let's get something to eat."

We walked back to the fence, where the tree branches hung low on either side.

I had to protect Ruth and the twins, no matter what happened.

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# Chapter 15

Peep drove us to a farmhouse north of Vancouver. Keisha, Gus, and I rode in the back. Gus fidgeted all the way, twisting and rubbing his hands. Keisha didn't say much, aside from telling Gus to just sit. I couldn't draw her out. She was back to being sullen and pissed off again.

We got out and looked around. It was dawn. The farmhouse had storm covers on the windows. My phone vibrated. A message from Mutter. "Go to the barn." Creepy how he knew we were here. No sign of security cameras, but they had to be there.

I walked up to the barn. The sides were painted red. I rapped my knuckles on the surface, making a metallic sound. The door to the barn slid open.

We filed in, Gus beside me, still wringing his hands.

"Relax, Gus."

He wiped sweat from his face.

"Damn, you're scared of your own shadow, Blender," Keisha said.

She wore her leather jacket.

My own black leather coat was new--a thrift store find, the day after I had met with Alex. I wore steel-toed boots, cargo pants and a turtle neck.

Gus wore an army field jacket, a lot newer looking than his old one.

Mutter's Cadillac was parked inside the barn. No sign of Mutter. The four of us looked around.

The walls were lined with shelves filled with all sorts of canned stuff and plastic bins with snap-on lids. Against the back wall was a concrete walled room, with a steel door.

"What the hell?" Keisha said. "Freaking weird place for a room."

"It's unlocked," Peep said.

I turned the lever style handle. Inside, a metal stairway ran below ground, spiraling down lighthouse fashion.

At the bottom we entered a conference style room. Something poked at my memory. This reminded me of another place. A big oak table filled the middle of the room, with vinyl plush office chairs surrounding it. The overhead lights came on. A blue-clad figure sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled.

Mutter. He wore his sky blue Hero Council jumpsuit, that damn motorcycle-like helmet on the table. I tried to show no emotion. The man who had threatened my family faced me, smug, in charge, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. Yet.

The door behind him opened and a blond woman in matching HC jumpsuit appeared.

I didn't recognize her.

Mutter gestured at the chairs. "Please, sit." We each picked a chair and sat. Except Keisha. She stayed standing by the door, her eyes wide, staring at the blond.

"You died."

"You thought I had died." The woman took a chair next to Mutter and flashed a sly smile at me. "I'm April, the mystery member of the team." She giggled. I didn't see anything hilarious. No, what I saw was a crazy sidekick for our nut-job cell leader.

"The building collapsed with you inside," Keisha said. "A three-story building completely engulfed in flames."

Mutter stroked April's arm. "As you can see, she's very much alive."

April laughed. Held out her hand. A ball of fire burst into being above her palm, spinning. She waggled her fingers. The ball of fire became a pillar of flame that danced in the palm of her hand. It winked out and she held up her palm. "What's the point of being a flame warden if you can't save yourself from a burning building?" She laughed again. "Even you should have figured that one out, Keisha."

A "flame warden" was an old term from the early days, the revival of a pagan worship of fire casting Empowereds by normals. It figured April would buy into that. Some normals still worshipped the fire-casters.

"What gives?" I whispered to Gus.

He shrugged. "Before my time."

Peep cracked a grin. "I knew you had to be alive." He made like he was going to give her a hug.

She grimaced and waved him off. "Sure you did, Lyle."

"Why did you let me think you were dead, April?" Keisha's tone was menacing.

Mutter twiddled his fingers together and air stirred around Keisha.

I tugged on her arm. "Come on, that sounds like ancient history."

She pulled her arm away, still glaring at April. "It ain't."

The air stirred into a breeze.

April laughed and Keisha's scowl deepened.

"You could have told us."

"I knew," Mutter said. "As cell leader, it's my prerogative to decide who knows what, when."

"Sit down, Keisha!" I tugged at her arm again.

"Fine." She sat, still staring at April.

Time to change the subject, and fast, before Mutter decided he was tired of Keisha's attitude.

"What is this place?" I asked.

Mutter ran a fingertip across the conference table. "It used to be a survival shelter way back in the 1960s. I picked it up for a song." He laughed. "Well, not quite a song, but still, it was musical."

Gus shivered.

"And now it's a convenient place for the cell," I said. That was me, little miss obvious. Anything to get Mutter away from Gus.

He tilted his head. "Precisely. This is the perfect place for us to get ready for..." he paused theatrically, funneled his fingers. "The big job." His voice echoed in my ears.

"What sort of job, boss?" Peep asked, a satisfied grin on his face.

Scummy toady. That was our creepy Peepy.

"April has been doing research for us," Mutter said.

"Great," Keisha grumbled, staring hard at the table.

Mutter ignored her. "Research which, combined with recent discoveries, point to a lucrative target that will make us all rich and give the Scourge a huge boost in resources."

Peep polished his glasses. "I like the sound of that, boss. I'm a fan of being rich. Helping the organization is a plus."

Freaking kiss-up.

"The target is in Seattle." Mutter's fingers tapped out commands on some sort of input pad on the table in front of him.

A hologram flickered to life over the table and we saw a glass building on a hill facing the Puget Sound. Ruth had taken us to Seattle right before I ran away from home to join the Renegades. We went to Ivar's and the Space Needle. The memory hurt. I had hated going, wanted to hang with my friend Tanya instead, but Ruth had made me come.

I'd never seen anything quite like this building. It seemed to be made out of wood and very clear glass. Six stories high.

"The Sequoia complex."

The image zoomed in. There were redwoods inside the building, growing up and out of the roof.

"A biological research facility, which also happens to be a Support installation."

The image switched to video that showed a helicopter landing on a pad beside the building. A pair of Support operatives in their black suits emerged, followed by a familiar looking giant in blue.

My mouth was suddenly dry. That was Titan, the head of the Hero Council.

Mutter held up a hand. "Not to worry, he's not there at present."

Gus was squeezing his hands under the tabletop.

I had to say something. "Isn't this a bit like walking right into Special Corrections?" This wasn't a little covert Support office like the one in the Lansing building, this was high profile, out in the open.

Mutter looked disappointed. "You need to have faith in me, Mathilda."

"All right, but what exactly is in there that will make us all rich, and help the Scourge?"

"I'm glad you asked." The hologram became an animated 3D image of the building. Ground floor--glassed walls, huge redwood boles beside slender durasteel support pillars. Security desks, this was Support, so of course they had three on the ground floor. Elevators. There were like five basement levels. What was this place?

"How'd you get this video stuff?" Keisha asked.

Mutter put his finger against his lips.

"Figures," Keisha grumbled.

"Kai acquired intel on this facility at great personal risk," April piped up. The least you can do is afford him some courtesy and not interrupt."

"Kai? Kai? On an intimate basis with him, are you?" Keisha sneered. "The rest of us have to call him Mutter."

Mutter pointed at Keisha. "That's enough." His voice boomed.

She winced and clapped her hands over her ears.

April lifted her chin and smiled.

"Now, if we may return to the briefing." Mutter scrolled the image. A warren of rooms, all identical corridors on levels 2-4. Reminded me of the secret Support facility I had woken up in after my fight with the gang. Level 5 was different. It looked like a pond between the redwood trunks. There was a little island covered in reeds in the middle of the pond. The image zoomed in.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose. "What is that place?"

"It's where the treasure we seek is buried." The hologram froze on the little island, and Mutter leaned back in his chair. "There's a device embedded in a dirt island in the middle of that body of water that can alter plant biology."

"I don't understand. What is this doing in the middle of Seattle?"

Mutter gave me a sad, despairing look. "How unfortunate that you, of all people, don't appreciate a device that can alter plant biology. It can create new forms of plant life. It can create new forms of natural pharmacological drugs, performance boosters, perception boosters, plants that can alter awareness, release untold pleasure in our ape brains."

"So, this is really about stealing tech that could make super potent drugs?"

"In part. But don't limit your imagination. It is technology that can alter plant life into forms that can, in effect, do almost anything. Imagine plants that can synthesize materials, even precious metals."

"Impossible."

"Like I said, how sad that you don't see this."

Peep slapped his hands together. "Well, I appreciate it."

Mutter nodded. "Of course, you would, Lyle. You're a man of vision after all."

Peep nodded enthusiastically. He didn't get it that Mutter mocked him.

Gus mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that, Gus?"

Gus jerked upright. "Ah, nothing."

Mutter leaned forward. "You doubt the value of this technology?"

"No, no. I'm sure it's a key to riches."

Something in Gus's expression told me he thought Mutter lied. For an instant I thought Mutter would see the same thing, and then things would get ugly real fast, but he just nodded again. Maybe he only saw fear. Fear was something Mutter basked in. Bastard ate it for breakfast.

Time to get back to playing the loyal follower. "Okay," I said. "So what is the plan?"

"The cell will come in the front door and remove the device."

"Just like that?" Keisha scowled.

"Just like that, Steel Witch," Mutter said, voice dripping with annoyance. He glanced at April. "April and I will be wearing HC jumpsuits, tagged as sanctioned Empowered from the European sector, the Spire in Dublin. The rest of you will be dressed as Support operatives, with appropriate identification."

This looked way too easy. Again. "What excuse do we have for being there?"

"It's classified," Mutter replied.

"So, you're not telling us."

He clapped. "Exactly. As Support operatives, your job will simply be to escort us, to follow my orders and April's. Peep will be on lookout. You and Keisha will be extraction."

"What about me?" Gus's voice trembled.

"Why, Blender, you'll be our reserve. Ready to act as needed. I will brief you later on that." That didn't make any sense. Gus's power made him a great thief.

"I don't get it. Why not send Gus in?"

April and Mutter laughed, and even Keisha shook her head in disbelief. Gus stared at his hands.

