A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S SCREAM

Dulcie O’Neil #7

by

H.P. Mallory

Other Series by H.P. Mallory

Paranormal Women’s Fiction Series:

Haven Hollow

Midlife Spirits

Midlife Mermaid

Paranormal Shifter Series:

Arctic Wolves

Paranormal Romance Series:

Underworld

Lily Harper

Dulcie O’Neil

Lucy Westenra

Paranormal Adventure Series:

Dungeon Raider

Chasing Demons

Detective SciFi Romance Series:

The Alaskan Detective

Academy Romance Series:

Academy of Necromancy

Reverse Harem Series: (Writing as Plum Pascal)

Happily Never After

My Five Kings

A Midsummer Night's Scream

Copyright © 2018 by H.P Mallory

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements:

To my mother: Thank you for everything you do.

To my son: Thank you for making me the proudest mom out there! I adore you.

To Len: Thank you for being so understanding about me getting this book done! Your encouragement doesn’t go unnoticed. I love you.

To my editor, Teri: Thank you for always making my books stronger.

To my beta reader Evie from Paromantasy: Thank you for always being read, willing and able to read my books!

To Dina Marie: Thank you for all your help with the cop bits in this book! You’re awesome!!

To Tara Lynn Ryan: Thank you so much for entering the contest to come up with the title for this book. It’s fantastic!

A Midsummer Night’s Scream

ONE

Leaning back in my chair, I propped my ankles up on the desk in front of me. Then I pulled my arm back and threw the red rubber ball against the opposite wall as hard as I could. It hit the wall, bounced against the floor, and banged into the ceiling before hitting the floor again. Then, as if seeking refuge, it disappeared underneath the fake ficus tree that was doing nothing more than collecting dust in the corner of the room.

“Dulcie!” I heard Sam’s shrill voice coming from the office adjacent to mine. “Stop it! You’re driving me crazy!”

Sam was my best friend and also a very gifted witch—one who, apparently, didn’t like the repetitive sound of a rubber ball banging against the wall. I huffed out a breath of indignation while admitting to myself that I, too, had already tired of my incessant game.

Looking for something else on which to focus, I turned my attention to the large window, which took up most of the wall beside me. The city of Splendor, California, was splashed with the brilliant colors of fall, and the leaves of the maple trees had just started to yellow and brown. A wind whipped through the branches, and the leaves shuddered, a few of them breaking free and drifting down to the ground below.

“I’m sure there are more productive things you could be doing,” Sam said, her voice now coming from directly behind me.

I wheeled around in my chair and faced her with an eager frown. “Well, I was in the middle of one rather productive thing, but someone interrupted me.” I arched an eyebrow just for the hell of it. “I won’t mention any names though.”

“Clearly, you’re in need of something useful to occupy yourself,” she said as she crossed her arms over her modest chest. She tapped her index finger against her lips like she did whenever she was busy pondering something. “Do I need to make another Starbucks run?” she asked, a smile brightening her pretty face.

Yep, Sam was definitely attractive with her plump lips, large, doe-like, brown eyes and chocolate-colored hair, which she always wore in a tidy bob. The comparison to a deer was actually a pretty good one. Looking at Sam’s incredibly long, thin legs and her overall graceful appearance, she resembled Bambi in human form. Well, in human girl form, that is.

If Sam could be compared to Bambi, I would have been more along the lines of Thumper. I’m only five-foot-one, but although I’m small, I’m strong and toned since I insist upon keeping myself in shape. In my line of work, you have to be quick on your feet; it could mean the difference between life and death. And since I’ve only been alive for twenty-six years, that difference is a hefty one for me.

“I’ve already had four cups of coffee today, and it’s only,” I glanced at the clock on the wall opposite me before looking back at Sam again, “eleven.” My hand twitched as I longed for my little red ball to throw again. “Any more caffeine and I’ll probably have a heart attack.”

Sam didn’t say anything right away as she entered my office. She pulled out one of the guest chairs on the opposite side of my desk. Taking a seat, she studied me in that way of hers, which meant I probably wouldn’t like whatever was about to emerge from her mouth. “I know this is hard for you, Dulcie,” she started in her mom tone. “You’ve never been the type who can just sit around.”

“Yep,” I agreed with a sigh because there was really no denying my current state of boredom. After receiving express orders to man Headquarters, otherwise known as the ANC (Association for Netherworld Creatures), I had to remain rooted here for the time being. And Sam was right—desk jobs weren’t for me.

“But you realize you’re the only one who is qualified to run this office in Knight’s absence?” Sam continued, nodding her head like she was also trying to convince me in sign language.

Knight Vander was the head honcho of the ANC division in Splendor. Technically, he was my boss, but personally, he was also my boyfriend. Now, however, he was absent and had been for the past two months. Not that I was particularly upset about it …

I took a deep breath and sighed it out again. “I really don’t need a pep talk, Sam,” I grumbled. Truth be told, I wasn’t good with emotional stuff; I never had been. Instead, I preferred the stark reality of cold, hard facts. Cold, hard facts couldn’t cry and give me a guilt trip. “All I really need is to get the hell out from behind this desk so I can start patrolling the streets again.”

“You’ve never been good at accepting advice, or help in general,” Sam continued as if I hadn’t replied at all. She was still using her mom voice because she knew it would make me relent sooner or later. “So it’s a good thing that I can’t take no for an answer.” She inhaled and sat up straight before leveling her determined expression on me again. “I know you’re bored out of your mind and feel like you’re missing out on all the action happening in the Netherworld. And I’m more than convinced you’re missing Knight like crazy.”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” I admitted, seeing no way around the fact that Sam was going to insist we have this conversation. The sooner I admitted my own defeat, the sooner I could get back to bouncing the ball against the wall. ’Course, I could always hope that aliens would touch down in Splendor, or a gaggle of angry centaurs would storm through town. If those two options failed, however, my next best hope was that Knight would come back home so we could make stormy, passionate love for the rest of the afternoon and long into the night.

Even though I was bored out of my mind, at the same time, I was also unnaturally antsy. I knew the situation in the Netherworld wasn’t all roses and rainbows. Far from it. No, it was basically one big clusterf--k. The reason it had become such an immense, jumbled mess had everything to do with the Head of the Netherworld, who was also my father.

Disclaimer: Even though my father, Melchior O’Neil, and I were genetically related by blood, that’s where all similarities ended. My father was a manipulative son of a bitch who had brazenly abused the title as Head of the Netherworld. He was also the top dog of the illegal potions industry, which was basically responsible for distributing illegal street potions from the Netherworld to Earth.

I, meanwhile, was and always had been dedicated to upholding the law and fighting the good fight. As a Regulator for the ANC and, basically, a glorified cop, my sole mission was to make sure the creatures of the Netherworld behaved themselves and didn’t cause any problems on the Earthly plane.

Yes it was now common knowledge among humans that creatures such as witches, fairies (that’s me!), goblins, werewolves, and vampires existed, but that didn’t mean we weren’t subject to a harsher set of laws and discrimination, all the same. It was my duty to curtail any wrongdoing by my own in order to ensure that we continued to pave the path to equality, at least where humans were concerned.

So given my job description, you can probably imagine the huge paradox in having a father who was the head honcho of the illegal potions industry. In my defense, though, as soon as I learned that was the case, I severed all familial ties with the man. And that’s saying a lot. Since I’d already lost my mother, as far as bloodlines and family went, Melchior was it. Well, that was before I killed him.

“You aren’t resentful of Knight that he’s over there in the thick of it while you’re not?” Sam asked, eyeing me in a way that suggested she imagined the answer was a yes.

“No, I’m not resentful!” I railed at her. Frowning, I let her know in no uncertain terms that I understood the reasons Knight hadn’t been around. Because Knight ranked high up in the list of ANC officials, and because he’d been absolutely paramount in helping me take my father out, it made sense that he’d also be a heavyweight when it came to setting up the new world order in the Netherworld. “I’m just disappointed that I can’t be a part of it too,” I finished, sighing my despondency aloud.

“Well, even though it might not feel like it, you are doing your part, you know?” Sam said, offering me a smile of consolation as she slapped her thighs and looked like she was about to break into song and dance.

“What? By sitting here all day long, throwing a ball at the wall, and getting pep talks from you?”

She shrugged, but that annoying smile was still plastered all over her face. “Well, it’s not like we’re doing nothing. Last time I checked, we had two weres in custody, as well as a pixie, and we did manage to finally take Rudy down.” She paused for a second or two, as if hoping she’d see a smile break across my lips. “That’s got to count for something, right?”

Rudy was a goblin who had the bad habit of breaking into houses and dressing up in ladies’ undergarments. “Really, Sam? That’s the best you could do?” I asked. Frowning at her, I shook my head and wondered if this day could get any worse.

“What?” she scoffed, pretending to be offended. “We’ve been after Rudy for a while!”

“The pantie bandit?”

“My point is: it’s not like we’re sitting around doing nothing! Even though they might be keeping busier in the Netherworld …”

“Way busier,” I muttered.

“Don’t forget that we’re keeping the streets of Splendor safe!”

“Right,” I argued, feeling my eyebrows knitting together in the middle of my forehead as frustration surged through me. “We’re doing a damn good job of protecting Splendor against criminals who want to dress up in bras and panties!” Flustered, I pushed against the desk, the wheels of my chair sending me whizzing backwards, until I rammed into the wall behind me. “While Knight is busy busting the real bad guys, we’re keeping Victoria’s Secret in business! Good for us!”

“I’m trying here, Dulce,” Sam said. Her tone sounded defeated as she shook her head and threw her hands up in the air.

“It’s okay,” I replied as I tried to smile. Unfortunately, my mouth wasn’t ready to comply. “You don’t have to do all this, Sam.” I stood up and took a deep breath before approaching the window and wondered what was going on in the Netherworld at this very minute. “I understand why I’m here and why Knight is over there. I’m not happy about it; but it is what it is.”

Sam didn’t say anything, so I turned around to face her. Her attention was settled on the bookcase across the room. Truth be told, this was once Knight’s office, before duty summoned him to the Netherworld. Now I was adopting it as my own. I figured if I had to assume the role as Head of the ANC in Splendor, I might as well have the real estate to go along with the title.

“I miss him,” she said in a soft voice, directing her attention to a framed photograph of Knight, Sam, me, and one of our old colleagues, Trey. He’d been killed in the Netherworld during the attack on my father. In the picture, Knight’s arm was draped around Sam and me, and Sam was hugging Trey who just beamed at the photographer, his round face appearing almost cherubic.

“I know,” I said with a sigh that went all the way down to my toes. I couldn’t pull my attention away from the photograph even though I tried. In general, I attempted to avoid looking at the picture because it seized me with a depression that took me days to shake.

Even though the photo wasn’t shot too long ago, somehow, it seemed like it came from a completely different lifetime. We all looked so happy, so unconcerned with our futures, so completely oblivious. No one had a clue what would happen to Trey, or to all of us.

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about him,” I admitted.

“He was a good friend to all of us,” Sam said, nodding, both of us staring at the picture. It seemed neither of us wanted to break eye contact with the image of a much more innocent time. “And wherever he is now, I’m sure it’s a better place.”

“I hope so,” I whispered. “I really hope so.”

***

The shrill ringing of my cell phone woke me up. I groped for the noisy object on my nightstand, and locating it, I opened my eyes as I wondered who could have been calling me at whatever ungodly hour it was.

“This is Dulcie,” I grumbled in a sleep heavy voice, when I didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID.

“Dulce?”

It was Knight.

I sat bolt upright and my heartbeat started racing through me as I fought to catch my breath. The darkness of my bedroom suddenly seemed as if it were closing in on me, suffocating me in its velvety blackness. “Is everything okay? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he answered in a clipped and hurried tone. “I need you to meet me at Headquarters as soon as you can.”

“Okay,” I answered immediately, wondering what was going on. Preferring to know what I needed to prepare myself for, I asked, “Is there anything I should know before I go down there?”

“No,” he answered amidst the sound of other people’s voices audible in the background. It sounded like he was in the middle of something. “I don’t have time to fill you in right now. Just meet me there?”

“Okay.”

“See you in about twenty minutes.”

“Okay.”

“Drive safely,” he added in a softer tone before the sounds in the background became considerably louder. I was about to respond, but upon hearing the hollow, droning beep on the other end, I knew Knight had already hung up.

I set the phone back on my bedside table and jumped out of bed, turning on the lamp as I reached for the same pair of jeans I’d worn the previous evening. I followed suit with my sports bra, which was a must seeing as how I’m a natural C cup. I can’t run braless without being in a lot of pain.