Mutter stroked the tabletop. "He's better in reserve." Mutter and his damn chess game. Reserves, he loved his reserves. Just like at the Lansing Building, only then it was me.

"Okay, fine," I said. "You're telling us this is a cakewalk. That all we've got to do is walk in the front door, check all the boxes, and walk out with some super tech that is apparently why this place exists. Won't that set off like a million alarms?"

Mutter shook his head. "It's not why it exists. This tech is a legacy item."

"Legacy item?" Keisha and I asked together.

Mutter looked over at April. "I love it when they speak in stereo." She snickered.

That didn't make any sense. "If this tech is so awesome, why is it some sort of museum piece?"

"There are all sorts of tech that the powers that be have chosen not to develop," Mutter said, always the guy with the secret.

Whatever. This whole thing smelled like a setup. Again.

He moved on. "Now, let's go over the timetable."

Mutter ran us through his plan. It really did sound like a cakewalk. All the while, I glimpsed Gus nervously rubbing his hands under the table.

He glanced at me. He looked so very afraid.

* * *

AFTER THE BRIEFING Mutter and April took us to our rooms in the farmhouse, then they headed back to the basement, no doubt to have a little confab of their own.

Our bedrooms all had bars on the windows.

I dropped my duffel bag on my narrow bed and called out to Keisha, whose room was across the hall.

"Hey, can you come here?"

"One minute," came the answer. A far cry from even a week ago, when she seemed to want nothing more than to take my head off.

She tramped into my room. "You want to talk?" Keisha asked me.

"Close the door, behind you."

She sat beside me on the narrow bed.

"We're in the shit," she said.

I nodded. "Yeah, we are. Listen," I began.

She cut me off. "No, let me say my piece first." She looked at her hands. "I've been thinking lately. A lot." She twisted her fingers, glanced over at me, suddenly looking vulnerable. "You saved my life. Yeah, sure, you nearly killed me, but I did start it. I never gave you a chance. I was jealous of you and afraid."

"You afraid of me?"

She gave me a sidelong glance, followed by a rueful laugh. "Girl, don't you know it." She looked at her hands again. "You'd been in another gang, survived the Hero Council taking your old outfit down, and spent five years in Special Corrections. Yeah, I was a little afraid.

"I'm sorry, too," I said. "I'd rather be your friend than your enemy, Keisha."

She rubbed at her eye. "Me, too."

No, we didn't hug, but for the first time I felt like maybe we really could be friends.

We sat together, sharing silence for a bit. Finally, I spoke up. "So," I whispered. "Who is this back from the dead April person?"

"A real bitch. She used to be a sanctioned Empowered, you know, one of those holier than us Hero Council Heroes, only she went over to the dark side when Halo joined the Scourge."

David Drake, twin brother of Daniel. Both men were super charismatic types. Wouldn't be hard to see how April might follow him into the Scourge.

"When did you meet her?" I asked.

"She joined the cell a few years ago."

"Was Mutter always in charge?"

"No, there was this woman named Alvarez. She never gave us her first name, nor a nickname. She was a speedster."

I'd never seen a speedster.

"How fast?"

Keisha shook her head sadly. "Not fast enough."

"What happened?"

"Alvarez and Little Miss Flame Warden hit a bank while me, Peep, and Mutter were outside, covering for when the police showed up. Something went wrong, the police got there faster than we expected, and security was on the alert. April set the building on fire, that's what she said over the radio. But we had an HC strike team coming down on us. It was all we could do to get away.

"Alvarez and April died in that inferno, along with a bunch of bank security. Mutter took over the cell after that."

So, Alvarez and April die, Mutter becomes the new leader, only April isn't really dead. Yeah, that was suspicious. But Keisha must have considered that. If not, I wasn't about to get her riled up.

Keisha went on. "I liked Alvarez--she ran a good operation. She kept us up to speed on what the Inner Circle wanted, didn't treat us like mushrooms."

I rubbed my neck, looked out the window. "Sucks."

We sat there for a while longer, just sharing the companionship.

I don't know if Keisha and I were friends, but I hadn't felt this close to someone since Lenore in Special Corrections, and prison friendships weren't the same thing. Trust no one all the way, not even me, Lenore used to say.

* * *

WE HAD AN EARLY DINNER. Mutter said we had a day or so before the job. None of us were to leave, nor make any calls. We were basically prisoners in that damn farmhouse.

Mutter made us turn in our phones, but I still had a plastic, stealth Support burner phone in a hidden compartment in my duffle bag.

Gus cornered me on the stairs, appearing out of nowhere like he could do. "We need to talk, Mat."

I jumped when he did his unblending act. "Geez, Gus, do you have to appear like that here?"

He was being very melodramatic, like a gangster with a secret, deadly serious. "Let's go outside."

"Mutter's going to get suspicious if he sees us going off to chat, don't you think?"

"Okay. I'll meet you down by the river in fifteen."

I didn't recognize this version of Gus. He acted so determined, so sure of himself. Surprised me.

I needed to go outside without making anyone else suspicious.

Peep was in the kitchen, drinking beer, his special specs on the table in front of him. He seemed shrunken without the glasses on. l didn't want him looking through my eyes to see Gus, but I wouldn't put it past the creep.

He looked up as I stomped into the kitchen, heading to the back door.

The clock above the stove said 8:06. It was night now, but as long as a peeper could see a person good enough to pick them out, they could see out of their eyes. Tanya had been able to read lips; I was sure Peep could, too.

"Where are you going?" Peep asked.

"Outside. I need some air."

"You tell Mutter?" He stared at his mostly empty beer.

"I don't want to be grilled, Peep. I just need a walk."

"Fine."

I put my hand on the doorknob, turned back. Peep took a swig from his beer, drained the last of it.

Then it hit me. He was afraid. Peep, loyal follower, mister creepy, was frightened.

He pushed back his chair, went to the fridge, opened another beer, and took a long swallow, ignoring me. He wasn't going to be following me and trying to sneak a peep.

* * *

THE NIGHT FELT OMINOUS as I walked down the grassy slope to the river. Lights from some sort of industrial facility shone on the Oregon side of the river. A bird called in a tree nearby, and then there was an answering call from an island in the river. I sensed willow trees, half submerged, on that island.

I reached the water's edge, closed my eyes, and let the quiet hum of the willows wash over me. All they knew was the water, the water-filled soil, and the water's comings and goings. The willows' world was a little island in the mighty Columbia. The trees were ignorant of the factory or whatever it was across the river, and the Interstate on the ridge a half mile behind me, beyond the farmhouse and Mutter's secret underground villain lair.

I knew how the willows felt.

So much of this world I didn't know. "The miracle of the powers" some said of our powers. Or the curse. Where did it come from? God? The Devil? Honestly I had never thought much about it. The great mystery of our time, the TV liked to call it. Even the Professor had said our powers "defied scientific explanation." Even we Empowered were in the dark about where our powers had come from.

A sudden splash and swearing jolted me.

"Gus?" I whispered. Or had Peep decided to follow me down to the river?

"Yeah." Gus appeared beside a flat rock the size of a coffee table, bent down and wiped his legs. "I didn't see that rock." He kicked the flat rock, cursed it.

"It's just a rock." I walked over to a tree stump and perched on it, hugging myself for warmth. The night had turned out to be colder than I thought.

I heard him take in a deep breath, like he was working himself up to something.

I shifted on the stump, rubbed my arms. Why hadn't I thought to bring my jacket?

The silence drew out until I itched to end it.

"Gus, what is it?"

"We both work for the same people." He blurted the words.

"Excuse me. The world seemed to tilt.

"Support."

I swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about, dude."

"Yes you do."

How did he--? "This one of Mutter's loyalty tests, Gus?"

He laughed bitterly. "He'd pull that kind of shit, wouldn't he? But he's not, this time." He tapped his chest. "I'm"--he paused. "I'm an informant for Winterfield and Sanchez. I'm why you were selected."

"Selected?"

The bitter laugh again. "Yeah. I was caught about two years after you went to Special Corrections--I'd been stealing food from restaurants, and one night, just after snagging dinner from an Italian place, Support hit me with sonics and a stunner. Can't hide from that. I woke up in some secret underground facility. They gave me a choice. Prison for life or work for them."

The same damn choice they'd given me. Bastards.

Those in the know control the ignorant.

"So, you took the offer."

"Yeah, weasel Gus, right? What choice did I have?"

Gus, the most fearful person I'd ever known in my life, getting told to infiltrate the Scourge.

"They must have had info on the Scourge cell."

"It took me a long time to find the cell, but I finally did, and approached Alvarez. If it had been Mutter, I don't think I'd have had a chance. The man is way too suspicious."

"Yeah. Then what?"

"I committed crimes for the cell and the Scourge. Alvarez was killed. We thought Flame," he paused, "I mean April, died too. Mutter took over."

I jumped up. "Damn Winterfield," I said, and my voice was a harsh rasp. "Mushrooms, being fed shit, that's all we've been to him."

"I couldn't tell you, Mat. I was ordered not to. And I was afraid."

I clenched my jaw so hard my face started to hurt, and my fingers dug into my thighs.

Alex--that flash of recognition on Gus's face when we brought Keisha to the safe house, that should have tipped me off.

I grabbed him by the shoulders. "So, you reported on me?" Rage poured through me like lava.

"I'm, I'm sorry Mat. I had to."

Damn those two men. They had me so fingered. Their favorite mushroom.

I shoved him away. "Why tell me now, Gus? Why break your silence? You've been a good little spy for Winterfield and Alex."

He stumbled and fell.

My shoulders sagged. Just like that, my anger was gone. I just felt cold and empty inside.

"Maybe I deserved that, Mat," Gus said. He picked himself up, holding his left wrist.

A stab of guilt ran through me but I wasn't going to apologize.

"Why tell me now?" I repeated.

"Because Mutter's lying about the target."

"I knew it smelled wrong. Bullshit about tech that could alter plants."

"That's just it, Mat, the tech can alter plants."

"So, it's not about the tech?"

"It is about the tech, just not the way Mutter spun it. The device we're supposed to steal amplifies an Empowered's ability. Makes a power way stronger and more potent. So, yeah, if you had the Amplifier, it would amplify your plant abilities, let you create new species, change the biology. You name it. You'd almost be like a god."

That was a horrible thought. A device that could boost an Empowered. Turn you into a super human of super humans. Shit. I didn't want to think about Mutter or April with that kind of power. Hell, I didn't want to think about me with that kind of power. No one should have it.

Steam rose from the factory across the river, disappeared into the black night.

"You'd be invisible if you used it, wouldn't you? Do you wear this amplifier whatever it is thing?"

"Yeah. Some kind of harness." He rubbed the side of his face. "Mutter wants it for himself. I think he could create tornadoes or even worse."

"Why isn't this better guarded?"

"Because Support doesn't know they have it."

He stepped close, dared to put his hand on my shoulder. "I spied on Mutter and April after the Lansing Building heist. They used that as cover to go after Van Cleeve, because he'd been involved in a secret power boosting project for the Hero Council, a long time ago."

"The Amplifiers."

"They were supposed to be destroyed, but for some reason Van Cleeve arranged to have two kept intact and hidden inside Support. They were hidden at the bottom of this Sequoia complex. A long time ago."

The Professor told me once that the best way to lie is to hide it inside the truth. That's what Mutter had done. What Van Cleeve had done.

Mutter would be worse than just dangerous if he had that thing. "And he needed to keep the Scourge in the dark."

Gus exhaled sharply. "This is his plan. For him only."

Winterfield and Alex would want to know, but if they knew, they might stop it. I needed my freedom. If Mutter was captured, my family would be in his sights.

"Okay, so now we know," I said.

"We need to leave, Mat."

"What? No." No way I'd leave now. I couldn't let that bastard have an amplifier. He'd become king of the world.

"We have to," he insisted. "Mutter's going to kill us all."

"No, if we leave, he'll come after us." Or come after my family.

"It's the only way to survive.

"Make a beeline to Support, is that it?"

He leaned in close to me. "Yes! Let them nab the guy before he could get his hands on the amplifier." He looked me pleadingly.

But that would blow any chance I had of worming my way into the Inner Circle. By the terms of my assignment, I would have failed. Back to prison for me. And, like I said, Mutter could still hurt my family from Special Corrections. No, I needed to end this. Permanently.

"I'm staying." I crossed my arms.

"But Support needs to be told about his plan."

I shook my head. "That's not my assignment, Gus."

He shook his head. "What? What are you up to, if it isn't to spy?"

Funny. Gus wasn't thinking. Now that I knew he was Support's informant in Mutter's cell, Winterfield's plan was even more obvious--of course I was supposed to find a way to get to the Inner Circle, otherwise why did Support need me?

But Support hadn't told him. Once a mushroom, always a mushroom.

I pulled Gus close, whispered in his ear. "This goes further than just ratting Mutter out." If I wanted, I could tell Support. I had the burner phone, I could use it.

"Damn it, Mat, we are in the shit now."

"We've been in the shit for a long time now, Gus."

If he had a burner phone of his own, I was screwed. But he hadn't said anything, and I wasn't going to ask him and tip him off that I had one.

He begged me again, but I wouldn't budge. He disappeared.

I called out, but there was no answer. Fine. I had to do this.

|  |

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# Chapter 16

A cyclone invaded my nightmares. I stood on one of the bridges over the Willamette. The sky was a bright blue, blue as could be with the sun shining down. And then the winds began to blow and blow. Buildings swayed. Cars slammed together and smashed into guardrails. The bridges swayed. The wind's howl became a scream. The hurricane winds pulled trees from the ground and hurled them into high-rise buildings.

I thought I heard someone sobbing, wailing tearful pleas amid the raging storm, but I couldn't make out who it was. I slept.

Someone was shaking me. I tried to stay asleep but they kept shaking me.

"Mat." The voice was an urgent whisper.

I groaned. "What is it?"

Keisha knelt beside my bed. It was still night. "Mutter wants us down in the bunker."

"At this hour?" I sat up. "What time is it?"

"Too damn early."

I rubbed my eyes. "Don't we get to eat breakfast first?" This is where the hurry began, and the run up to Seattle.

"After." She gripped my arm. "Listen, I can't find Gus."

My empty stomach twisted. He had done it. Gus had taken off. "He's not in his room?"

"That was the first place I checked. He's not hanging out."

"Maybe he's just hiding. Blending."

"I don't think so. You know he can't keep it up for more than a little while."

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Mutter's going to..." I stopped. Closed my eyes. I didn't want to think about that. "Do something nasty when he finds out," I finished.

I got up and went down to the bunker.

Our boots on the metal stairs sounded like the echo of doom all the way down. Gus had run for it. God damn him. I tried to force myself to calm down. Thinking about how Mutter would react when he learned Gus was gone made me jumpy, which made me angry.

I stomped into the briefing room with Keisha trailing behind me.

Peep, April, and Mutter waited around the table. Mutter was tapping his fingers on the tabletop. He wore that styling undertaker black suit of his, a satisfied smile on his smug face.

"Nice of you to join us," he said. He sounded pleased with himself.

We sat.

Mutter raised an eyebrow. "Where is Blender?"

"I couldn't find him," Keisha said. I could see she was fighting to stay calm. I was doing the same.

"Oh, really?" Mutter pursed his lips. He sighed, and the air around us sighed in reply. "Ah, well. Little men have a bad habit of getting lost. Well, we won't wait on him."

"Aren't you concerned?" I asked him. "We need Gus."

"No, we need people who are dedicated and focused. Gus is neither. He is a useful piece to have in reserve, but is not essential to the plan at all."

I didn't get Mutter shrugging off Gus's absence. "But we don't know where he went?"

"He no longer matters." That was the end of it. Just like that. It was crazy, but I sure wasn't going to push it.

Mutter ran us through the operation again. Keisha would need to cut through at least one door in the lower levels, and I needed to move a tree with my power. A redwood.

"Trees are tough," I said. "They take a lot of energy to control."

Mutter smiled thinly at this. "I have faith in you," he said. April smirked at me.

Bitch.

He ran us through the timetable. April had brought a black bag filled with Support badges, radios, stunners, all kinds of gear. How the hell did they get these items? Support kept them under lock and key.

"These the real deal?" I asked her.

"I wouldn't be wasting your time, Vine, if they weren't."

Vine. Very funny. Not even Keisha called me that anymore.

"The name's Mat." I hefted the stunner. It was light in my hand. Pointed it at April. "Shall I test it?"

Her sneer became a grimace. "Amusing."

"Children, please, no fighting," Mutter said. "Time for breakfast. You are dismissed."

"You've already eaten?" I asked.

"Don't worry about us," Mutter said, including April with a sweep of his arm.

Peep followed Keisha and me up to the farmhouse.

"You see Gus?" I asked him as we entered the kitchen, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible.

"No. Not since dinner last night."

"You think he's run off?"

He shrugged. "Possibly. He's always been unstable."

Coming from Creepy Peep that was ironic. "You're not worried?"

"What? About him." He snorted. "Of course not. He's weak. More risky if he's around."

I didn't get that attitude. Gus could have been an assassin. Okay he was a spy and a thief, but being practically invisible was a huge advantage

Still worried about what might have happened to Gus, I couldn't eat. Keisha just picked at her food.

"Children, you need to eat." Mutter stood in the doorway. "You'll need your strength later today." My heart raced.

Keisha and I forced ourselves to eat.

He watched us for a while, then left.

Peep got up and went after him, leaving Keisha and me to clean up.

That would have pissed me off before, but I couldn't stop thinking about Gus.

"I just don't get him, taking off like that," I said to Keisha after we'd finished.

She gave me a long, searching look. "Girl, really? This is Blender we're talking about. The weasel, that's what you call him, right? He runs off like all weasels."

She went upstairs, leaving me staring out the back-door window at the river.

* * *

I WANDERED THE GROUNDS, went back down to the river. A meadowlark sat in a willow branch out on the half-submerged island, singing a happy song. I only half listened.

If Gus had run back to Support, now would be about when they would swoop down on us. My mission would be over before I'd accomplished it.

I sat there, brooding. Time passed. The meadowlark flew off. A big freighter went by out on the river. No Support. I went back up to the house.

Peep told me Mutter wanted me down below.

Mutter had me try on a Support "men in black" outfit. "Needs to be taken in a bit," he observed. "I can manage that."

I must have looked surprised. "A bespoke suit needs a good tailor," he said. Cryptic as all hell to me. He took my measurements. Another thing to throw in the basket of the bizarre: Mutter the tailor.

Boots echoed on the stairs. I tensed. Support?

Keisha appeared, sheepish. "Sorry I'm late."

"For once, your timing is perfect, Steel Witch," Mutter said. He turned back to me. "You can go."

Keisha rolled her eyes at me as we passed each other.

Back upstairs I wandered around the barn. I was restless. Part of me couldn't believe Gus had just run like that. Maybe he was hiding someplace in the barn. There was no sign of April--she was probably in her quarters below, and Peep was still back at the farmhouse. This was the perfect time to poke around. Other than the van, the floor of the barn was empty. But a ladder went up to a loft area, which was now some kind of office.

Filing cabinets lined one wall, drawers open and papers scattered over the floor. Total mess. Weird. Records of some kind I guess, but I didn't stop to look. I felt like I was walking in a minefield, and at any moment, the room would explode around me. There was a door at the far end. It was unlocked.

Inside the room was dark. There was a shit stink. I fumbled around for a light switch. My fingers found the switch, and flipped the lights on. The room was filled with survival gear, rope, pallets of water bottles, lots of plastic sheeting. A plastic tarp hung on the far wall.