I pulled on a white, long-sleeved T-shirt, and when I caught my reflection in the mirror, I noticed my elbow-long golden strands were sorely in need of a brush. Since time was of the essence, I grabbed the only baseball cap I owned and secured it on top of my head, hoping it would suffice temporarily. I looked more like a kids’ baseball coach than a cop, but c’est la vie!

I fastened my holster around my waist and picked up the Op 6, which sat on my nightstand, beside my cell phone. My Op 6 was a Netherworld-issued gun, and most similar to a 9mm Glock. However, mine was loaded with dragon blood bullets instead of lead—dragon’s blood being toxic to any Netherworld creatures. I nestled the gun into the holster and slid my feet into my tennies before running out of the bedroom.

Throwing open the front door to my humble apartment, I hastily locked it behind me before hightailing straight for the ANC-provided black Yukon Denali, which I’d parked right in front of my apartment. I unlocked it and threw myself into the driver’s seat, cranking the engine as soon as my butt touched the black leather. Slamming the door shut, I put the SUV in drive, and started for Headquarters, all the while wondering what awaited me there.

ANC Headquarters is a white concrete, two-story building with dark, triangular windows that never fail to remind me of jack-o’-lantern eyes. I live maybe ten minutes from Headquarters, but because I was speeding, I made it in eight. I pulled into the parking lot beside the building and put the Denali into park. Killing the engine, I dropped down to the ground and slammed the door shut behind me before heading for the double doors.

“Hi, Gus,” I greeted the night patrolman stationed at the double doors, his hands crossed in front of him and his feet shoulder-width apart. He was huge—as in, he stood eye level with the top of the doors. He was also incredibly broad and solid—one of the primary reasons he made a good watchman. He was an ogre and, as such, not the friendliest of the ANC employees. Not to mention how incredibly hairy he was. Ogres, in general, didn’t fare very well with most ladies.

Gus didn’t respond, which was usual, but simply nodded as I rushed past him and opened one of the doors. I could smell the weres we had in custody immediately. It wasn’t that they smelled particularly bad or offensive, but as a fairy, I have the innate ability to detect every type of creature I come across. And weres always have an earthy, soil, and dirt sort of smell about them.

Hurrying through the lobby and down the narrow hallway that led to our holding cells, I thought I should have probably checked in on our inmates, just to make sure everything was A-OK. As soon as I swiped my hand in front of the small, black security box, which was mounted to the wall beside the iron door, a buzzing sound ensued, followed by a few sparks.

“Ugh, Sam, you have to remember to check your spells from time to time!” I grumbled, shaking my head as I ran my palm in front of the box again. This time, the door slid open like it was supposed to.

“Everything okay?” Wally, one of the guards, asked as soon as he saw me. He was sitting in a chair at the end of the hallway, reading a magazine, and looking as bored as I probably did during most of last week.

“Hi, Wally, yes, everything is good,” I answered, flashing the gnome a quick smile.

I walked inside and immediately noticed all three of our prisoners were sound asleep on their cots, and the two weres were happily snoring. The pixie was in one of our smaller containment units, one which was really nothing more than a glorified birdcage suspended from the ceiling. Because pixies are usually less than eight inches tall and they have wings, birdcages serve remarkably well as jail cells.

“Just thought you’d come and visit at two in the morning?” Wally inquired in his deep and gruff voice.

“No, not exactly,” I responded with a quick smile. “Knight told me to meet him here.” I glanced back up the hall before focusing on Wally again. “Any sign of him?”

“No sign of Mr. Vander,” Wally answered as he shook his head, his enormous, flame orange beard swaying beneath him like a sea. He was probably about as tall as me, but very wide and muscular, like most gnomes. Even though he was considered short by anyone’s calculation, he was spectacularly fast. Years ago, I actually saw him take down a vampire, which is definitely saying something when it comes to speed.

“Okay, well, thanks,” I answered as I turned on my toes, heading for the door again. I checked my phone, realizing that twenty-five minutes had elapsed since Knight and I hung up. “Where are you?” I whispered softly, since my nerves were starting to get the better of me.

No sooner did that thought leave my mind when I heard a popping sound that came from directly behind me. It reminded me of the sound a soda can makes when you snap open the top and the carbon dioxide meets the air. A sort of fizzing noise.

“Hold him steady!” Knight’s voice made me whirl around, and nanoseconds later, the air gave birth to him right there in front of me. “Dulcie, get out of the way!” Knight yelled as soon as he saw me. Reaching forward, he gave me a generous push, thrusting me against the wall. If not, I would have found myself smack dab in the middle of a parade of enormous men.

“What?” I asked, in complete bafflement, my mind still reeling over seeing them just materialize from nowhere, as if the air just spat all of them out. It took me a couple of seconds to remember that the only brand of travel between the Netherworld and Earth was via portals, which did exactly that—slipped you through the air and spat you right back out again.

“What’s going on?” I demanded, once I regained my voice. My heart continued to pound through me like an SOB, and I was vaguely aware of the weres watching me, wide-eyed. I could hear one of them demanding to know what the hell was going on, not that anyone cared to enlighten him. For my part, I had no idea what was going on. Meanwhile, the pixie was alight and flying through her cage. Seconds later, she landed and started shaking the entire thing as she struggled against the bars, screaming something about her rights.

My eyes moved from Knight’s gargantuan body to the man who stood behind him. Sharing Knight’s immense height and build, the man was shackled from head to toe, with two other Neanderthal guards on either side of him. His brown hair was long enough to hide his face and obscure his features.

“Throw him in that one,” Knight commanded the guard nearest him, nodding toward the unoccupied cell, which lay at the end of the hallway. Wally just stood there, in complete amazement, as if he thought he might have been dreaming the whole thing. I didn’t really blame him.

“Wally!” Knight yelled when it seemed the gnome had entered into a trance. The much smaller man immediately came to and nervously nodded as he cleared his throat. He reached for the skeleton key on the chain, which was wrapped around his ample waist, and unlocked the cell. He held it wide as the two men who had custody of the man in chains approached the cell and walked him inside, all of them inching along slowly because the prisoner was bound so heavily.

“Cozy,” the man commented as he tilted his head back, ostensibly to get the hair out of his face. His eyes settled on me and widened slightly before a smirk appeared on his mouth. He was handsome—remarkably so. The dimples on either side of his mouth imbued him with a sort of boyish charm that was further accented by the twinkle in his laughing, brown eyes.

“Git used to it,” the guard closer to him responded as he forced the shackled man to sit down on the cot. “You’re gonna be here for ah long while.” The guard then retreated from the cell as Wally locked the prisoner inside.

“I don’t suppose one of my guards would happen to be a fairy?” the prisoner asked as he smiled more broadly at me.

I narrowed my eyes in response and threw my hands on my hips, trying to let him know I wasn’t impressed. All that did, however, was draw his attention to my bust. When his eyes met mine again, they looked a little less boyish, and a lot more wolfish.

“Ernie and Judah, you keep a good watch over him,” Knight commanded the two men who didn’t say anything, but simply nodded their compliance before taking up positions on either side of the cell. Wally shrugged and sat back down in his chair, returning to his magazine again as if he couldn’t care less that we had visitors. Gnomes were like that though—not exactly the most social race.

“Dulcie,” Knight said as he reached for my hand to lead me out of the holding cells and up the hallway. When the iron door slid closed behind us, he glanced down at me and smiled. “Are you okay?” he asked, squeezing my hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I answered, half wondering why he was asking me the question in the first place. Then I remembered the whole incident when he’d pushed me out of the way of his entourage. “I’m good,” I replied, and my answer reflected the complete truth. Just looking up at this gorgeous man now made me very aware that I was much more than good. Inside, I was beaming.

Physically, Knight is all man, and a very stunning man at that. He’s pretty tall—maybe six feet, four inches or so, if I had to guess, but he isn’t lanky. His entire body seems to have been sculpted from thick, ropey muscles. His physique is a trait of his race. He’s a Loki, a creature that was forged from the fires of Hades and created in Hades’s own image, specifically to protect the Netherworld. Lokis are the Netherworld’s version of natural-born soldiers.

“I didn’t mean to push you so hard,” he apologized as he led the way down the hall, toward his office. When we reached it, he opened the door for me and I walked inside. “I was just afraid you’d get trampled.”

“That’s okay,” I answered as I watched him close the door behind him.

He turned on the overhead lights and I held my breath when I saw him bathed in their soft luminescence. He was just as beautiful as I remembered. His black hair was radiant, shining almost blue. It soon became fairly obvious that he was so busy setting up the new Netherworld order that he’d had no time to get a haircut. Long tendrils curled around his ears and reached the base of his neck; and his cheeks and jaw were shadowed with unshaved stubble. The bright lights heightened the angular planes of his face, throwing shadows beneath his cheeks and emphasizing the square lines of his jaw. Best of all were his azure eyes that sparkled from behind his long, black lashes and heavy eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” he semi-whispered. I could only wonder what he was referencing—what he was sorry about. I had no answer though. Like a deer caught in headlights, I was physically unable to pull my attention away from his flawless male beauty. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one at a loss for words. Knight stared at me just as intently as I did him. Neither of us spoke or moved. I wasn’t even sure I was breathing.

“It’s been a long time,” he finally said in a deep, throaty voice, interrupting the stillness of the air. “To see you now, I feel like I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming,” he finished, his eyes never leaving mine.

“It’s been too long,” I answered, finally feeling able to. The last two months seemed more like two years. Of course, Knight and I talked nearly every day and sent each other photos and the occasional naughty video, but all of those things were trivial consolations when compared to seeing him again in the flesh.

“You are beautiful,” he said as his gaze washed over my face, following the tresses of my gold hair down to my breasts. His eyes lingered there for a few seconds before shifting to my waist and legs, and, eventually, returning to my face again. I felt myself shuddering beneath his scrutinizing gaze, a gaze visibly laced with lust. When his eyes found mine again, I felt like he was looking right through me, examining my very essence.

“If you’d given me some advance notice, I would have dressed a little better,” I said with a hesitant laugh as I spied my T-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes with disappointment.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way,” Knight responded, his eyes glued to mine. “I love you just how you are—natural.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, suddenly feeling nervous beneath his attentive gaze.

“It’s your eyes,” he replied, studying me as if admiring a famous painting. “It’s those damn, emerald eyes of yours that have haunted me for the last couple of months.” He shut his own exquisite, sapphire ones as a smirk appeared on his plump lips. “I’ve practiced incessantly, bringing them to mind every day that we weren’t together,” he started, and his smile melted my insides.

“What do you mean?” I asked with an anxious little laugh.

“Every time I closed my eyes, I would see yours. I would remember them when you were laughing, or when you were angry, or scared.” He opened his eyes again and studied me for a few long seconds. “I promised myself I wouldn’t allow the time we spent apart to distort a single memory of you. And it hasn’t.” He paused for a few seconds as if he were recalling something.

“I did the same,” I admitted with a quick nod. “Every night, although I cheated a little.”

“How’s that?” he asked with a chuckle.

I shrugged. “Well, I didn’t rely on my memory. Instead, I looked at that picture of you that I took a few months ago when you were in my bed and you’d just woken up.”

In the picture, Knight was naked but my white duvet covered his lower half. His upper body, though, was bare and visible for any onlooker to appreciate. And he was impossible not to appreciate, with his tan skin that contrasted so deliciously against the crisp white of my bed linens. He was leaning on his elbow, which, in turn, caused his bicep to bulge out like it was trying to imitate the Hulk. But my favorite feature of the photograph was Knight’s smile, which never failed to cause my heart to skip a beat.

“The one where my hair looks like I survived a windstorm?”

“Yep, that would be the one,” I answered with a wide grin. “It’s my favorite picture of you, and I keep it framed above my bed. That way I get to see you before I go to sleep and as soon as I wake up.”

He nodded, but it seemed like his thoughts were elsewhere. “Would you like to know which picture of yours is sitting on my bedside table in the hotel?”

“Of course.”

His smile broadened. “The one I took of you at Rascal’s Curve, when we raced our bikes to the top.”

“And I beat you?” I asked, remembering the sunny day as if it were yesterday. We’d taken our motorcycles for a ride and found ourselves at the top of Rascal’s Curve, which was an especially twisting and curving canyon.

“I think you beating me is open for interpretation,” he said with a quick laugh.

“You can choose to remember it however you want to, but I know the truth.”

He didn’t respond right away but just looked at me, wearing that smile of his that I found so irresistible. “When we got to the top, you took your helmet off and the wind picked your hair up and blew it over your shoulders just at the exact moment that I snapped a picture of you. In it, you’re laughing and your eyes are the greenest I’ve ever seen them.” He paused for a moment or two, and when he spoke again, his voice was a little bit deeper. “Do you know that I can detect your moods just by looking at your eyes?”

I shook my head.

He chuckled as he crossed his large arms over his equally ample chest. “When you’re angry, flecks of gold appear in them. When you’re sad, they take on a sage sort of green; and then there are those other times, when they become a deep, dark, hunter green.”

“And what am I then?” I asked with a smile, taking a few steps toward him as I decided to play his game.

He cocked his head to the side. “It’s difficult to say.”

“Didn’t you just claim that you can read my moods?” I asked with a playful shrug. “Doesn’t sound like you’re very good at it.”

I couldn’t help gulping as I focused on his face and saw his eyes were suddenly glowing. It was the surefire sign that his body had selected mine as his mate—that it had made the decision that I was strong enough to bear his seed.

“When your eyes become their darkest, it means you’re turned on,” he explained.

“What color are they now?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

Knight smiled wider. “The darkest green I’ve ever seen them.”

TWO

I couldn’t argue. I was definitely turned on—more turned on than I’d been for a very long time. Two months long, to be exact.

As I watched Knight push up from where he’d been sitting on top of his desk, it felt like millions of insects were busily humming in my stomach, I was so nervous. He started for the door and reached it in a few strides, then locked it. Turning to face me, he smiled languidly and began closing the blinds on all three windows.

“So we’re going to do this in your office, huh?” I asked, my voice sounding a little bit shaky since my nerves were going full steam ahead. Even though Knight and I had been together for a while, he never failed to give me butterflies.

“It’s been two months,” he answered over his shoulder with a shrug. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not waiting any longer.”

“What if I refuse? I mean, this is our workplace,” I persisted, pretending to care. The truth was I was just stalling because I enjoyed playing games of cat and mouse with Knight. “What would HR say?”

We had no HR department, so they wouldn’t have much to say.

Knight finished closing the third set of blinds and faced me, without saying anything. His smile suggested he knew something I didn’t. It was an expression of his that I was very much accustomed to; but, as always, it made my breath catch.

“Last I checked, I was your boss,” he replied in a businesslike tone that brooked no arguments. “And that means you have to do whatever I tell you to do.”

“Oh? Is that so?” I asked with an undisguised smile, crossing my arms over my chest to show my disapproval.

“Yes, that’s so.”

I shook my head as goose bumps started rising all over my body. Knight just had that effect on me. “Last I checked, you were on hiatus for two months, leaving all of the operations for this office in my lap, and as such, this office has been my sole responsibility; so I’d say that means I’m the boss of myself.” I took a deep breath and audibly exhaled it for added effect. “And, in case you didn’t notice, I even took ownership of your office.”

“I did notice,” Knight answered with a frown. He picked up a pink-haired troll doll from my collection of twelve with which I’d adorned the top of his desk. He briefly examined the miniature with obvious distaste before replacing it beside its blue-haired brother. Then he turned around with a very determined scowl.

“Trolls, Dulce? Really?”

“Toys R Us was fresh out of Lokis, sorry,” I answered with a shrug.

“Well, now that I’ve resumed my role as head of this office, and my role as your boss, I order you to remove all these obnoxious creatures at once,” he announced boldly.

I frowned and shook my head as I offered him an expression of consolation. “I hate to break the news to you, buddy, but seeing as how I’ve been managing myself as well as this office for the last couple of months, you’re going to have to convince me that you’re my boss.”

“Is that so?”

I nodded. “And, just so you know, convincing me isn’t going to be easy,” I finished with an apologetic shrug.

“Going on hiatus doesn’t mean I stopped being your boss,” he pointed out.

He wore a lofty expression as he leaned his exquisite ass against the edge of the desk while regarding me with visible amusement. Even though I wanted nothing more than to attack him right there, I swallowed my enthusiasm and forced myself to pay attention to our little game of playful seduction.

“Hmm,” I started, drumming my fingers against my lips. “A salient point,” I continued in my best lawyer-ese. “But even if I played the role of devil’s advocate and agreed with you, I would have to warn you that you still have a small problem on your hands.”

“I do? How’s that?”

I pretended to be deep in thought for the next few seconds to avoid answering. I’d never been much of an actress, but this seemed like a good way to prolong the theatrics. “Well, since you have been gone for soooo long, and I acted as the boss around here, I’ve sort of let all that power go to my head.”

“You don’t say,” he responded with a chuckle. Crossing one ankle over the other, he observed me with a smile. The man had no business being so damn sexy. It should have been illegal. Holy Hades, for all I knew, maybe in some states, it was.

“It’s unfortunate, but yes,” I replied, shaking my head like the whole thing was a shameful tragedy. “I’m just not sure I can follow anybody’s rules anymore. I mean, I’m much more partial to following my own.”

Knight nodded as he exhaled deeply and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he focused on his feet. “That creates quite the conundrum then,” he admitted with a quick glance at me. His eyes seemed to dance as a mischievous smile overtook his mouth. “But I’m sure I can rectify the situation. If I’m good at anything, it’s reschooling any employees who dare to go rogue.”

I shook my head, trying to stifle my smile, while staying in character. Even though I was more than looking forward to our sexual reunion, which certainly hovered on the horizon, I had to admit our little game possessed its own level of delicious foreplay.

“Yeah, well, I’m not ready to hand over the power, or the control; not just yet.” I sighed as I continued to shake my head. “You’re going to find yourself with quite a fight on your hands.”

“Luckily for you, I’m a lover … and a fighter,” Knight answered with a hearty chuckle.

Standing up, he began approaching me. When he was maybe a foot away, he stopped walking. I had to restrain myself from closing my eyes and inhaling as deeply as I could. I wanted nothing more than to fill myself with his clean, masculine scent. Instead, I held my ground and continued our charade, truthfully loving every minute of it.

I watched him reach for me and grasp my upper arms in his large hands. A shiver of nervous anticipation raced through me, causing my breath to catch. I could already feel something beginning to blossom deep down in my core. Something that felt like an intense stinging blended with the thrill of anticipation.

“I won’t give in easily,” I warned him with a smile.

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise, my little hellcat.” He stared down at me for a few seconds, his eyes alight with passion. “Especially now that you’re going AWOL.”

I shook my head and made a tsking sort of noise to let him know he was way off base. “No, Knightley, I’m not going AWOL, I’ve already gone AWOL.”

“Ah, so it’s progressed to that stage, has it?” I didn’t respond as I watched his eyes glow even more brightly before another smile curled his full lips.

“It has,” I answered resolutely. “Sounds like you’ve got a long, difficult road ahead of you, Knightley, my man.”

“That’s Officer Vander to you,” he corrected me.

Then he jerked me forward, and none too gently. I brought my hands up against his chest to keep my face from slamming into him. When I caught my breath, I looked up and instantly lost myself in the stunning cerulean blue of his eyes. Less than three inches of air separated us, but that was dwindling fast, owing to my increased respiration.

Boiling with exhilaration, I couldn’t help but notice how Knight dwarfed me with his enormous body. His impressive size was one of the things that thrilled me the most about him. The extreme difference in our heights and builds made me feel so feminine, so small and fragile and it was an observation that electrified me all the way to my core. As exhilarating as it was, it was also a weird thought, especially to me. I was generally known as the feisty, independent woman who could always take care of herself. Ordinarily, my code of law was kicking asses and taking names. Sometimes, though, I had to admit that I enjoyed the role of submissive to this deliciously dominant alpha male.

Okay, well, let’s say, I enjoyed playing the role of sexually submissive. In general, “submissive” wasn’t a word that anyone would use to characterize me. And in my mind that was definitely a good thing.

“Excuse me …,” I said with a small laugh. “Officer … Knight.”

He narrowed his eyes in mock offense and I was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to feel his lips on mine. I was dying to taste him, to experience the delight of his tongue as it entered my mouth. The need inside me was growing to such an extent that it soon became an all-out conflagration, a burning desire that pleaded for relief.

“I won’t tolerate insolence,” he whispered before releasing my right arm. His hold on my left arm tightened; and seconds later, I felt the sharp smack of his palm hitting my right butt cheek. All I was aware of was my sharp intake of breath as he unleashed his hand on my other cheek. The sting was momentary, and far outweighed by my own burning desire, which was mounting exponentially inside me.

“Am I supposed to apologize?” I asked. My voice was a little breathy because I wanted nothing more than for him to smack my ass again.

“You’re supposed to show some respect for your superiors,” he answered. He started massaging both of my cheeks, as if he felt bad for inflicting even the slightest amount of pain on them. Truth be told, I’d enjoyed every second of it.

“And if I refuse?”

He chuckled as he gripped my right cheek more tightly. “Then you must endure even more punishment.”

“Hmm,” I replied. Rising up onto my tiptoes, I whispered into his ear, “What if the punishment is exactly what I’m after? Should I be punished even harder?”

“You’re incorrigible,” he chuckled, but seconds later, he lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around him and he sat me down on top of the desk. Wedging his body between my legs, he said, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” His hot breath on my neck preceded a series of kisses that made my insides feel like they were melting.

“I’m sure I have a pretty good idea,” I answered and reached for his erection, which was already straining for release from his pants. Maybe it was because of Knight’s rank, or because he was a detective, but he didn’t have to wear a uniform. He never had. And although I loved the way he dressed, at that moment I would have given just about anything to see his beautiful body clad in sexy, police-issue pants.

“Don’t degrade what I’m trying to say by making it all about sex,” he chided me. He pulled away and gripped my chin, forcing me to look him right in the eyes. “Our sex life is unparalleled, and of course I’ve missed it, but that’s not what I was talking about.”

“Okay, Mr. Serious.”

“I am being serious,” he continued, his expression emphasizing the point. “I missed you, Dulcie.”

“Point taken,” I said with a resolute nod. “Now let’s get back to the more fun stuff.”

He shook his head and a sweet smile appeared on his lips. “Okay. But I want to make sure you know that I don’t think of you as just a hot piece of ass,” he explained before quirking a brow at me.

“Hmm, what if I can’t say the same about you?”

Feigning offense, he effortlessly lifted me off the desk and then took a seat on it. He put me on my feet and gripped me around my middle, forcing me to bend over his knees. With one arm across my back, he held me in place. Meanwhile his other hand gave me a healthy swat right across my backside.

“So I’m just a piece of meat to you, am I?” he asked before unleashing his palm against my ass again.

“You always valued truth above all else in our relationship, right?” I ground out, smiling up at him as non-apologetically as I could.

He didn’t respond as he wound his arm back and unfurled it against my butt again, this time a little bit harder. The smack made my entire body bounce, so I dug my fingernails into his thighs.

“You could always take back what you said, you know, and admit I’m your boss,” he announced, cocking his head to the side as he spoke. “I am a reasonable man.”

“And why would I do that?” I inquired, shaking my head. “Especially when my punishment was just starting to get really good.”

“Have it your way,” Knight shrugged as he smacked me again. Another four, and I decided I’d had enough. My butt was stinging, and then some.

“Okay, okay,” I said, anxious to surrender. “I give up! You win!”

“Say it,” he replied, straight-lipped. With a backwards glance, I noticed he held his hand up, as if poised to lay it on me if my answer displeased him.

“Say what?”

“Really?” he asked, shaking his head and frowning. “You don’t recall the conversation we were just having?”

I smiled as apologetically as I could. “To be completely honest, I can’t remember anything before you started in on me. Forgive me; but every other thought I had just sort of blanched altogether from my mind.”

“Unbelievable,” he grumbled, shaking his head again and frowning directly at me. I smiled even more broadly. “I was telling you how much I missed you,” he started.

“Ah!” I interrupted, grinning as widely as I could. “I missed you too!”

With a loud laugh, he lifted me off his knees and set me down on the desktop again, right beside him. I couldn’t help noticing how his hands lingered around my waist. We looked at each other for a few seconds, neither of us saying anything, as both of our smiles disappeared.

“I love you, Dulcie O’Neil,” Knight whispered.

“I love you, Knightley Vander,” I whispered back before running my hands up his arms.

I loved feeling the swells of his forearms and biceps. But as much as I appreciated Knight’s body, it was his face that always held me spellbound. Most specifically, his eyes. They were kind, loyal, strong, and determined. In the depths of his irises, though, there was something else. Something deep and something dark. Knight hadn’t exactly led an easy life. I could read the magnitude of his struggles in the depths of his eyes, as well as the fact that he was a survivor. Right now, however, the vastness of his love for me dominated his eyes and his expression in general.

“So are you going to kiss me, or what?” I demanded. It felt like I was on the precipice of losing myself in the awe-inspiring sapphire of his gaze. And that, although nice, wasn’t my main goal at the moment.