The smell got stronger as I neared the tarp, making my eyes water.

I hesitated. I definitely smelled shit, mingled with the coppery tang of blood.

My fingers trembled as I pulled back one corner of the plastic sheet, on the top right.

Blood-soaked, greasy black hair.

My breath froze.

I pulled the tarp down further.

Tie-down cords lashed Gus to the cement wall, arms out, like he had been crucified. His eyes--one was gone, leaving only a bloody socket, the other was half out. His mouth hung slack, too slack. His jaw had been broken. Dried blood caked his face and neck. It was like he had exploded from within.

His skin was spiderwebbed with red veins. He had exploded from within, as though someone had filled him with air.

Mutter.

Gus's fingernails had left bloody gouges in his own palms.

I collapsed to my knees, squeezed my eyes shut, but couldn't get the image of Gus out of my head, his eyes staring at nothing, dead. Someone moaned softly. It was me.

I whimpered. Rocked back and forth.

Bastard Mutter had killed him. Tortured him to death.

"Oh, Gus," I whispered. "You didn't run away. You stayed." Guilt washed over me. If only he had run off. But he stayed. If only I'd listened and gone with him, he'd be alive now. But he'd stayed and been murdered.

Mutter had had the balls to sit there and ask us what had happened to Blender. To go on and say that Gus's absence didn't matter. Murdering bastard. He'd probably been laughing inside at his sick joke. Sure, Gus didn't matter now, he was dead, killed by our lunatic leader.

It must have been like pulling the wings off a fly for Mutter. My chest tightened. Damn Mutter.

I got up and covered Gus. I'd have to tell Winterfield about him, have him collected, so he could be given a decent burial somewhere. Or was it a cremation? Gus had never told me what he wanted.

I dried my eyes.

I couldn't cry now. Crying was weakness, and weakness would mean death. I couldn't be afraid, either, it would reveal me. And I couldn't show my anger. I forced my fingers to unclench. Took a deep breath. The smell of Gus's shit made me sick. I left the room and closed the door behind me. Took another breath. I felt my anger inside me, like a volcano about to explode. I couldn't do that. Not now.

* * *

I SNUCK BACK TO MY room and took a long shower, but I couldn't wash the smell away. There was a flower in my room, an African violet, dying in its little pot. I watered it and stroked its leaves with my finger. My emotions were a roiling mess. If I sent my power into the flower, I might kill it.

But I had to do something. I brushed at it gently, like the African violet was made of the thinnest paper and might tear or crumple if I pressed too much into it. The flower swayed, petals opening. I hoped it was enough.

I didn't have much time.

I went back down to the river once more, my one-shot cell phone in my coat pocket. The wind rustled the grass along the shoreline, a natural breeze without Empowered intervention.

The Meadowlark was gone and the willow trees shivered in the breeze, buds eager to blossom.

My hand closed on the phone in my pocket. I couldn't push the image of Gus out of my mind, Christ-like in death, his skin a patchwork of bruises and dried blood.

One call.

One call was all the phone would give me.

I wondered how Ruth was, how sick she was today, and what the twins were doing.

Would Winterfield honor our agreement? Would Support say I'd done my job if I called them in now? I didn't know. Maybe yes. Maybe no.

Would that be the right thing to do?

I thumbed the phone, dialed.

Put it to my ear, closed my eyes, and waited for the answer.

"Hello?" Ella said.

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Ella, it's me, big sis."

"Mat!" Concern filled her voice. "Where are you?"

"I can't say right now."

"That man hasn't come back," she said.

I tucked my head, hunched over. If I had anything to say about it, he never would again.

"I am glad to hear that." I said. "How's Ruth?"

The sound of a door opening and a car engine.

"I'm outside now, on the porch," Ella said. "Ruth isn't doing so well, but she acts like everything is fine. You know Grandma."

Yeah, that sounded just like Ruth. "How's Ava?"

"She's still really mad at you."

"I'm sorry," I said. I wiped my eyes. "I didn't want it to be like this."

"Mat, I know you care about us."

"Thanks."

"No," she said, more insistent. "I mean it, I know you really, really care about us, and whatever you are doing is to help us out."

I dabbed my eyes. "That means a lot."

"I wanted to tell you that. You must be in a bad place by the way you sound. I wanted you to know we all care about you. Even Ava. We're worried. But I also wanted to let you know I love you, and love you even more for trying to take care of us."

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"I love you, too," I said. "All of you."

"I know. Grandma and Ava do, too, really."

Her voice got small.

"Big sis?"

"Yes?"

"Be strong. We're thinking of you, always."

The horror of Gus's death was still with me, but I felt my little sister's love and concern, and suddenly, I felt lighter.

"I'll call again as soon as I can," I said when I was able to speak again.

"Take care, big sis."

"You, too, little sis."

I thumbed the phone off. The display went red, then black. I couldn't turn it on again.

I pulled my arm back, threw the phone as far as I could out into the river. It spun as it hurtled through the air, splashed fifty yards out, and vanished into the dark water.

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# Chapter 17

"Hey!" Keisha's angry shout snapped me out of my brooding.

I'd been on the riverbank for maybe fifteen minutes since calling Ella, just staring at the river, trying to keep the rage inside me from exploding.

Keisha ran down the grassy hill towards me. Her black leather coat billowed around her like the wings of some giant bird. She slipped and fell, got back up. She reached me, breathing hard.

"Did you know?" She gasped, bent over, took in huge gulps of air. "Mutter says Gus is dead." She put a hand on my arm as she struggled to stop gasping.

"Gus took off," I said. It sounded lame, even to my ears.

She straightened up. "So, he did split?" Her chest heaved.

I swallowed. Damn this was hard. "Once a weasel, always a weasel." If she found out Mutter had killed him, she would try to kill him here. But not now. He might be expecting it. And we wouldn't have him red-handed, stealing the amplifier, so I could show the Scourge that he had betrayed them. Yeah, that was a long shot, but what choice did I have? Either way, it had to be when he wasn't expecting it. In the middle of the Sequoia job. Not here where he was strong and had April watching his back.

Her eyes narrowed. "The lying sack of shit, Mutter, he said Gus is dead. To my face. Implied he killed him."

I pulled away from Keisha. I had enough trouble keeping myself from trying to murder the monster. Restraining Keisha would be a tall order if she knew the truth.

"What happened?"

"I found him down in the bunker with April, by the rooms they say are off-limits to the rest of us. Told him I couldn't find Gus; he must have run off." She scowled. "You know what that fucker did? He laughed. Said something like, "Blender should have been so lucky." I asked what he meant by that, and he told me Gus was dead, that he was unreliable." She stomped her foot. "You only say shit like that if you did it."

"He's lying."

"Why would he?"

"He's trying to scare you."

"We next?"

"That's what he wants us to think."

The air crackled. The dirt began to vibrate and smoke. Tiny bits of metal, red-hot, floated around her outstretched hand. She flicked a finger and the bits came together like potter's clay, spun, formed a long, slender barbed nail. "He's not going to scare me," Keisha said.

More metal appeared.

"Just take a deep breath," I told her. She needed to calm down now. My own anger still roiled inside me.

She shook her head. "Fucker can't intimidate me."

Messing with people's head was what Mutter really loved to do.

"Just ignore him."

Two nails now, spinning in the air.

"I don't think he's lying." She gave me a hard look. Her scowl deepened. "Where is Gus?"

"He left."

"Without saying anything?"

I shrugged.

She stretched out her palm, and the nails stopped spinning, dropped into her open hand.

"Really?"

"You know Gus," I said.

"Yeah, I do. He's a weasel, but he'd tell one of us, me or you. Maybe both. If he was that scared, he'd have tried to get us to leave with him." She leaned in close. "I think you are lying."

"No."

"He is dead!"

She whipped around, and the two nails hurled across the river into the nearer willow on the half-submerged island. The tree's shriek filled my mind and I clutched at my head.

"Why are you lying to me!" Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

I shoved her back. "Because I'm trying to save our asses."

She swung at me, her fist smashed my jaw, and I went down.

I swept my legs around and knocked her on her ass. She sat up just as I tackled her and we slammed into the ground. We wrestled in the dirt. I finally managed to get on top of her and pin her arms to ground.

"I don't want you to die," I said in her ear.

She froze. "Why the hell would you care?"

I held her against the ground. "Because I do. Because, like it or not, Keisha, we're friends, and friends look out for each other."

"But why would he kill Gus?" She shoved at me. "Damn it, why?"

This was it. It was all in or nothing at all now.

"Because Gus found out what Mutter is really up to."

She blinked.

"Listen," I whispered. "Gus came to me and said Mutter was after something called an amplifier, a piece of tech that boosts an Empowered's abilities."

"Does the Scourge know about this?"

I sat up, rolled off her, and helped her sit up. "No, and Mutter wants to keep it that way."

"We need to tell them then. Now."

I shook my head. "How are we going to reach them? Do you have a number we can call? I sure as hell don't. Do you see any way other than that medallion thing Mutter keeps around his neck?"

"I still want to kill that asshole," she growled.

"So do I," I whispered.

I got to my feet. "But we have to do this right. We have to catch him red-handed, kill him and then contact the Scourge."

Keisha brushed herself off, gave me a hard look. "So, we go through with this crazy-assed plan, and then, when the time is right, we take him and April down?"

"Yeah, just like that."

"You give me the signal--shout "For Gus," and I'll kill that fucker deader than dead. April, too."

"For Gus," I said.

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# Chapter 18

The helicopter banked over Puget Sound, rotors whirring. The waters sparkled below us, the wakes from boats gleaming white. I leaned into my harness. My stomach lurched and I thought I was going to throw up. Keisha was beside me, hands clutching her armrests. Peep sat behind us, humming. Crazy creep. April piloted the copter while Mutter lounged in the copilot's seat. He acted like he was sightseeing rather than leading us into the dragon's den, pointing out the Space Needle and other Seattle landmarks.