He chuckled and bent his head down before covering my lips with his very full ones. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer when his tongue invaded my mouth. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. A deep ache started to build from inside me. My tongue met his tongue with territorial fierceness. I wanted to taste him; I needed it badly. Our tongues mated while I wrapped my legs around his middle and pushed my abdomen onto his straining erection. He had to put both of his palms flat on the desk so we wouldn’t topple over. Once he did, I managed to pull myself against him even harder, conveying how badly I desired him.

Over the last two months, I’d imagined our reunion numerous times. And I’d always pictured Knight taking me slowly, gently making love to me. Now? The idea of going slow and gentle left everything to be desired. Now my need was almost frantic in its demand to be satiated. I couldn’t wait a second longer. I reached down and gripped his throbbing erection with both hands, rubbing it up and down on top of his pants. Knight didn’t stop kissing me, but leaned closer and his tongue delved inside my mouth more deeply.

I couldn’t wait to unzip his pants. As soon as I did, I slipped his hard penis through the hole in his boxers. He broke away from me and glanced down briefly. He was totally out in the open and such a completely glorious sight to behold.

“Dulcie,” he started in a disappointed tone. “Don’t rush. Let me taste you.”

“No,” I nearly interrupted him. “I need to feel you inside me. Right now.”

He studied me for a few seconds. Then his expression changed to one of sudden impatience, probably mirroring my own. Sliding off his pants, he dropped them to the floor; then his boxers followed. He snatched my ball cap and pulled it off my head, letting it fall onto the desk beside me. His eyes never strayed from mine as he expertly unbuttoned my jeans before unzipping them and pulling them down my thighs. I decided to help him out by pulling my shirt over my head until I was only clad in my bra and panties. But then remembering my sports bra wasn’t exactly the sexiest, I wasted no time in removing it, too.

Knight’s eyes immediately fastened onto my naked breasts. He leaned down and took my left nipple between his teeth. I dropped my head back and arched up against him when he rolled the sensitive nub against his tongue. When his fingers began rubbing the outside of my panties, I couldn’t help moaning loudly.

“Please, Knight,” I whispered, too eager to drag this out any longer than we needed to. I ached to have him thrusting inside me. I needed to feel him; I needed us to reunite as one.

His response was a chuckle as he slid my panties to the side and ran his index finger up and down my opening. I nearly jumped right out of my skin.

“Please,” I whispered again, thrusting my pelvis toward him for easier access, but he just pulled his erection away from me.

“Please what?” he asked as I opened my eyes and glared at him.

“Knight, I can’t wait any longer,” I pleaded, my voice sounding strained. “I need to feel you inside me right now.”

“I was expecting a fight,” he replied with a wide smile. “Didn’t you promise me one?”

“Really?” I asked, sarcastically. “How about this—if you don’t bury yourself inside me in two seconds, you’re going to have the fight of your life!”

He didn’t say anything but just continued to smile down at me, the look of seduction in his eyes. I met his gaze with as much impudence as I could muster. When he didn’t make any motion to comply with my demand, I spread my legs wider. Lifting my torso up to his, I practically performed a charade of what I wanted, and in no uncertain terms. He continued to stare down at me, although he positioned himself closer to my entrance. When I felt the head of his penis bobbing against me, I tried to push myself down against it, to force him inside me, but again, he retreated.

“Repeat after me,” he said. “You’re my boss and I answer to you.”

I opened my eyes and then narrowed them at him and replied, “Never.”

He cocked his head to the side and pulled away from me. The stark coldness of the air on my very hot lady parts was almost enough to bring tears to my eyes.

“Two can play this game, my dear,” he said in a victorious tone. “Now, repeat after me ‘I, Dulcie O’Neil, do fully submit to my boss, Knightley Vander, who, I now declare, has complete authority over me.’”

“You’re really going to force this issue right now?” I asked in disbelief. I hated knowing I would probably have to give in but there was no way I could wait any longer. My body was in a state of dire need and it was demanding instant gratification.

“In short, yes.”

“Oh my God,” I grumbled with a deep breath and readied myself to hand him the victory. “I, Dulcie O’Neil, do fully submit to Knightley …”

“No, you missed a part,” he interrupted with a shake of his head. “You’re supposed to say ‘to my boss, Knightley Vander,” he finished, giving me an expression that said I had better get it right.

“Ugh,” I muttered, shaking my head. “… Do fully submit to my boss, Knightley Vander, who, I now declare, has complete control …”

“Authority,” he corrected me.

“Authority over me,” I finished with a perturbed scowl. “There, you won! Satisfied?”

He pushed the head of his penis over my most sensitive place, causing me to arch back before a moan escaped my mouth. Any words of frustration or resistance were instantly forgotten.

“No, I’m not satisfied yet,” he announced before extracting himself from me again.

“What?” I scolded him, opening my eyes, and finding him smiling happily at me. “You’re unbelievable!”

“There’s more; I want to hear more from you,” he said with a shrug. “Repeat after me: ‘I, Dulcie O’Neil, recognize Knightley Vander as my boss, and from here on out, I will follow all of his orders without pause or question.’”

“I have half a mind to get my vibrator.”

“That would require a trip home, and I think we both known that isn’t going to happen,” he answered in a calm tone. He already knew he’d won. “So, get to it.”

I inhaled deeply, narrowing my eyes at him all the while. “I, Dulcie O’Neil,” I started before swallowing my breath as soon as I felt him rubbing his throbbing erection against my opening again.

“Go on,” he encouraged me.

“I,” I started again, trying to pay attention to what was coming out of my mouth. “I, Dulcie O’Neil, recognize Knightley Vander as my boss,” I quoted, spitting the words out. In response, Knight thrust the head of his erection inside me as I screamed out and arched against him. It was all I could do to moan the rest of the words.

Seconds later, he pulled out again. “Continue!” he commanded me.

“And I will follow all your orders!” I yelled out, arching against him again as soon as he pushed himself fully inside me. I gripped his back, digging my fingernails into his tan skin as he pumped inside me a few times.

“And?” he persisted in a deep, gravelly voice.

“Without pause or question!” I regurgitated as he gripped my waist with both of his hands. He lifted me so he could thrust inside me even more deeply. I threw my head back and wrapped my legs around his middle as tightly as I could. He pulled out and then pushed into me, each of us moaning in turn.

Without any warning, he suddenly pulled up. Our lower halves were still joined as he pushed me down against the desk, holding me there. When I looked up at him in question, his eyes were glowing.

“You are mine,” he announced as he stared down at me. He withdrew and then began pushing inside me gently.

“And you are mine,” I reiterated obediently. I loved seeing and hearing that possessive, brutal side of him; it was so primitive and bestial. This was the animal side of Knight that made me unable to catch my breath.

“I will always be yours,” he answered while lifting my legs above his shoulders and burying himself inside me as deeply as he could.

***

“So who is the guy now taking up one of our prison cells?” I asked Knight as I lay against him, naked in his bed.

After having sex in his office, we both hurriedly dressed and hightailed it back to his lavish townhouse. I wasn’t sure whether or not we’d spend the night together, owing to his duties in the Netherworld, so I was thrilled when we did.

“That charming example of a law-abiding citizen is Jax Rochefort,” Knight answered, his lips in a tight line.

“Jax Rochefort,” I repeated, shaking my head since the name meant nothing to me.

“He’s been a perpetual thorn in my side for at least the last seven years,” Knight added as he glanced down at me. He busily twirled a tendril of my hair between his fingers and pulled me closer so he could kiss me on the forehead. “And now he’s back to being a pain in my ass again.”

“If he’s behind bars,” I started, shaking my head, “how much of a pain in your ass can he really be?”

Knight raised his brows at me, suggesting, you don’t know what you’re talking about. “Behind bars or not, Jax was, and continues to be, a pain in my ass,” he ground out. “And he’s not the only one. All the competing factions of potions smugglers have been vying for power since we deposed your father.”

“What do you mean?”

Knight shrugged again. “Just because the ANC announced Caressa was the new Head of the Netherworld, doesn’t mean everyone likes it, or complies with it.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, there is plenty of opposition.”

Caressa Brandenburg was the highest ranking official in the ANC, aside from my father. When Knight and I removed my father from office, it only made sense that Caressa should replace him as Head of the Netherworld. I supported this approach because Caressa was honest and good and most of all, she was strong. But now, I had to wonder if she were strong enough.

“So these potions rings are trying to put their own guys in?” I asked for verification.

Knight nodded. “But they aren’t too smart about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“They rely on strength in numbers—there are so many of them, they nearly outnumber us. But the main problem for them is they can’t get their shit together long enough to unite forces against us.”

“Maybe it’s just a matter of time before they do?”

Knight cocked his head to the side as he nodded. “That’s what we’re worried about. The day that happens, we could have a serious fight on our hands.”

“So how does Jax figure into this? Was he trying to usurp power?”

“No,” Knight answered as he shook his head. He placed one of the pillows behind him so he could sit up against the headboard more comfortably. “I’m not sure how he fits in, to be honest.”

“Okay,” I said doubtfully, wondering whether or not he had anything more to add to his statement. “Soooo, how did you catch him?”

“I wouldn’t say we caught him.”

I leaned up onto one elbow and studied him quizzically. “Well, he’s in one of our jail cells at this very moment, so I’d say you caught him.”

“It’s more correct to say that Jax caught us,” Knight amended. “He turned himself in.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Exactly,” Knight answered before tapping his index finger on the tip of my nose, as if to say I’d hit it right on the nose. “That’s the exact question I’ve been asking myself and, more importantly, Jax.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” he replied with a sigh, shaking his head. In general, Knight didn’t like it when his questions outnumbered his answers.

“He hasn’t told you anything?”

“Well, he hasn’t told me anything I believe, anyway,” Knight admitted with a shrug.

Why do you think he turned himself in?”

“He said he wanted to leave the thug life and start a new life and needed protection, yadda yadda yadda.”

“And you don’t believe that?”

“Of course not!” he responded with snort of disbelief. “Why should I?”

It was my turn to shrug. “Maybe he’s telling the truth? Is it so inconceivable to believe some of these guys might want to start over and leave their old lives behind them?”

Knight shook his head. “With someone else, I might buy it, but as it pertains to Jax Rochefort, I can’t and I won’t.”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure what to make of it. “So why did you come all the way to Splendor to lock him up? The Netherworld prisons weren’t secure enough?”

Knight shook his head. “Jax is too high profile. It would be impossible to hide him. And he was very up front about all the hits he knows are out on him. Regardless of what I might think, we have to take him seriously.”

“If he has a hit out on him, or multiple hits, that has to mean he spilled information to you, right?”

Knight nodded. “Yes, of course. But whether or not that information is valid is another question. So far, we have yet to validate anything that comes out of his mouth.”

“So you think he’s lying?”

“We shall see.” He smiled at me and secured the tendril of hair he’d been playing with behind my ear. “In the meantime, we have to take any threats to his safety seriously. That’s why I decided to bring him to Splendor. It won’t be as easy to find him here as in the Netherworld.”

I just nodded, unsure how to interpret the information. “For how long?”

Knight shrugged. “Not sure yet. Maybe a couple of days.”

I just nodded as I remembered the large man with the dimpled smile who was now calling our jail home. “So I got the feeling that Jax is a Loki like you?”

“I thought you weren’t able to detect my species?” Knight replied with a raised eyebrow of suspicion aimed at me.

Cocking my head to the side, I stared at his well-defined pecs for a few seconds before I started snaking my fingers down his chest. “I can’t detect your species,” I admitted finally. “But based on my inability to place him, I figured that meant he was a Loki, just like you. That and you guys look like you could be twins, well bodily anyway,” I glanced back up at him and smiled to say I was proud of myself and my powers of deduction.

“Twins?” he asked with a frown. “Should I take that to mean you thought he was good looking?”

I shrugged, feeling my smile widening because I suddenly wanted nothing more than to stoke the fires of his jealousy. “Well, yeah,” I started. “I mean, come on, he’s obviously a handsome guy.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Uh huh,” he continued as he reached over and gripping me around my middle, started tickling my sides. “I’d love to know how hot you think he is.”

“I,” I started amid giggles as I fought to emancipate myself. “I…think…he’s…really….hot!”

“Tell me more!” he responded with a chuckle as he released my sides and gripped my feet.

“No!” I yelled at him. “Not my feet! They’re way too ticklish.” But he didn’t release me right away. “Come on, Knight, I’m being serious. Not my feet!”

“So am I,” he answered with a frown as he perched his fingers over the bottoms of my feet threateningly. “Tell me how hot Jax is again.”

“He’s not as hot as you are,” I replied immediately.

“Getting better,” he said with a grin as he ran his index finger down the center of my foot and caused me to wiggle against him in an attempt to free myself.

“He’s nowhere near as hot as you are!” I continued, feeling like I was begging for my life. But he must not have been satisfied with my response because he continued to tease me with his finger. “You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen!” I said with another laugh. “No one can compare to you!”

Knight smiled more broadly at me as he released my foot and I breathed out a sigh of relief. Then he gripped me by the arms and pulled me into the warmth of his chest, wrapping his arms around me while I snuggled against him.

“How do you know Jax?” I asked.

“He was in my training class way back when.”

“So you know each other pretty well?”

“We used to,” he corrected me. “Then, somewhere along the line, he got mixed up with the wrong crowd. I didn’t hear from him for a good few years—probably while he was making a name for himself in the street potions business.”

I nodded, but lacking any more to say on that topic, I dropped it. “When do you have to go back?” I asked, although I was dreading his answer. It felt so natural and right to have his huge, warm body pressed up against mine. Having him here with me now made me wonder how I’d managed to make it through all of those nights by myself.

“In the morning,” he answered with a heartfelt sigh.

“I figured.” I was unable to mask the disappointment in my tone and, instead, focused my attention on the huge scar that bisected half his chest. It was from a tangle with a werewolf that had happened long before I’d ever met him.

“I’m sorry, Dulce,” he started. “Once everything over there calms down, I’ll be able to come back here permanently. It’ll probably be no more than a couple of months.”

“I know,” I said quickly, not wanting to sound like a nagging girlfriend. “I’m not upset. I know how busy you are and how important this is for all of us.” I glanced up at him and smiled. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

“Of course I worry about you, Dulce,” he answered and pulled me in even closer. “There isn’t a day that goes by when you aren’t uppermost on my mind.” He exhaled deeply. “But this is just one of those things that we both have to deal with.”

“I know,” I said with a slight smile to tell him he didn’t have to explain anything further.

“I appreciate your patience more than you know,” he continued. “And I want nothing more than to get back here as quickly as I can. You must realize that.”

“I do,” I said, resting my head against his chest and inhaling as deeply as I could. Then, with a yawn, I unwittingly closed my eyes, feeling so at home in his large arms.

THREE

The next morning wasn’t easy for me.

I woke up, and immediately rolled over, hoping to find Knight’s warm body right beside me. Instead, I found nothing but empty space, only the stark whiteness of the sheets greeting me. Yep, Knight was already gone.

I sighed my despondency and tried to ignore the boulder that was already taking shape in the pit of my stomach. How long would I have to wait now until I saw him again? Another two months? Three? Four? Six?

I shook my head as I dreaded the upcoming days and weeks and possible months that I’d have to endure alone. I wasn’t even sure how I’d managed to make it through the last two months. In a way, seeing him made his absence hurt even more; the blatant vacancy I felt without him made things exponentially worse.

Dulcie, stop acting like a lovesick dumbass! I scolded myself. Your life was fine before Knight came into it, and it will be fine until you see him again. Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Get a move on! You’ve got a full day ahead of you!

I sat up and noticed a folded piece of paper on Knight’s pillow. I reached for it and, unfolding it, read:

Dulce, I’m sorry I had to leave so early—Caressa texted me with an emergency meeting. I didn’t want to wake you when you were sleeping like an angel. Be back as soon as I can. I love you. –K.

I folded it in half again and clutched it to my chest, feeling a smile breaking out on my face.

“I love you too, Knight,” I said out loud.

I was half hoping that one of his never ending Loki skills might include the ability to hear his girlfriend’s voice despite being in another dimension. But when I received no response, I figured that was one trait that wasn’t in his arsenal. Bummer.

Even though the note from Knight warmed my spirits a little bit, it was still outweighed by the emptiness that claimed me as soon as I realized Knight was gone. I exhaled and forced myself to get up. Then I threw on a pair of tan cargo pants and an old Duran Duran T-shirt that was nearly threadbare, I’d washed it so many times. Even though I was headed to Headquarters, I didn’t feel like dressing the part. That was another perk to being the boss—wearing what I wanted.

But then thoughts of Headquarters led to thoughts of Knight and what had happened the last time I’d been inside his office and I started getting depressed all over again. As soon as my pity party started again, I nipped the feelings right in the bud, forcing them right out of my head. Depressing thoughts had no place in my life. I had a job to do—get to Headquarters and find out as much as I could about this Jax character.

So now, you’re basically no more than a glorified babysitter. That miserable voice, the one that always states the obvious, started in my head again.

I’ve got a job to do and that’s the end of it, I snapped back with as much authority as I could muster. I was pleased to find that my alternate self had no come back.

After I got dressed, I made Knight’s bed before running/walking through the hallway that led to the front door. The faster I left his home, the easier it would be to focus on other things. Once I was outside, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then locking his front door, I banished the persistent doubt of when I’d be inside his townhouse again to the darkest recesses of my mind. I could only hope it would be sometime in the very near future.

After I left Knight’s place, I drove back to my crappy, little apartment. I had to feed my dog, Blue, as well as take him for a walk. Yes, I wasn’t supposed to have a dog; my apartment wasn’t exactly dog friendly. But luckily for me, being on the ground floor, I actually had a small yard, never mind it was all cement. And even more lucky for me, I was a fairy which meant I was able to magick special wards around the place so my nosy neighbors and my landlord had no clue I was breaking any tenant rules.

After I fed Blue and took him for a much-needed walk, I was ready to head into the office so I could interrogate our newest prisoner. But as soon as Blue was back in his yard, he became very aware that I was on my way out again. He started whining and pawing at the slider screen, looking completely depressed and pathetic.

“Seriously, dude?” I asked as he whined and stared at me, cocking his head to the side. “Come on, Blue, don’t make that face!” After another few seconds, I was jelly. “Ugh!” I said in exasperation, throwing my hands in the air and starting for the slider door. I was no more than a pushover where the yellow Labrador was concerned. “You can come with me to work today, but only if you’re on your best behavior!” I warned him. I opened the door and let him inside the house again. He simply looked up at me with those bright brown eyes before trotting happily to the front door, where he retrieved his leash from the doorknob. I clipped it to his collar and we headed out for the Denali.

After securing him into his doggie seat belt in the backseat, I rolled the window down so he could poke his head out, and we were off. It took me a little bit longer than ten minutes to make it to Headquarters because I didn’t drive as quickly, or as recklessly, when Blue was in the car. Maybe it was just my maternal instincts coming out … Well, for my dog anyway.

“Remember our deal, Blue,” I said as I parked the Denali outside Headquarters. “You need to be a good boy today, got it? Otherwise, Mommy can’t bring you back to work with her again.”

Blue just looked up at me innocently while his tail wreaked havoc on the interior of the car, leaving coarse, yellow hairs all over the black leather upholstery. I frowned and figured I’d have to get the Denali washed sooner rather than later.

I unbuckled Blue and got him out of the car; then we trotted up to the front doors and allowed ourselves inside. Elsie, the receptionist, nearly jumped out of her seat when she saw us.

“Blue!” she called out before immediately coming around to the front of her desk. She pushed her thick, black glasses back onto her long, narrow nose, and crouched down on her knees. Enveloping Blue in a huge hug, she didn’t appear to mind at all when he whipped her with his thick, wagging tail. “I missed you, boy!” she said in her unnaturally high-pitched voice. She reached behind her where she kept doggie treats in a jar on top of her desk. Popping off the top and selecting one, she handed it to the very appreciative dog.

“Good morning to you too, Elsie,” I said, pretending to be offended.

“Oh, hi, Dulce,” she answered as she glanced up at me for a second or so with a quick smile. “Sorry, I just get very excited whenever I get to see your adorable little boy!” The eardrum-splitting, high pitch of her voice steadily increased. I briefly worried all the glass in the office might shatter and come crashing down around us.

“Else, if you aren’t busy this morning, would you mind dog sitting?” I asked. I was grateful, for once, that Knight wasn’t around; because this never would have flown with him. Knight wasn’t exactly the sure!-you-can-bring-your-dog-to-work kind of boss. Especially when said dog was given to me by my previous boss who also happened to be my ex love interest.

“No problem!” Elsie almost sang, reaching for Blue’s leash, which I eagerly handed to her.

“Thanks, Else,” I called over my shoulder as I started down the hallway. Thoughts of my ex-boss, Quillan, were already occupying my mind.

Even though Quill and I were now good friends, there was a time in the not-so-distant past when I’d wished he and I could have been something else, something more. And he’d felt the same. Then, a cyclone, who went by the name of Knight Vander, stormed into my life. After him, no other men could compare.

I later learned that Quill had been serving as my father’s right-hand man all along, unbeknownst to me. In the end, Quill, however, did come clean about all of it. He even sided against my father; but as far as I was concerned, the damage was already done. Even if Knight hadn’t been in the picture, I could never have given myself to Quill fully, not after knowing his past. But that was all a moot point now. Both Quill and I had found people who made us happy. Now, we were no longer in each other’s sights.

As with Knight, I hadn’t seen Quill in a couple of months eother. He was also stationed in the Netherworld, helping to set up the new order. And he and Knight weren’t the only ones. Christina Sabbiondo, Knight’s second in command, and also Quill’s girlfriend, was actively planning for the new Netherworld, along with my very good friend, Dia Robinson.

Dia had been the head of the ANC in Moon, here on the Earthly plane, before business in the Netherworld drew her there. I was the only one, well, Sam and I, were the only ones stuck here with not a hell of a lot to do and all day to do it in.

Not that I was complaining …

“Morning, Sam!” I called out as I passed by her desk. I aimed straight for the break room, where I could already smell a fresh pot of coffee brewing. Coffee was the one benefit of the morning that compensated for the fact that I was awake.

“Morning, Dulce,” Sam said as she came up behind me. I could hear her heels clicking on the tiles in the break room. I never understood why Sam bothered with heels; she was already so damn tall. Not to mention how uncomfortable heels could be. I always opted for tennis shoes because in my line of work, they could mean the difference between life and death. If you aren’t able to run, you’re as good as dead …

“I brought Blue with me to work today,” I said as I rescued my mug from the sink.

“I saw that,” Sam responded. She watched me inspect the mug to make sure whatever was previously living in the bottom of it wasn’t life-threatening. But growing ever more suspicious of the gunk in the bottom, I decided to wash it.

“Good thing Knight isn’t here,” Sam continued. “I doubt he’d be too happy to see Blue.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” I agreed before rinsing out the suds in the mug and drying it. The coffee was ready so I poured myself a cup and gave my best friend a broad smile as I added cream and sugar until the coffee was the color of caramel. “How are you?” I asked.

“Probably not as good as you are,” she answered with a quick smile and a knowing expression. “I heard Knight came into town last night?”

I smiled more broadly at the memory of our evening. “Yes, he did.”

“No wonder you look like a giddy schoolgirl this morning.”

“Oh, stop!” I said, waving her away with an embarrassed smile, which I then hid behind my mug as I attempted to take a sip of the hot coffee. At her insistent grin, I realized there was something she wasn’t telling me. “Okay, out with it! What’s that smile all about?”

“You aren’t the only one who is giddy this morning,” she announced.

“Really?” I asked as I took another sip of coffee. “And who is the very lucky man?”

A blush stole across her cheeks as she leaned against the refrigerator and crossed her arms against her chest. “His name is Jordan and he’s this cop I met at Starbucks a week or so ago.”

“Wow, look at you! And what is he?”

“He’s human,” she said with a sigh that belied her disappointment. I immediately felt my shackles rise because I’d had a long relationship with a human once and it hadn’t led anywhere good. In fact, I regretted it completely.

“Does he know you’re a witch?” I asked.

She frowned and then shook her head, her expression one of concern. “Not exactly.”

“Be careful, Sam,” I said as I inhaled deeply. “Remember my whole situation with Jack, the shithead. You know not all humans accept us.”

“I know,” she answered immediately. “And it’s not like I think I’ll ever see him again. I mean, he’s cute and what not, but I wouldn’t be that bummed out if he didn’t call me again.”

“You sure?” I asked as I eyed her, trying to decipher if she was being honest with me, well, and herself, for that matter.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she insisted and then shrugged. “Sometimes a girl just has to get a little bit of action, you know? I mean, I don’t want my fun parts to shrink up and fall off due to disuse.”

I laughed and nodded. “Amen to that!”

“Speaking of, was your reunion everything you hoped it would be?” she asked. Her expression told me she wanted to hear all of the juicy details.

“Everything and more,” I answered instantly. Then, with a sigh, I remembered the part about waking up alone this morning. “And then he had to go back to the Netherworld.”

“He’ll be back, Dulce, you know that,” Sam said in her best understanding voice. When it came to sympathy, Sam could have written volumes.

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any less difficult.” Sam nodded and I could tell she was searching for another subject to lighten my mood.