We flew past a white surveillance blimp. That was a bad sign.

There was a worse one below us. A huge aircraft carrier floated in the Sound, the United Nations flag flying above her bridge alongside the gold Hero Council banner. Black helicopters and jets lined her flight deck.

I craned my head around as we passed in time to see a blue streak land on the deck. An Empowered. A moment later another landed, this one in bulky armor. Dynamo--Karl Cooper of the Hero Council's First Team. The name Protector was painted in huge white letters on the far side of the ship's superstructure.

We were in deep trouble. "First Team's here," I told the others.

Keisha shot me a worried look. "Damn it," she said.

"Not to worry," Mutter said, as if that were the end of it.

First Team had four members. It was first among the North American sanctioned Empowered. Other teams had usually had three Empowered. First Team always had four.

I closed my eyes. I wouldn't be getting out of this one alive.

The Space Needle rose off to our left, an HC pennant flying beside the US and Washington State Flags.

Keisha and Peep saw it, too. I heard Keisha swear under her breath.

"We have to get out of here," Peep said. "Seattle is crawling with sanctioned Empowered."

"Like I said, all under control." Something in the way he said the words stood my hair on end. He seemed happy that the Hero Council was here in force.

"But they'll hit us like God's hammer," Peep yelled over the rotor's whine.

Just like when the Hero Council had come down on the Renegades.

"Exactly," Mutter said, pleased with himself.

"I didn't sign up for suicide." Peep was having a rare moment of reluctance.

"Not to worry, my friend," Mutter replied. "You didn't. Like I said, this is all under control."

Mutter wanted the Hero Council to be here.

We flew over the Sequoia building and landed on the helicopter pad next to the building. Inside the Sequoia a half-dozen redwoods rose, green giants towering two hundred feet above the ground.

Keisha squeezed her eyes shut and mumbled under her breath.

I leaned over as the helicopter approached the landing pad.

"Hang tough." I squeezed her shoulder.

She nodded.

My heart hammered in my chest. I needed to follow my own words.

* * *

THE BLACK SUPPORT TWO-piece suit was tailored for me, just like Mutter had said it would be. I carried a standard issue thin-line briefcase, Support wrist comm, comp-pad, and wore fake Super Shades. That's what Mutter called them when he'd handed them out, sneering at his own words.

I carried a mini-stunner holstered inside my suit. The suit made me feel even more awkward--I'd never worn one before.

Keisha and Peep dressed the same, were equipped the same, Peep had given up his creep glasses for the Super Shades, his eyes hidden behind the mirrored lenses just as ours were.

April and Mutter were in their blue Hero Council jumpsuits. April wore her helmet but Mutter left his in the helicopter

Seemed like a dead giveaway to me, but Mutter brushed aside my concern.

"Suit ID," he said. "And we're in the database. Facility security will recognize me as sanctioned."

Incredible. I couldn't imagine how Mutter had managed to get entries for him and April into Support's computer system. If he was lying, this was going to be a very short job.

We walked in a wedge, Mutter and April in the front, me behind Mutter's right, Keisha behind April's left, and Peep behind us.

The surveillance blimp was overhead. A blue streak hurled up from the Sound and entered the observation blister in the blimp's belly.

Great, we were going to be filmed in full color from all angles when they caught us. Or killed us.

April flashed an ID badge at the first checkpoint, outside the building. Security was a two-person team behind a standing console with a Clearplex bullet screen, a man and a woman, both in standard Support black two-piece suits like me, wearing Super Shades and, no-doubt, holstered stunners inside their suits.

The woman's hands worked the console while her partner held up a scanner. April waved the badge in front of it.

There was a beep and a green light flashed on the front of the console.

"You're good to go, ma'am," the woman said. She did it for each of us.

"Okay, thanks," the guy said. Waved us past.

The next checkpoint was at the entrance to the building itself. It had two doors, like an airlock.

The six-story building's exterior was all Clearplex, a very transparent glass that almost looked as if it wasn't there.

Twenty feet from the door I began to feel the redwoods. At first it felt like a tremor, but as we stepped closer, the tremor became a rumble and that, in turn, became a deep throated wordless chorus, a song to the sun and air, pulling me out of myself.

"Mat!" Keisha hissed. "What are you doing?"

Mutter and April looked back at me from the entrance. Mutter frowned. April wore her helmet, so her face was hidden.

The low, rumbling song of the redwoods kept pulling at me. My awareness soared up to the crown of the nearest tree. All around me life sang.

"Agent!" I heard Mutter say. I blinked. I was standing still. People were starting to stare.

"Mat!" Keisha doubled down on Mutter's insistence.

"I'm okay," I hissed back at her. We marched at the double to reach Mutter and April.

"There was a problem with my lens array, but the system reset," I said to Keisha in a loud voice.

Mutter didn't miss a beat. "Very good, agent. We need to have you on top of your game. That means using all the tools at your disposal."

Yeah, I caught his emphasis.

He pivoted smartly and placed his palm against a handprint pad. He'd mentioned those in the briefing, but I'd never seen one before, not even in Special Corrections. More new tech.

Drone cameras floated over to watch us.

The door chimed, opened with a swishing sound and sealed behind us. We had to walk between banks of scanning equipment and stop.

Seemed like we had to wait forever. The trees pulled at me again and I had to force myself to resist them.

Keisha's left hand tapped against her leg. Peep studied his hands. Wouldn't do for him to try his power on someone inside now, and then miss a cue to get moving. That would be a dead giveaway. Mutter was talking to April in a low voice. She listened and nodded at his words. Quite the act those two had going.

The door chimed, and slid open. The air inside felt like it did after a rainstorm. My spirits lifted and my feet seemed lighter as we walked into the dragon's den.

Mutter went to the nearest security station, and presented his badge.

The Support operative regarded Mutter cooly.

"Sir, I need an admittance code."

"Of course," Mutter said smoothly. He handed over a data chip. The agent inserted it into a reader.

The agent's eyes narrowed with the look of a man who was suddenly not seeing what he's supposed to see. "That's odd," he said. "Hey, Phelps, can you come over here?" Another agent came over, her face all business.

"What is it, Felix?" the other agent asked.

"I don't know, the security systems suddenly went offline." He looked confused.

Alarms suddenly shrieked. Keisha, Peep and I jumped at the sound, looked frantically around. Agents began drawing weapons, looking around for whatever had tripped the alarm. The red lights blinked on over the airlock-like entrance.

A robotic sounding voice boomed over the intercom. "Building is in lockdown mode, repeat, building is in lockdown mode." Great, we were locked inside.

Mutter raised his hand to his mouth. Agent Felix looked confused. Agent Felix and his partner reached for their stunners.

Mutter was Mister Cool as chaos erupted around him.

He pinched his fingertips around his mouth, sucked in air. Felix clutched his throat, eyes wide, flailed his arms and dropped his stunner. Mutter's strangle move.

The other agent drew her stunner.

"Not so fast," April said mildly, as if she were ordering coffee. Flame exploded from her hands and engulfed the other woman, who screamed in agony. The stink of charring flesh and burnt blood clogged the air. I wanted to vomit but somehow managed to not. Keisha's face went hard, while Peep was looking away.

More agents rushed toward us.

Mutter chopped the air. There was an ear shattering boom and Support agents rushing us went flying backwards like bowling pins to crash into the far wall.

I heard a humming sound and dropped to the floor. Stunners. Flames roared past me, followed by more screams. I couldn't look. The firing stopped.

Mutter reached down, and flipped a switch on the console.

"Interior door override initiated," the robotic voice boomed.

Elevator doors opened in the central "stack" in front of us.

"Move!" Mutter's voice was finally urgent.

Keisha stood frozen. I grabbed her arm. "Come on!"

She shook herself and broke into a run.

A flash of movement at the edge of my vision. I looked up. A thousand feet overhead and to the east, the blimp pivoted to face in our direction. Two figures appeared and dove toward us.

We reached the elevators.

The doors closed as something armored slammed into the Clearplex windows. The building shuddered. Incredibly the glass flexed but didn't shatter.

Mutter laughed as the elevator doors closed. "Blocked by their own defenses."

"We're screwed!" Keisha was wild-eyed. "They've got us trapped. And all for what?"

The elevator began descending. Peep looked nearly as panicked as Keisha did, while April pulled off her helmet, smirking. Damn Mutter. He had indeed trapped us, the nut-job. Rage filled me.

"All going according to plan," Mutter said. "Calm down." He glanced at me. "Your anger is a waste of energy, Mathilda."

Screw him. At least I wasn't panicking.

Five floors down. We passed the first sub-basement.

"Building defenses under assault," the Intercom announced.

"Why is the building announcing we are under attack?" Peep asked.

"Because I ordered it to." Mutter's confidence was unbelievable. Was he that crazy? Or more stupid than I realized? He wore that smug, self-satisfied smirk. So sure of himself. So in control.

Of course. Bastard. He wanted them to come after us. It was another part of his plan, another part he had kept from us because he was a control freak and a sadistic sociopath.

The elevator stopped at the third basement level.

"We need to take the stairs down from here on," Mutter said. "Keisha, get ready."

She shook herself. "What?"

"We will need you to cut through the barrier doors.

"Shit."

"That's all you talk about," April said, and smirked again.

I wanted to smash that smug smirk off her face.

"Half the world is coming down on us," I said. "And all you can do is smirk."

"Don't you start," April snapped. "It's enough we've got your pal here panicked."

My face flushed. I turned to Mutter. "You wanted us trapped, didn't you?"

He didn't flinch in the face of my anger. "Everything is going according to plan."

The elevator shuddered.