Luckily for her, I was ready to help her. “Listen, Sam, I can’t really talk at the moment because the reason Knight came by last night was to drop off a very high-profile prisoner who will be spending some time with us.” Then I remembered why Knight brought Jax to Splendor rather than letting him do his time in a Netherworld prison. “Oh, and keep this all on the DL because it’s very hush-hush,” I added, knowing that I could trust Sam to keep any and all information to herself.

“I’ll zip my lips,” she said, pretending to do just that.

“Thanks,” I answered with a hurried smile as I walked past her, being careful not to spill my coffee on the way. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go find out what this guy’s story is,” I said with a quick, apologetic smile. “But let’s catch up over lunch today? I’m dying to get all the juicy information about your cop.”

“Sure thing,” Sam said while nodding. “Oh, and Dulce?”

I stopped walking, turning to face her again. “Yeah?”

“Be careful, okay?”

I smiled at her warmly and nodded, feeling suddenly extra grateful that she was such a good friend. She was definitely one-of-a-kind. “I will,” I said as I turned back around, wondering what type of person Jax Rochefort could be.

***

One thing I could say about Jax was that he was definitely a Loki. Even though I wouldn’t have said he looked like Knight, they both shared similar physical features. Jax was about as tall as Knight and maybe even as broad. Lokis generally gave people the impression of power; they were intimidating, both in height and breadth, but that’s because they were bred for their superhuman strength.

But where Knight had a certain roguish appearance, owing to the shadow of stubble on his cheeks and jaw, Jax just looked scruffy—like he hadn’t had a shower or a shave in who knew how long? His hair was longish on top and a deep chestnut color. It looked like a good haircut at some point in the past, but now it had grown out and no longer had style. The top section reached the tips of his ears, and the bottom was shorter, but uneven. A brown beard covered half his face. But neither his sloppy haircut nor his unkempt beard could mask the fact that Jax Rochefort was very handsome. And even worse, he carried himself in such a way that hinted that he was very aware it.

And that was just as well. If there was anything I couldn’t tolerate in men, or women for that matter, it was narcissism.

“Why don’t you two go out and take a break for a few?” I said to the two guards, Ernie and Judah, who had been with Knight when he came through the portal. Having taken their posts on either side of Jax’s cell and refusing to utter a single word, they looked like beefeaters for the Queen. All they lacked were those tall, black, furry hats. Wally was sound asleep in his chair at the end of the hallway, snoring.

“Many apologies, but we have to man our posts,” the one nearer me answered. I had a feeling he was probably Judah, only because the other guy had a country bumpkin sort of look to him and “Judah” didn’t exactly strike me as a yokel sort of name.

I could hear the weres in their cells at the front of the hallway. They were talking amongst themselves, no doubt, wondering who their newest cell mate was. And the pixie was blatantly staring at us which didn’t come as much of a surprise considering pixies are, by nature, damn nosy.

“It appears the lady would appreciate some alone time with me, boys,” Jax announced with a sly smile. He stood up from his cot and lumbered over, wrapping his fingers around the prison rails. The shackles around his ankles had been removed, but remained around his wrists. When he was directly in front of me, I had to crank my neck to look up at him, he was so tall.

“Why is he still cuffed?” I asked the guard nearest me.

The guy shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “Can’t trust him.”

I wondered what there really was to trust when the guy was behind iron bars, but I didn’t have to ask. Jax answered for me.

“Ah, yes, of course, no one can trust me as I’m a Loki and, therefore, the strongest they come.” He laughed acidly and then wrapped his hands around the bar directly in front of him, pretending to pull it apart. “Perhaps I could even bust right through these cuffs and pull these bars apart before any of you can say ‘oh, fuck.’”

I couldn’t help my smile, but a millisecond later I forcefully banished it because I didn’t want Jax to think I found him entertaining. When his attention moved from me to the guard, his smile dropped.

“Apparently I need to repeat myself. The lady said she wants some time with me alone, Barney Fife, so I’d appreciate it if you’d appease her.”

“We got our orders,” the guard to Jax’s right said in a gruff tone, the one I guessed was Ernie. With his Southern twang and poor grammar, I thought the name “Ernie” suited him perfectly. Well, so would Barney Fife, for that matter.

“Now you’re taking your orders from me,” I announced, throwing my hands on my hips to let them know there was no room for argument. I had lots of questions for Jax and the sneaking suspicion he’d be more likely to give me the answers I sought if he didn’t have a crowd.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Judah started, but I immediately shook my head.

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me! I’m the head of this branch of the ANC, meaning, I make the rules,” I snapped, taking turns glaring at both of them. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Wally waking up. He jerked a couple of times and rubbed his eyes before focusing on the guards and me for a few seconds. Then he hopped to his feet, but not before stifling a yawn.

Note to self, you need to write Wally up for falling asleep on the job, yet again, I told myself. Freaking gnomes…

“Dulce, you good?” Wally asked in a deep voice.

“I’m fine,” I replied without bothering to look at him. Instead, my attention was fastened on Judah. I figured he was the guard in charge. But maybe that was just because he appeared to be more intelligent than Ernie. “I was just informing these two that I want some alone time with the prisoner.”

“And I was informing her that we are under strict rules from Vander to stay where we are,” Judah interjected, his attention never leaving my face.

“Not only am I in charge of this office,” I started, narrowing my eyes at him, “but I’m also Vander’s girlfriend.” Truth be told, I didn’t want to play that card, but I couldn’t really see any other way around it. Jax made a whooping snort of a laugh and slapped his thigh with his mitt-like hand as he continued to chuckle. I ignored him, as did everyone else in the room. “So unless you want me to call him right now, and report that you aren’t obeying a word I’m saying, I suggest you vacate the premises, and pronto!”

Judah paused for a couple of seconds before he glanced down at Wally, who had already made his way up to me. Standing beside me, all five feet of him, he said, “I’d listen to the lady,” before nodding. “She’s telling the truth; and she’s got one hell of a temper!”

Judah paused another few seconds before he glanced at Ernie and then turned back to face me. “How long do you need?” he asked.

“Twenty minutes,” I answered while continuing to stare him down. He just nodded as the two of them started up the hallway. A wave of relief washed over me.

“I’m feeling a piss and a coffee break comin’ up for me,” Wally announced, his way of exiting politely. He offered me a quick grin, which revealed yellow, uneven teeth. They actually resembled unpopped kernels of popcorn.

“Thanks, Wally,” I said to his retreating back. When I returned my attention to Jax, I found him staring at me unabashedly.

“We finally find ourselves alone,” he said, with another suggestive smile. I was more than sure that seductive expression had landed him more than a few bedmates. Well, that is, until he got locked up.

“You can cut the Casanova crap with me,” I announced matter-of-factly. “There’s zero chance that I’ll let you out of here.”

He threw his head back and chuckled heartily. “You do have a temper, don’t you? Yosemite Sam wasn’t lying.”

Yosemite Sam was actually a pretty perfect nickname for Wally, considering how short he was, not to mention his flaming orange long hair and beard. But, regardless of the humor that image evoked, I wasn’t interested in funny conversations. I had crucial information I had to squeeze out of Jax, and that was the only purpose for my visit. “I want to know why you turned yourself in to the ANC,” I stated, studying him pointedly.

“Well, you certainly go straight for the jugular, don’t you?” His eyes settled on my bust for a few seconds. I could tell it was a ploy; he was trying to make me uncomfortable.

“Answer the question.”

“I already have.” His eyes found mine again and he purposely yawned. “Go ask your boyfriend.”

“Unfortunately, for both of us, he isn’t here right now,” I responded in a steely tone.

“Unfortunately?” he asked with a mock laugh. “Speak for yourself.” Another suggestive smile appeared on his mouth. “I gotta admit, doll, I prefer it just the two of us.” He studied me for a few seconds. “I believe in quality time.”

“Enough of the sexual innuendo,” I warned him, trying to keep my temper under control, because if he knew he could get to me, he’d just keep doing it.

“I apologize,” he said with a pout. “I just can’t help it when you’re so damned sexy.”

“Close your eyes then and try to pretend I’m a man.”

Jax chuckled and shook his head. “Too late, madam, the truth has already been exposed.” Then he sighed like it was a shame as he studied me for a few more seconds. “You’re a fairy …”

“Not important,” I answered, and then figured I was just wasting my time. He wasn’t going to give me any answers because he was too busy flirting with me. And I had no patience for someone who wasn’t going to respect me. Spinning around on the ball of my foot, I started down the hallway.

“That’s it?” Jax called out behind me. “That wasn’t twenty minutes!”

“I’m not in the business of wasting my time,” I responded over my shoulder, not bothering to slow down.

“I turned myself in because I wanted out!” he called after me. I stopped walking, but didn’t turn around. Instead, I allowed him to continue talking. “I figured, with a new regime coming into power, now was as good a time as any to get out; so I turned myself in.”

“And you pled for immunity in the bargain?” I asked, turning around to face him. I didn’t take any steps closer though. I still wasn’t sure if he were truly cooperating or not.

He nodded. “That I did.”

“What about money? Relocation?” I asked, eyeing him narrowly. Of course, I could have gotten this information from Knight, but I wanted to hear it from Jax first. I planned to cross-reference his answers later.

“I didn’t ask for anything, other than protection.”

“What is the name of your operation?” I inquired, committing all of this information to memory. After our little interview, I’d be sure to write down everything he told me. That way, I couldn’t forget any of it later.

“Crossbones,” he answered stiffly.

I couldn’t mask my surprise. Crossbones was the name of one of the larger underground potion operations in the Netherworld. They were probably right at the top of the list when it came to exporting the illegal stuff and distributing it on the Earthly plane.

“Turning yourself in was a pretty gutsy move,” I played along, taking a few steps nearer him. “Apparently, you pissed a lot of people off.”

“Of course, I did,” he agreed with a nod. His smile seemed almost boyish due to the deep dimples on either side of his lips. “But you already knew that—it’s the exact reason I’m standing here having this conversation with you.”

“Because you wouldn’t be safe in the Netherworld,” I finished for him.

“If I were still in the Netherworld, I’d be dead by now.”

I raised my brows, but didn’t comment. Instead, I took the five or so steps that still separated us until we were soon facing each other, only the prison rails separating us. “So why did you want out?”

“Because crime doesn’t pay?” he asked with a sidelong grin.

“Cute,” I answered with obvious disdain. “But what’s the real reason?”

“Can’t a guy just ask for a change of scenery?”

“It’s not that simple,” I replied as I shook my head. “You’re willing to risk death, or something even worse, by acting as an informant?”

“Isn’t that pretty apparent by now?” he asked with a chortle. “But, damn, I have to admit: if I’d known how many hits I’d have out on me, I would have seriously reconsidered my decision.”

“You still haven’t told me exactly why you made the decision.”

He shrugged. “You’re obviously looking for an answer besides the one I’m giving you. But the one I’m giving you is the truth. I got tired of being a thug. And taking orders to kill people I didn’t even know.”

“You take orders?” I nearly interrupted him, finding this information interesting because I wasn’t sure where he fell on the food chain.

“Everyone takes orders,” he corrected me with another smug smile. That was ironic, considering he was the one standing behind bars and wearing chains.

“I was under the impression that you were at the top of the ladder?” I asked, fishing for information even though I wasn’t under any impressions where Jax was concerned. Sometimes, though, it was better to play the part of uninformed.

“Everyone takes orders from someone,” Jax repeated, this time, more slowly.

“So you had a boss?” Truthfully, I was disappointed. Why? Because that meant more work for us. Our main goal was always to get the biggest fish. Silly me for thinking he was exactly that.

“Yes,” he answered, eyeing me with interest. “How long have you and Vander been together?”

“I’m the one asking questions here. You’re not interrogating me,” I snapped.

“Oh. Is this an interrogation?” he rebutted with practiced charm. “And here I thought we were just having a casual, albeit mundane, conversation.”

“Who is your boss?”

“I’m afraid that information cannot be disclosed.”

“Why?” I asked. “If you’re truly on your way out, why continue to cover for someone else?”

“Because it was my choice. It had nothing to do with him. He treated me fairly. My decision is on me. So I won’t rat him out.”

“Okay,” I said with a frown. “Then just tell me who runs your organization.”

“That’s simply a different way of asking me the same question,” he pointed out as he shrugged. “Good try though.”

“Then tell me who is in upper management.”

“How long have you been with Vander?”

I inhaled deeply, trying not to let my annoyance with him get the better of me. “A few months,” I lied. He didn’t need to know anything about my relationship with Knight. As far as I was concerned, that subject was off limits.

“I was in upper management,” he answered coolly.

“Okay, that’s a good start. And where would you say you ranked in the pecking order?” I inquired, trying to understand exactly what role he played.

“Right below my boss,” he answered with little interest. “I was one of the big guns.”

“And who was your supplier?” I speared him with my narrowed gaze, trying to ascertain if he were being honest with me. “Or were the potions created in-house?” That was an interesting question. If their potion ring had purchased the contraband, he could possibly tell me what other rings were involved, if any. Well, if he was willing to part with that information, that is.

“You’re asking me to divulge all my secrets,” he said with a sly smile.

“Yes,” I answered, frowning. “I thought that part was obvious?”

“But if I tell you everything, you’ll have no reason to come back and visit me again,” he explained with a shrug as he glanced around the small cell. “And I can’t imagine what else there is to keep me occupied in here.”

I sighed. “I know you don’t know me, but the first thing you would know about me, if you did, is that I detest game-playing.”

His smile broadened. “And I know you don’t know me, but the first thing you would know about me, if you did, is that I believe life is a game.”

I scowled at him while shaking my head as I tried to deal with the burgeoning anger inside me. “You do realize, don’t you, that you can’t have it both ways?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re asking us to protect you against the numerous threats you fear, but in return, you are required to give us information. It’s not a one-way street.”

He shrugged. “I’ve given you information already; and I intend to continue giving you information.”

“But I have to play by your rules,” I finished for him.

“You catch on quickly,” he smiled, his flirtatious nature in full effect. “Any last questions before we retire for the day?”

I thought that was bizarre: him calling an end to our meeting when it was pretty obvious to both of us he had nothing else to do for the rest of the day. But I didn’t argue. Instead, I took it as an opportunity to foist more questions on him. “Do you know who is responsible for the hits currently contracted against you?”

“I don’t, but I imagine everyone involved does. You can’t just retire from smuggling illegal potions without pissing off lots of people.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“I usually am,” he agreed, nodding, before his attention drifted to his fingers. He started to inspect his nails before facing me again, and his eyes suddenly began dancing. “Did you know I’m a Loki too?”

“I do.”

“Do you wonder how I’d compare to your man?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” I said with a quick laugh of derision. It puzzled me why his candor didn’t offend me like it should have. Yep, I’d definitely have to be careful with this one. His carefree, easy manner was undoubtedly masking a calculating, manipulative agenda. But, luckily for me, this was just another stroll in a very familiar park.

FOUR

That evening, I called Knight. I wanted to compare the information I’d pried from Jax with whatever Knight already knew about him.

“I can’t talk long, Dulce,” Knight said as soon as our hellos were out of the way. “I’ve got a meeting with Caressa in a few minutes.”

“Okay, then I’ll make it quick,” I answered. No, I didn’t appreciate how Knight basically had zero time for me lately, but the situation was what it was. Although I did understand it, that didn’t mean I liked it. “I talked to Jax a bit today,” I started.

“I prefer that you avoid him in the future,” Knight interrupted me, his voice suddenly gruff. “He’s not exactly someone I trust and what’s more, I trust him even less where you’re concerned.”

“Well, he’s also behind bars, bound by chains, and asking us for immunity. I think he’s probably a little more helpless than you’re giving him credit for.”

“Don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions,” Knight argued. “Jax and helpless are two words that should never be mentioned in the same sentence.”

“Well, you brought him to Headquarters! What did you really think would happen? That I would simply sit back and tell him to enjoy his stay?” My voice was growing increasingly irritated. As a rule, I didn’t like him babying me, especially when I was a strong and very capable woman. Not only that, but I’d been working as an ANC Regulator for years, so it wasn’t as though I’d never interrogated a prisoner before.

“I brought him to Splendor as a last-minute decision,” Knight explained after a long sigh. “My main concern was getting him the hell out of the Netherworld. I didn’t have time to predict what you would or wouldn’t do with him.” He took a deep breath. “But now I’m telling you in no ambiguous words: I want you to keep your distance. He’s unpredictable, which makes him dangerous.”

“Okay, point taken,” I grumbled reluctantly. I didn’t know enough about Jax to argue how dangerous he really was, or wasn’t.

“Give me some time and I’ll figure out what I want to do with him,” Knight continued. “For now, however, just sit tight. He’ll only be there for a few more days, at most.”

Now it was my turn to sigh. Just when I actually felt like I could do my part to help with the new world order, my only opportunity was being ripped right out from underneath me. So now it would be back to the same old, same old. Great. That’s just great.

“Well, I still have some information about Jax that you might find useful,” I started, failing to mask the frustration and disappointment in my tone. “We might as well compare whatever we both learned about him so far.”

“Okay, let’s hear it,” Knight answered. He sounded rushed, almost as if he were concentrating on more than just this phone call. In general, Knight, like most males, wasn’t exactly the most competent multitasker. I always sensed when he wasn’t paying attention.

“You start,” I said while strange background sounds continued to waft over the line.

He cleared his throat and took a few seconds before answering. “For starters, Jax turned himself in a couple of days ago. That struck everyone as odd because he ranks fairly high in his organization,” he said. I could hear the shuffling of papers on the other end and then his muted voice as he, no doubt, gave instructions to whoever was talking to him. Hmm, so it appeared Knight’s multitasking had definitely improved. Yay for him.

“Jax told me he ranks only second to his boss whom he calls the Kingpin,” I added. “So, I’d say he’s pretty high up in Crossbones.”

Knight was silent for a few seconds as more sounds of shuffling paper, mixed with muffled voices, persisted on the other end.

“Are you still there?” I asked, after another lengthy pause.

“Yeah,” he answered immediately. “Sorry, Dulce. Anyway, yes, he’s high up, but I’m not totally convinced he’s as high up as he would like you to believe. Who knows for sure? Titles and ranks in these circles move faster than a starving vampire in a blood bank.”

“Ha-ha, really cute,” I answered, not able to keep the smirk from my tone even though I was trying to be a smart-ass. “So have you found out who his superior is?” I asked, putting on my detective hat again. “He wouldn’t leak a syllable on that information, at least not for me.”

“No, I can’t say he’s provided me with any info on that subject either.”

I was more than sure my chances of getting Jax to open up were far better than Knight’s. When it came to questioning men, women always seemed to have the upper hand. And Knight being the absolute alpha male that he was would only rub Jax the wrong way. Jax not only shared Knight’s ancestry as a Loki, but also his competitive instinct and masculinity. And two alpha males in the same room could only result in butting heads and horn-locking.

“He’s trying to reveal only a little bit of information at a time because he says he wants me to continue visiting him,” I said with a frown.

“Of course he does,” Knight replied, sounding more frustrated than I did. “He has eyes, doesn’t he? Of course he sees how gorgeous you are.”

“I’m not sure that’s it,” I said and sounded uncomfortable because I was uncomfortable. I definitely wasn’t good at handling compliments.

“That’s it for sure,” Knight said, no amount of hesitation in his tone. “He’s going to try to manipulate you into seeing him as much as possible.” He was quiet for a second or so. “And I don’t like the sound of that one bit.”

“Well, if that means I can actually get something more out of him, isn’t it worth it?”

“No,” he responded immediately. “I would much prefer it if you would just leave Jax to me.”

“I’m not going to do that,” I said, figuring it was best to just come out with it. No use in beating around the bush.

I heard Knight sigh and I imagined he was wearing his angry face. “Dulcie, don’t let him catch you off guard; and most of all, don’t let him get under your skin.”

“As if I’d let a potions smuggler get under my skin!”

“I’m just saying, be careful around him, Dulce,” Knight repeated, his tone somewhat sterner. “My preference is for you to avoid him at all costs, and not imperil yourself at all. If I had it my way, he wouldn’t be there in the first place. But, seeing as how he is, I’d really appreciate it if you left him the hell alone.”

“Hmm, you almost sound like you’re jealous,” I announced with a laugh.

“Damn right I am!” he answered emphatically. “Why should that asshole get to spend his time with you while I’m stuck up here? Dealing with this clusterfuck?!”

“Ditto,” I said, sighing deeply. “Ditt-freaking-o.” Then, figuring the last thing I needed to do was focus on our crappy circumstances, I pulled my attention back to the main topic. “Can you at least cross-reference the stuff he’s given us so far, and see if the stories match up?”

There was another lengthy pause and more shuffling papers. Knight then put the phone down on his desk to yell at someone, or so it sounded. He picked it back up a few seconds later, and continued. “We haven’t gotten very much out of him yet,” he admitted, sounding disappointed but still distracted. “Right now, unfortunately, I’m in the middle of extinguishing a series of more urgent fires.”

“Isn’t interrogating the second-in-command for one of the biggest potion-smuggling rings a big and urgent fire to put out?”

“Yes, Dulce, it is an important subject, no doubt, but Jax is not my priority at the moment,” Knight breathed out, sounding irritated. “And, FYI, we still aren’t sure if he really is the second-in-command.”

“Point taken,” I mumbled. “So?”

“So I still haven’t figure out what to do with him,” Knight admitted. “As soon as we knew about the death threats, I had to get him somewhere safe. Plan B is still being devised.”

“Why don’t you just leave Plan B to me?” I replied, even as I realized my chances of getting him to agree with me were probably nil.

“Dulce,” he started, his tone of voice warning me not to argue with him.

But argue I would. “I can help you, Knight. It’s not like I have a hell of a lot going on here anyway right now. Why don’t you let me interrogate him?”

“Because it’s a lot to take on,” Knight answered immediately. “Jax knows what’s up. He’s been around the block and …”

“And you don’t think I’m capable of handling him,” I interrupted, my lips tightening. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my lungs forcefully exhaled it.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” I snapped. “I could tell from the inflection in your voice.”

He sighed and grew quiet for a few seconds. “Dulce, you know you’re great at your job, and I know you’re great at your job; but you’ve never come across a Jax Rochefort before. He attained his stature for a good reason: he’s treacherous and dangerous. It’s not about my confidence in you, and it’s not about me doubting your abilities. It’s just that I don’t want you anywhere near him! I don’t even want him to know you exist! I don’t trust him.”

“He already knows I exist,” I pointed out the obvious.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

“You might not have a choice,” I pointed out. “I mean, who knows how long you’re going to be stuck out there? Meanwhile, he’s here!” When he didn’t respond right away, I continued. “Seriously, Knight, what’s the worst that can happen? That I don’t ask the right questions? Or he refuses to give me the answers we need? Maybe he’ll feed me a line of bullshit? Regardless, those stakes aren’t very high, Knight.”

“That’s fair enough,” he replied with another distracted sigh.

“So rather than ignoring a possible gold mine, wouldn’t it be better for you to coach me on how to interrogate him? Just tell me what information I need to get from him. You know your load is already too heavy, and dealing with Jax would be taking on more than you can handle right now.” I inhaled a deep breath and figured my argument was persuading him because he wasn’t arguing with me. Well, not yet anyway. “You know I can help you, Knight. Just tell me what I need to know about Jax, and advise me how to approach him.”

“Dulce,” he started.

“Help me help you,” I finished.

“It’s not that simple. You…”

“I know I can get him to talk,” I interrupted. “It’s not like I’m the new kid on the block. I’ve been doing this for a long time, Knight.”

He paused for another few seconds. “You make arguing with you very difficult.”

I smiled as soon as I heard his exasperated reply because it meant my victory. “You’d think by now, you could have learned that it’s better to agree with me from the get-go; if only to spare us this back-and-forth.”

Knight chuckled. “Guess I’m just slow.” He was quiet for another few seconds and I heard the sounds of high heels clicking on the floor in the background. “And on that note, Dulce, I gotta run. Caressa just walked into my office. It looks like there’s another emergency fire we have to put out. I’m sorry.”

I could tell he was flustered. “It’s okay,” I replied calmly.

He’d given me the answer I wanted, even if I didn’t have all the information I needed. Now I had the green light from Knight to discover whatever I could. Granted, I imagined there was no way he would find any time in the near future to come up with a prioritized list of questions for Jax, but I wasn’t really concerned. I had faith enough in myself; I knew I could get the answers we needed from Jax. What was more, there was no way I was just going to sit on the treasure trove of information known as Jax Rochefort in the hopes that Knight would school me on everything he wanted or needed to know. Nope, I had to take the proverbial reins now and handle Jax all on my own.

And, really, whatever Knight didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

***

“We meet again,” Jax greeted me the next morning with a polished smile. Unbeknownst to him, his attractive smile was wasted on me. I’d already severed all relationships with my hormones and left them at the door. Now he was dealing with the cold, hard, fact-seeking Dulcie.

“I want answers,” I said tight-lipped. I glanced at Judah and Ernie, but neither one said anything. They simply nodded their understanding before starting for the hallway, which was just as well because I wasn’t in the mood for any arguments. I had no clue where Wally was, but I also couldn’t say I cared.

I strode up to the prison bars and gripped them with my hands, leaning into Jax’s cell as closely as I could. I wanted Jax to view me as his equal; and the only way to do that was by not showing any fear. I figured this was about as daring as I could get from a personal space standpoint.

“I was wondering when you might visit again,” he answered in a charming tone. He took the few steps that separated us and stood in front of me, his cuffed hands wrapped around the bars beside mine. “It gets very lonely in here,” he whispered, looking me up and down as obviously as he could. Even though he was definitely trying to make me feel uncomfortable, it didn’t work. I was already fully prepared for it.

I stared at him directly and boldly. “I’m sure it does.”

His eyes centered on my lips for a few seconds before he smiled, his gaze finding mine again. “If only you’d allow me a conjugal visit.”

“We are both well aware that’s never going to happen,” I scoffed, trying not to sound offended. I’d already prepared myself for the possibility that Jax would escalate his efforts to get underneath my skin. It was entirely up to me to maintain an air of cool confidence and remain completely in control, even if I didn’t feel it so much on the inside.

“Is it so far-fetched?” he asked with a shrug. “I have been told that I’m a very handsome man.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” I answered with an unforgiving shrug.

His smile broadened as he considered me with more interest. “And it probably goes without saying that I’ve had more than my fair share of eager women to warm my bed.”

“I’m not here to debate whether or not you’re attractive or discuss how many bed partners you’ve had,” I replied, narrowing my eyes at him, “because I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” he asked, pretending to be taken aback.

“No, I don’t.”

“Then why are you here, Dulcie O’Neil?” he asked.

I felt my heart catch as soon as I realized he knew my full name. There was no doubt now that he was bent on trying to throw me off. This shocker was just another example of that.

“I’m here to offer you a deal,” I continued without a hitch.

“Really? I’m listening.”

“I expect you’re sick to death of whatever crap they’ve been feeding you here,” I started, studying him in a detached sort of way.

“I would eagerly agree with that statement.”

“If you give me at least some of the answers I’m looking for, I’ll spring for your lunch. You can order whatever you want.”

He smiled, flashing his brilliantly white teeth. They contrasted nicely with his tanned skin and the brown stubble that was beginning to shadow his cheeks, jaw, and chin. Yes, he was decidedly attractive. No one could argue that point, not even me. Of course, it wasn’t like I was really focused on Jax’s looks though. I’d left my hormones at the door, remember?

“Whatever I want, huh?” he asked, eyeing me suggestively again. His gaze descended from my face, settling on my bust, before landing on the apex of my thighs, where he stared at me unabashedly. I held my stance and didn’t flinch or wither. I’d prepared myself for this.

“Whatever you can eat,” I amended.

He cocked his head to the side before his eyes returned to my face. “I have to admit, I’m quite partial to the taste of beautiful, young women,” he started.

“And you can cut that crap out right now,” I interrupted in an icy tone. “I’m not interested.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d accuse you of being a lesbian.” Then he cocked his head to the side and was quiet for a few seconds. “Although I have to admit, the idea of you with another woman might be exactly what I’m going to think about tonight, during my…alone time.”

“Whatever I am is none of your business,” I announced, choosing to ignore his latter comment.

“What if I intend to make it my business?”

“Then you’re headed for a grand disappointment,” I fired back. I felt the need to cross my arms over my chest as soon as his gaze returned to my breasts. But I resisted that urge and continued to stand there as if I were completely at ease, despite his scrutiny.

“Disappointed, huh?” he asked. Acting suddenly dejected, his shoulders slumped and he jutted out his lower lip. “And just when I was starting to get very excited about answering any, and maybe all, of your questions.”

“I’m not on the bargaining table,” I said as decisively as I could, “but lunch is. It’s your choice to take it or leave it.”

“What a shame,” he responded while shaking his head and staring at me blankly for a few seconds. He seemed to be trying to determine if I was bluffing. I had to wonder if that was just another Loki trait—having the ability to see through anyone’s poker face. If it were, it wouldn’t have surprised me because it wasn’t as though I had a catalog of each and every Loki ability. The longer I knew Knight, the more surprised I was at the extent of his talents.

“Call it whatever you will,” I answered, “but my offer won’t last forever; and I’m already growing very tired of playing your games.”

“And to think how motivated I was to give you exactly the information you sought,” he said, shaking his head like it was a big shame. All the while, though, he continued to stare at me as if he could see through me, to my soul. “It has been a while since I was with a woman; and you happen to be just my type.”

“I should say I’m touched,” I replied, shaking my head as a victorious smile became too hard to contain. “But I’m not.”

“You’re a tough one,” he shrugged. Smiling as widely as I was, he continued, “But the question now is how much the information you’re after is worth to you, and what you’re willing to trade for it.”

“I’m not willing to sell myself,” I answered matter-of-factly. “As you can probably imagine, I’m not into breaking the law.”

“You wouldn’t be selling yourself, baby,” he continued, his smile in full enticement mode. “We wouldn’t be bartering for money.”

His smarmy reply suggested exactly what we would be bartering. Even though his forwardness surprised me, I didn’t let on. “Lunch or not?” I asked, taking a few steps back, my signal that I was tired of his games. “I’m a very busy woman.”

“We both know that’s not true,” he argued with a hearty chuckle. “I’ve seen the goings on around here, which equate to zilch.” He glanced to his left and his smile widened. “The only criminals you’ve got in here are those two wolves; and they’ve been here since before my arrival.” Glancing to his right, at the suspended cage where the pixie lay sound asleep and snoring on her cot, he added, “Oh yeah, and the gnat in the cage.”

“Lunch or not?” I repeated, trying not to sound flustered even though that’s exactly what I was becoming.

“I’d say I’m the most exciting thing that’s happened here in a very long time,” he continued, grinning like a fool. “And I also could be the most exciting thing to happen to you, if you’d let me.”

“Lunch or not?”

“You will eventually give in, you realize that?”

“No, I don’t,” I answered and shook my head. “And I’m about to tell Ginger, the cook here at Headquarters, to go ahead and count you in for today’s lunch. My patience is fading fast.”

“You love to play hardball with me, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to play anything with you,” I responded, feeling the truth of my words all the way to my toes. “All I want from you are answers to my questions.”

“I see,” he said, that irritating smile of his still present and accounted for. “Well, would you like to know what I want from you?”

“No,” I answered immediately. “All I want to know is whether or not I should order you lunch.”

“You can order me lunch, but only if you eat yours with me.”

I thought about it for a few seconds before I agreed, figuring this wasn’t too much to ask. “Deal. What are we having?”

“I’m quite partial to Italian,” he answered without pause. “An Italian submarine sandwich would hit the spot for me. Can’t find a good one in the Netherworld, not for the life of me.”

“Done,” I answered as I whipped out my cell phone and called Mama Nona’s. It was my favorite Italian delivery place and only a couple of miles away. I ordered Jax’s sandwich and a plate of spaghetti and meatballs for myself before replacing my phone in my pocket. “Twenty minutes,” I said with a smile.

“They’re quick,” he answered as his gaze landed on me again. “How do you stay so trim, eating pasta? You know it’s crap, right? Wasted calories.”

“And your sandwich isn’t?”

He shrugged. “I’m a man and, hence, I don’t have to watch what I eat.”

“Charming,” I replied with a heartfelt frown. “Let’s see if you still feel the same way in a few years when your waistline has expanded so much, you can no longer see your toes.”

“Guess, we will see, babe, but somehow I’m not too worried about that,” he said as he smiled at me. “So does our social hour, er, our social twenty minutes, begin now, before the food gets here?”

“Is there any chance you’re willing to talk business before the food comes?”

He shook his head. “That outlook is not favorable.”

“Then I guess not,” I answered with a sigh. My raised brow suggested I wasn’t amused. Not that he let it sway him, because he didn’t.

“So what would you like to talk about while we wait?” he asked, his contained excitement making him almost sound boyish.

“Are you scared?” I asked without thinking. I wasn’t even sure why the question popped out of my mouth but it seemed to have a life of its own.

“Scared?” he asked, looking surprised that I would ask him this in the first place. “What do you mean? Scared of what?”

I shrugged, figuring my question wasn’t that mystifying. “Are you scared that someone will come after you? Or are you scared about being found?”

“Of course I’m scared,” he replied with emphasis. “Being scared all these years is what’s kept me alive.” He studied me for a few seconds before he opened his mouth again. “Anyone in my business who tells you otherwise is lying. Or they’re already dead.”

“Good answer,” I nodded, slightly admiring his ability to admit as much. There was more to his compliance, however, than met the eye. I didn’t believe he wanted to get out of the thug life, although I also didn’t know what reasons motivated him to say he wanted to. That was one mystery I intended to solve.

“Next question.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen what happens to rats who squeal, doesn’t that make you nervous about doing what you did?” I tried to sound offhand, or like I was just making conversation. However, his answer to my question would tell me a lot.

He nodded, but didn’t seem overly concerned. “I know what awaits me if I’m caught.”

“And what awaits you?” I asked, sounding surprised.

“I’ve slit more than my fair share of ‘Netherworldian neckties’ over the years,” he answered nonchalantly.

“Netherworldian neckties?” I repeated, knowing exactly what they were. In this case, though, I thought it better to act like an inexperienced ANC Regulator. Letting Jax think he could educate me was a good way to play him.

“Inform the ANC about any of our practices, and while you’re still alive, your throat gets sliced open and your tongue is pulled out through it. You choke to death on the very same tongue that broke our trust,” he described in a blasé tone and then nodded, even smiling at me in a sad sort of way, indicating he was well aware of the fate that awaited him.

“How poetic,” I managed. “Better hope to hell we don’t decide to give you back.”

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then he apparently realized I was kidding. “Good one.”

I shrugged and cocked my head to the side as if to say it wasn’t so far-fetched. “All I can say is don’t piss me off.”

“You are the last person I would intentionally piss off,” he said as his eyes began roving my body with no shame…again.

I frowned and sighed in obvious exasperation. “And just when I thought we’d moved on from that subject.”

He laughed and held his hands up. “Hey, I warned you that it’s been a while since I’ve had a woman. You can’t blame a man for looking.” His eyes settled on my bust again. “Are they real?”

“Of course they’re real!” I responded before thinking better of it.

He just chuckled as he nodded. “They looked real although it is a bit hard to tell without feeling them. I’ve come across many a woman who swears her breasts are real but as soon as I touch them I can tell she’s lying through her teeth.”

“I can usually tell just by looking at them,” I argued, frowning at him.

He eyed me narrowly, his smile almost contagious. “I’m feeling that lesbian overture from you again.”

“You know I’m not a lesbian,” I threw back at him. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

“That means little to nothing.”

“Really?” I asked with a laugh and a shake of my head.

“Sure. I think you’re just confused. You think you want a man but really, you can’t stop thinking about the softness of a woman, the way she smells, the way she feels.”

“Don’t confuse your daydreams with mine.”

He shook his head as his eyes raked me from top to bottom again. “Nothing to confuse. You, my hot little captor, embody every one of my dreams, waking or not.”

“You know, as a fairy, I could always magic myself into something you wouldn’t find very attractive—like a troll, or a leviathan, or something equally as charming,” I said. “Or you could behave yourself and make this easier on both of us. The choice is yours.”

His smile dropped. “Well, when you put it that way …”

“As long as we understand each other,” I said with a wide grin, pleased to finally voice a threat that seemed to resonate with him.

“We do,” he answered in a defeated tone.

“Good,” I replied just as Elsie popped her head around the corner of the hallway.

“You ordered some food, Dulce?” she asked.

I stood up and started for the hallway. She met me halfway and handed me the brown bag, which smelled like heaven. Luckily for me, I had an active account at Mama Nona’s. I paid them monthly for the privilege. Thanking Elsie, I turned to Jax, who continued ogling me lasciviously. Or maybe it was the food making his mouth water. I couldn’t be sure.

Taking out his sandwich, which looked like an aluminum-foil wrapped torpedo and was roughly the same size, I attempted to pass it to him through the bars. He had a tough time accepting it, though, especially since his hands were still cuffed together. He glanced over at me with true concern in his eyes.

“It’s next to impossible for me to eat with these things on,” he said while holding up his wrists, as if I didn’t know what he was talking about. “What do you think about springing me?”

I immediately frowned.

“It’s not like I’ll be able to do much harm since I’m still stuck in here,” he finished as he nodded toward the bars that kept him hostage.

I studied him for a few seconds, silently debating whether or not to take his cuffs off. In the end, I figured he had a good point—he was still behind bars, so what difference could it make? Without another word, I held my hand out and made a fist. Then I shook my hand a few times until I felt a mound of dust in my palm. When I opened my hand, the ethereal particles glittered in the dim light. I threw them at Jax, bathing him in the opalescent specks and closed my eyes. I imagined his cuffs breaking apart and dropping onto the floor below him.

“