The doors opened to a long hallway, all metal, with oval doorways like hatches in an old warship but without the wheel-style door cranks.

Mutter blew a long stream of air into the hallway. It exploded into a gust of wind.

"Invisible knock out gas," Mutter said. "I always enjoy blowing it away. Literally." His laugh ended in a high-pitched giggle. April smirked at him.

He led us out of the elevator. He behaved as if he was just out jogging or something, rather than breaking into the heart of a high security complex.

He pointed at the far door. "Remove that obstacle."

Keisha raised her arms and walked toward the door. We followed slowly behind her. The door began to come apart like a puzzle, piece by piece, steam billowing.

Holes began appearing in the door. Beyond was a Support detail in body armor.

Keisha slammed her hand forward. Metal shards shot into body armor, ripping holes in the armor but not penetrating. They had brought up their guns, some kind of automatic rifle, when April raised her hands. Flame blasted the corridor and the armored agents screamed.

"Team work," Mutter said. "It makes a difference."

We passed the charred bodies; the stench of burnt flesh filled the air. My stomach lurched. How many people would die today? All because of one crazy man. I glared at Mutter's back. He could care less about lives.

April staggered. Maybe throwing all that fire around had worn out Miss Co-Psycho.

Keisha was stumbling as we got to the stairway. Exhausted.

I slipped an arm under hers, helped her along. Mutter was going to use us all up. We'd have nothing left when First Team came down on us, which wouldn't be long now. The whole thing was crazy beyond belief.

"Touching," Mutter said, noticing my arm under Keisha. "Not to worry, everyone will be rejuvenated when we reach the bottom level."

Really? Yet another secret he was holding close to his chest. I didn't think I could hate him any more than I already did, but he had a knack for making me hate him.

The building shuddered. First Team must be battering its way in.

Mutter turned to Peep. "This is as far as you go," he said.

Peep's face paled. "What do you mean?"

"I need you on overwatch at this point, Lyle."

"What good will that do? I'll see the First Team seeing me, if I'm lucky."

Peep's power--being able to look through the eyes of another, came in handy when the job was theft, or spying, but defending? It didn't make sense. Peep didn't think so, either.

"No way," he said. Mutter raised a hand, pinched his fingers together and muttered a word under his breath. Peep clutched his throat, fighting to breathe.

Mutter released him and he doubled over.

"You'll do as I direct," Mutter said.

Mutter wanted him out of the way. Peep once said he could see out of others eyes, and others could see out if his, if they had the same "Peep power." Just like my dead friend Tanya. Someone else in the Scourge might possess the same ability, and be able to see what Mutter was up to.

Or it was because Mutter just wanted him out of the way, and it was easier to let Support deal with him than kill him. To a sadist like Mutter, it might be interesting because it was different than just choking him to death. Who knew, maybe Peep would get in a lucky shot or two before they took him down.

We left Peep looking forlorn at the top of the stairs, cradling a stun rifle Mutter had given him from one of the bodies, with another rifle propped up against the wall.

No doubt, if he had the chance, Mutter would take care of Keisha and me in nasty fashion when the time came. If we gave him that chance.

* * *

KEISHA OPENED THE STEEL door at the bottom of the stairs. The air felt electric, charged with a waterfall scent. Everything was lit in a shimmering golden light.

I glanced up as we entered the chamber. The golden light came from crystalline lights set in a rock ceiling three stories up, and it washed over us like soft sunlight. The basement maps were wrong--the final three floors were actually just one, a huge vaulted cavern. Moss hung from the gigantic redwood trunks that rose through holes in the ceiling.

Ash trees lined the room to our left, and off to our right were low firs. In the center was a marsh. Cattails swayed, dragonflies flitted from lily pad to lily pad. The earth surrounding the pond was covered in moss.

It was all so very alive.

Every nerve in my body trembled. It was like being drunk and high at the same time. The wet smell of life filled me.

Mutter leaned into my field of view.

"Drunk on the life here, aren't you, Mathilda?" He pointed at the low island in the center of the marsh. A shore pine grew from the soil there, leaning to the left. "That's where our prize lies."

Yeah, I remembered it from his crazy briefing. I shook off the groggy feeling. "Under that tree there, right?"

"Yes. Hidden at the heart of this bio chamber."

Why would Van Cleeve bury secret tech beneath a shore pine in a hidden bio chamber? Hiding it inside of a Support facility

I got to my feet. Shook my head, trying to clear it.

Our comms came on.

"First team is here," Peep said.

No kidding. I was surprised it had taken them this long. I actually felt sorry for Creepy Peep. Left to be taken out just because Mutter didn't want any chance that the Scourge could spy on him, and he couldn't be bothered to kill the poor bastard himself.

Mutter looked annoyed. "Thank you for the update, Lyle."

Peep must have left the channel open. His stunner buzzed in three short bursts, then went continuous.

Mutter made a chopping motion. "Turn your comms off," he ordered. He turned to Keisha.

She leaned against the moss covered wall, taking deep breaths.

"Keisha, we need you to create a steel wall in the stairwell."

She glanced at me, a question in her eyes. I nodded. She went through the open door.

"That won't hold them long," I said.

Mutter laughed. "It won't have to." He pointed at the shore pine. "I need you to topple that tree. Our prize is directly beneath it."

"Kill it?"

"Yes."

This was it. I closed my eyes, extending my sense into the pine. It hummed in my mind, content, a quiet joy in the vibration of its wordless song. I reached deep inside, down into its roots.

"Do it!" Mutter whispered in my ear. "Now."

Killing a tree. The bastard. It wasn't that easy.

Hot anger erupted from deep within me. My arms shook.

"Excellent," Mutter crowed. "This is what you need."

Putting what I did into words was damn hard. I flushed the pine with a blight, fed by the energy of this place, mold and rot from the roots on up. Steam rose from the tree. It shrieked in my mind, an iron fist of pain that squeezed at me. I cried out.

Mutter clapped in admiration, smiling. He was loving this.

A branch splintered and fell into the pond with a splash. The tree leaned after it. Earth erupted and the pine toppled, sending a wave of water that lapped against our feet. The tree bobbed in the water.

Pain hammered my skull.

My vision blurred, went red. Through my blurry vision I glimpsed a metal hatch inside the fresh crater torn up by the tree's death.

"How...how are you going to reach that?"

Mutter pulled a folded rubber square from his coat, tugged at it. Air hissed and a rubber raft inflated. "Easily," he said.

He and April climbed into the raft. He pushed off.

April stood, took off her coat and held it up, like a sail. Mutter gestured, and wind blew the raft across the pond to the little island.

Keisha staggered from the stairway, slammed the door.

"Is it sealed?" I yelled?

"Yeah." She looked around, stupidly.

"Come on!" I called and waved at her to get moving. Now. It was now or never.

She ran toward me, fell. Didn't get up. She must have worn herself to the bone sealing the stairway. I ran to her, helped her up. She shook herself.

"Time?" she asked.

Mutter already had the hatch open. He pulled out a metallic harness thing attached to a pair of silver gauntlets. In the center of the harness was a silver disk. He slipped the harness on, then pulled the gauntlets over his hands.

I wildly looked around for a plant, anything. The tree was in pieces, and my head still hurt like hell.

A boom from the stair.

I grabbed Keisha and we sprinted around the pond to the far side.

Thunder boomed on the island. A shock wave slammed Keisha and me off our feet. Mutter rose up into the air, arms out, a joyful smile on his face.

April kneeling, tugged on a second harness and gauntlets, shuddering as she did.

An armored figure appeared in the doorway, silver and gold. Dynamo.

He grabbed the door. The metal screamed as he ripped the door free. He flung it at Mutter, who slammed it away with a blast of air.

"You cannot touch me!" Mutter shouted.

April flexed her hands, flung a geyser of white-hot flame at Dynamo. Suit rockets blazing, Dynamo launched himself into the air. The superheated flame melted the wall behind where he had been.

"We are in the shit now, Mat," Keisha whispered.

With the Amplifiers, Mutter and April would be invincible.

April threw a ball of flame at Dynamo as Mutter hit him with a hurricane blast. Dynamo was hurled into the wall, high up. The fireball exploded against him. Silver and gold turned orange in the flame. He fell.

The ceiling rumbled, opened in the center, dilating in a whorl of metal. A blue figure flew like a spear through the opening, grabbing Mutter. They fought in the air.

Mutter knocked his opponent away and into the water. April jetted white-hot fire into the water. The pond exploded into steam, forcing Keisha and I against the wall.

In the center of the pond the Empowered stood, uniform scalded away, his skin gone, showing muscles like one of those visible man models. He crumpled to the ground, lidless eyes staring through me. Dead.

The floors above dilated open until there was a column of space up to the ground level.

The air rushed around us, a mad cyclone of wind. In the center, Mutter rose toward the upper levels. This is what he'd wanted all along. The air itself would be his weapon against the world.

The tornado pulled ash trees from the earth, clods of dirt flying from the dangling roots.

I held Keisha. We crouched in the corner, leaves whipping past us.

The steam from the flash-fired pond disappeared, leaving a slick moat around the island.

I pressed my lips against Keisha's ear, in order to be heard over the unholy shriek of the cyclone Mutter had set spinning.

"We have to get to April and take the Amplifier!"

Keisha nodded. She seemed stronger now.

"Can you help me?" I shouted over the roar of the wind.

"Damn straight," She shouted back.

"For Gus," I said

"For Gus!" she shouted back.

Ash trees flew up into the building, their trunks spinning like children's toy tops.

Gunfire sparkled from the main floor but incredibly missed Mutter. Perhaps the hurricane force winds somehow deflected the bullets.

The building shuddered again. The glass walls high above us flexed. The air pressure must be enormous.

I sent my awareness into the plant life around me, to the island where April stood, sending more jets of white-hot fire blasting up into the main floor.

Around me the redwoods rumbled in pain, feeling the heat.

I reached down below the island, until I found the edges of the root, then, pushed my essence into them, urged them to grow, grow, grow.

The roots worked up, through the soil, my strength began to slip away, but still I forced the roots up until they burst from the soil around April, writhing, and entangled her in their grasp.

The flames stopped.

Keisha charged down into the moat, pulling metal fragments into a halo that orbited her, flinging dozens of metals shards at April. The other woman brought up her hand and spewed flame at Keisha as the shards struck flesh. April's arms windmilled, flame roaring skyward as she fell, blood spurting from her neck.

Keisha rolled on the ground, blazing, and into a patch of shallow water, which exploded into steam.

I ran to her, whipping off my coat and trying to beat out the flames.

Die fire, die, I thought desperately. The flames guttered out.

Keisha's clothes had partially melted. I started to pull them off.

"No!" she hissed. "Get the Amplifier. Stop...stop Mutter."

Mutter. The nut-job sadist who had caused this disaster, who had threatened my family, who had killed dozens of people already, and who now could kill thousands with the cyclones he created.

I ran to the island, dropped beside April's body. I pulled the harness from her and shrugged into it, putting on the gauntlets last.

I had no idea how this device worked.

The silver chest disk, I ran my finger around its rim. It began vibrating against my skin.

Mutter was fifty feet above me, nearly at ground level. The windows were shot through with cracks.

Clearplex glass shattered. I couldn't imagine the amount of energy the cyclone had.

Mutter floated out of my line of sight, toward the world outside and the sky above. I had to stop him or thousands would die. I remembered the nightmare I had last night. A monster cyclone flattening everything in its path, drowning out all the screams from its victims. This was Mutter's plan.

I pushed myself up as the wind died down. Debris crashed around me. One of the security console stations bounced off of a redwood and hit the earth nearby.

The tallest of the six redwoods loomed in front of me. My senses opened up and my awareness expanded until I was inside the tree and it was inside me. It wasn't just a tree, it was part of a world forest, part of the green growing plant life which covered the earth.

I tasted redwood needles, ash tree bark, cattail fronds. My skin felt like moss and bark at the same time. My blood sang with every breath the world forest took.

My eyes widened. I no longer stood on two legs. Instead I soared up on a new redwood rising from the wet soil. As the tree rose we passed the ruined floors and dozens of bodies in black. The new tree reached the ground floor, grew thicker. I stepped off onto the glass strewn floor and ran outside.

Mutter hung a hundred feet above, in the midst of a cyclone of shattered glass.

In the distance lay the fallen blimp, smashed against a building. In the Sound, a hurricane-force wind battered at the UN carrier. The ship leaned against the wind, threatening to capsize in the howling storm.

The trees around me whipped in the gale. I struggled to stand. On the road below, near the sound, cars were thrown against the guardrails and into shops.

My enemy was out of reach again.

I inhaled, and as I did I felt the earth. I felt the moss between the sidewalk and the verge, the weeds that struggled to live in the cracks, the seeds bursting forth beneath the soil, down to the deep roots of the redwoods, to plants cells and more seeds, and in that one, terrible moment, everything connected to me. The world was alive, one giant living organism, and I was at the center of it.

My brain felt like it was going to explode.

My legs screamed, my thighs muscles spasmed. My head pounded, enormous pressure pressed down on my temples.

I drew another breath, and even as I could feel my body breaking under the pressure, the world seemed to freeze.

The towering strength of the redwoods, the Douglas firs, the pines were in me. The power of the trees flowed through my veins. I willed a new forest to burst forth around me. With a roar, concrete crumbled and trees rose.

My heart felt as though it would burst, but I pressed on. The tips of the new tree tops soared and surrounded Mutter. He gestured at the Sound and the water bulged up in a huge wave, capsizing the carrier.

Change.

I saw the potential for new life in the forest and altered the trees, sending the whip-like branches snapping at Mutter, slicing his flesh, pulling him toward me. I ordered the branches to clutch him and constrict.

The wind bellowed. I clung to a tree. Cars flew toward me.

Change.

I grew thick oak-like trees with rubbery bark, in the blink of an eye. The cars bounced off the trees.

Mutter spun his hands faster and faster. Out in the Sound, a waterspout rose up, its twisting body spinning toward me, a watery tornado.

The spiky branches exploded away from Mutter. He shouted something at me, but I couldn't hear it over the roar. I grew a giant tangle of blackberry vines from the cracked earth, like Jack's beanstalks soaring up to a giant's castle, the vines like steel, their thorns like swords, tearing at his flesh, piercing the harness.

Blue lightning flashed from the harness. Mutter's body arched in obvious pain, his lips pulled back from his teeth. His skin browned and he screamed.

The wind bellowed and then died. Above me Mutter hung, body torn, his blood running onto the giant vines.

He was dead. I was numb. I'd killed him, but I felt nothing.

I willed the vines to lower him down to me, until his corpse hung within reach. I reached inside the collar of his jumpsuit, searched until my fingers found the chain around his neck. I drew it over his head, the jeweled medallion heavy and gleaming in my grasp.

The storm blew out into the Sound, but as I watched, it too died.

The water was filled with people swimming and clinging to rafts.

Emergency sirens sounded from all directions.

The Sequoia building behind me was a ruin.

My heart should have burst already. I didn't let go of my connection, instead, I grew trees around the Sequoia, and had them extend their branches and lower me down to the pit to find Keisha.

I would not leave without her.

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# Chapter 19

I found Keisha in the ruins of the bio chamber, lying against a redwood trunk. Glass shards covered her like a deadly snowfall. I raised my hand, and pushed rubber-like grass up from the soil, coiled around Keisha's body, and turned her over to let the glass fall away.

I refused to cry.

I knelt beside her, and gently lifted her in a firefighter's carry. The ruin of the Sequoia building yawned above me, broken cables dangling and sparking, burst pipes spraying water.

Imagine green life never before seen on this Earth, soft to the touch yet stronger than Durasteel. I summoned such life from the soil, directed it to coil around Keisha and me, and then, with impossible strength and vibrancy it lifted us skyward, becoming a beanstalk taking us to the Giant's castle. We rose through the ruined floors and past the dead. The beanstalk leaned into the ruined lobby, releasing me. I carried Keisha outside. Let the Earth heal, I thought, and green-gold trees rose, boughs sprouting emerald flowers that released clouds of flashing silver pollen.

I shuddered. I had not willed this, not consciously.

A new grove welcomed me. Another beanstalk broke through the pavement and writhed around me, taking me and Keisha into its grasp, becoming a titanic vine which rose from the earth, and pulled us along to the south, through the ruins of warehouses and shops, beneath a freeway and up into White Center and then west to the Sound, where another titanic vine rose impossibly from the water and carried us across to the distant shore.

When we reached the far side, I laid Keisha down on green grass and looked back at Seattle, at the impossible trees I had made. It was like being in the middle of a dream that was becoming a nightmare.

As I watched, the impossible trees withdrew back into the earth, and the colossal beanstalks and world vines which had carried us away disappeared.

My heart was like an engine pushed to the redline. My muscles screamed but I forced myself to lift Keisha again and struggled up into a grove of trees at the edge of a park. The sun was low to the west, over the Olympics. I could just see the snow-capped peaks.

I laid Keisha down again, and as I did, the grass grew until it was a thick carpet of green. Keisha's burnt skin began to grow smooth, her body fighting to heal itself from the massive damage she'd taken. I prayed she would live.

Mutter was dead. Dead.

But I had not completed my mission.

Winterfield might lock me up forever for what I was about to do, but it was the only way.

Numbly I pulled off my gauntlets and shrugged out of the harness, folding it beside me.

I ran my fingers over the amulet's jewels, like I had seen Mutter do.

"I have something you want," I said to the air. "I am in West Seattle." I collapsed onto the grass beside Keisha. The world began to grow dark. "Please come and get it. I don't know where exactly we are, but come." Everything went black.

* * *

I WOKE UP BUT EVERYTHING was still black. I dug my hands into the grass, stroked the wet blades. They were real. I could barely sense them, I was exhausted from pushing myself and using the amplifier.

"Keisha?" I whispered.

"She is with you," said an accented voice I did not recognize.

"Where are we?"

"You remain in the park."

I looked around, but could see nothing. My hands brushed against a body which moaned.

Keisha.

I leaned over her and gently ran my fingers across her face. The skin was smooth.

"What happened?" I asked the voice.

A soft laugh came from behind me. I turned but there was only blackness, blackness deeper than the darkest night.

"Such an open question." The accent sounded East Indian. A memory pulled at me, something familiar, I had heard the voice once.

"Lady Night," I said. Once upon a time, when I was in the Renegades, Lady Night made a broadcast on television. The voice of the Scourge.

"I was that, once. Now I am merely Ashula."

"You came."

"Indeed. As I said, you remain where you lay down. It is night. I have simply strengthened the darkness, so that no prying eyes can see us.

"I'm blind."

She laughed, again. "We are all blind, Mathilda Brandt."

"I had to kill Mutter." I would do it again if necessary.

"Yes, you did." There was no anger in those words, just a statement.

"He wanted the Amplifier for himself."

"We know."

The blackness lessened, and I saw a shadow near me, slender, like a statue chiseled from the night itself.

"The Amplifier. I have mine." I swallowed. "Mutter's was destroyed." Or had it been only damaged, even though it had killed him?

"Yes, you brought it."

"For the Scourge to have."

"It is an extremely dangerous device," Ashula said.

A vision of the hurricane-racked Sound came to me, the crashed blimp, the cars blown into the water, the capsized UN aircraft carrier.

"Yeah, I know." I wish I could tear the horrors from my memory and forget all of it. But I couldn't. I never would be able to.

A hand touched mine. "Know this then, as well; it is deadly to the wielder. It can kill."

"It nearly killed me."

"Yes. What we do not know are the long-term effects."

A chill settled in my stomach.

She squeezed my hand. "We will take this gift of yours. It may be the key to unlocking a great mystery."

"What mystery is that?" I asked.

"Why the Empowered exist."

"I don't understand."

Again, soft laughter. "There is no reason you should, Mathilda Brandt."

The darkness lightened further.

The shadow beside me became the outline of a finely featured and stunningly beautiful woman, large eyed, hair braided, dressed in a midnight black sari with black slippers.

They used to say that "Lady Night" of the Scourge wore a black mask representing the night, but Ashula's face was bare. She lifted her delicate chin, and pressed keys into my hand. She pointed past me. "A Ford Galactic is parked twenty feet from us. Take it and return to Portland."

I lifted the amulet.

"Keep that," she told me. "We will want to contact you. You have proved your worth. You did not succumb to Mutter's corruption, you fought him to save us from him, and we will remember this. Thank you."

I looked away. How could I answer that? I did all this to save my family, and they still hung in the balance.

"What about my friend, Keisha?"

"I will take her. She needs more healing."

"Without her help, Mutter would have killed me. Please take care of her."

"We will. You will see her again."

I didn't want to leave Keisha there.

"I promise you, Mathilda Brandt," Ashula said after a moment. "I do not break my promises. Ever."

"Okay." How could anyone pledge to keep all their promises? Sooner or later, promises were broken. But what choice did I have?

"Thank you again, for saving us all," Ashula said.

"You're welcome." I hated lying. Saving them wasn't why I did this. But that had been the result.

I left Keisha with Ashula. Walked through the night until gravel crunched beneath my feet, and I saw the deep purple Ford Galactic waiting in the street outside the park.

Now I had to face Winterfield.

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# Chapter 20

He waited for me at a diner just off the Interstate near Longview, about an hour north of Portland. The Skyline was an all-night diner, which was good because I arrived after 2AM. Winterfield sat in a booth in the rear of the restaurant, facing me, back to the wall, just like always.

He wore a denim jacket and John Deere hat. Not his standard uniform.

He looked about a century older than the last time I'd seen him, and a cigarette lay burning in the ashtray on the table.

The waitress took my order. Winterfield insisted I eat, even though I said I wasn't hungry. Food was the last thing I wanted now, but I didn't argue with him. I was still dead tired.

"I did it," I said. "I did what you asked. The Scourge thanked me for killing that bastard Mutter."

"It works for us, too." Winterfield looked pleased. "You did well, Brandt."

Gee, that, too. Glad to be a good tool. I picked at my pancake, took a few bites, put the fork down. Screw him. Anger welled up inside me.

"Lots of people died taking out Mutter."

Winterfield held my gaze in his for a long moment. "Yes, they did. Sucks, doesn't it?"

Just like that, my anger was gone. Amazing what a little empathy can do.

I told him what had happened, how I had gone along with Mutter's plan, had decided not to try and contact Support because I had to follow through. I told him everything, right through to giving the Amplifier to Ashula. I did not mention what she had said about it being the key to unlocking "the great mystery." It was bad enough that I had handed an incredibly dangerous device to the enemy.

If they were the enemy. I really wasn't so sure anymore.

Winterfield stared at me long enough that I finally looked down at my partially eaten stack of flapjacks, my anger gone.

"You did very well, Mat."

Never thought I'd hear that from him. My first name, too.

Winterfield smiled. "You succeeded."

I exhaled. "Thanks."

"You went to great lengths to carry out your mission. Agent Sanchez and I appreciate all your efforts." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Winterfield, saying I did good.

He put a small case on the table beside my plate, patted it.

"What's this?" I asked.

"An experimental drug to help Ruth Brandt deal with Thalik's. Taken weekly. Three months' worth of injections are inside the case with the hypo."

"How do I explain it to her? She's going to wonder how a two-bit Empowered criminal obtained an experimental pharma tailored for her disease."

Winterfield pushed the case over to me.

"Tell her it's from the Government, for services rendered."

I blinked. "Wait, you want me to let her in on what I am doing for Support?"

Winterfield frowned. "Did I say that, Brandt?"

I thought for a moment. "Tell her it's from the Government for 'services rendered?'"

"Precisely."

"But what if she asks more questions?"

Clearly he thought I was some new sort of idiot from his expression. "Trust me, Brandt. She won't."

I wasn't in on why this should be the case. Mushroom once again, but this time, I didn't care. I just wanted it to work out, however we got there.

The least I could do was manage some gratitude. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he said. "It's not a cure, not yet, but it will make a significant difference in both the quality of her life and in halting the progression of her illness."

Winterfield patted his coat pocket. "I also have paperwork which will set in motion a special needs grant for your sisters to get them into a private school, as well as move your family into better housing."

My jaw dropped. This was far more than I had hoped for.

"Your performance exceeded our expectations."

Exceeded expectations. He made me sound like a prized horse. I guess that's what I was to Support. But, so what if they thought that, if it bought Ruth more time.

"There's something else I'd like to get out of this," I said.

Winterfield raised an eyebrow.

"Gus Silco. I want a decent burial for him."

Winterfield nodded. "We'll do that."

We sat in silence for a while. I finished my coffee. "Okay, what's next?"

"We wait for the Scourge to contact you."

"How will they do that?" I asked. I hadn't told him about the medallion.

He leaned back in the booth and stamped out his cigarette. "It will be interesting to find out."

Ashula had said the Amplifier was the key to the mystery of why we Empowered existed. I wanted to ask him about her words, but kept silent.

Knowledge is power, and it was time I had some.

* * *

I ALWAYS SEEMED TO be arriving at Ruth's at twilight. After being debriefed by Winterfield, I had gone back to my new place, the duplex in Southeast Portland. I'd half-expected Alex to be waiting for me, but no one was there when I unlocked the door.

I crashed at once on the bed. When I woke, it was almost dark. By the time I arrived at the Shadow Wood apartments, the outdoor lights were on and the stairwell was in shadow.

I stood on that shadowy stair for a long time, looking up at Ruth's door. I didn't want to have the door slammed in my face again.

I had to try, had to give her what I'd fought so hard to give her. And I needed to see them. Now that I knew they were safe from Mutter forever.

I tapped on the door.

Ella opened it.

"Mat!" She hugged me close. "I'm so glad you are okay!" She was so relieved to see me. My eyes watered. Damn it.

I hugged her back. "I'm fine.

"I've been so worried about you," she said, still clinging to me. "We've all been worried."

"How is everything?" I asked her.

She took my hand, and I followed her inside.

Ava sat at the kitchen table, face in a math book. She did not look up. Papers were spread out on the table. A second math book lay open next to a pencil and a calculator. The twins had been studying.

"Ignore her," Ella whispered. "She's really glad you are okay."

I shrugged. I couldn't blame Ava.

"Where's Ruth?"

Ella looked at the floor. "In her room. She's not doing well." She looked up me. Tears swam in her eyes. "But I think she'd want to see you, no matter what."

I swallowed, nodded, rubbed my eyes. Didn't cry.

Ruth's door was closed. I knocked lightly, then opened it and went in.

She was sitting up in bed, a book spread out on her lap.

Her eyes widened for a moment when she saw me, then her face hardened.

"Mathilda."

"Grandma, I came by to see how you are doing," I said, closing the door behind me.

I pulled a chair over to the side of the bed.

"I've been better. I didn't expect to see you any time soon," she said. "Do you remember what I said?"

"Yes. I'm sorry that things worked out the way they have."

"So am I, Mat, so am I."

An African violet sat on Ruth's windowsill, in full bloom. I closed my eyes and listened to the flower hum softly as it slept.

"I did what I had to," I said quietly.

Ruth coughed, waved me off when I asked if she wanted water, and coughed again. "If that's how you see it, then I'll give you credit for being honest and for seeing your actions in an adult light."

Maybe there was hope, just maybe.

I laid the hypo case on the nightstand, opened it.

Ruth's eyes narrowed. "What is this, Mat?"

"An experimental drug to help with your illness, Grandma."

"How did you get it?" Her voice was thick with suspicion.

"The government gave me this to give to you. For services rendered."

She stared at me. "What did you say?"

"This is for services rendered."

"Who told you to say that?" Her expression was still suspicious.

"I can't tell you, but that is the truth."

She looked surprised. "After all that time," she whispered. For a moment, I thought she was going to thank me, I could have sworn that she was going to open up.

But then her face hardened. "They think this is enough."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

She looked up at me.

"I don't approve of what you did," she told me.

"Does this mean you won't take it?" Damn Ruth's stubbornness anyway. "The twins need you," I said very softly.

She stared at the case. "I'll take it, and use it."

I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Thank you." Thank God.

"There'll be more."

"Very well." She picked up the hypo and frowned at it.

I got up. "Also, a grant for special needs aid will come through shortly. You'll be moved to a better residence, and the girls will be admitted to a private school."

"That's not necessary."

I cocked my head. She wasn't going to prevent this. "It's going to happen, Grandma. I love you and the twins. No matter what, that will never change."

I left her there, holding the hypo.

Ava ignored me, but Ella followed me to the door.

"I brought Grandma some new medicine. Please make sure she takes it once a week."

Ella hugged me hard. "Thank you," she whispered in my ear.

I kissed her cheek and left, closing the door softly behind me.

The world stretched out before me. The trees and the nearby shrubs sang a soft song. I wondered if plants dreamed? Perhaps I would find out one day.

* * *

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED Empowered: Agent, the first book in the Empowered series. Mat stopped Mutter, but she continues inside the Scourge as an infiltrator for Support. Will she survive, and continue in order to protect her family? Find out in Empowered: Traitor, the next novel in the series.

Join my reader group and receive the prequel novella, Renegade, and keep up to date on my writing, receive free fiction, deleted scenes, etc. 
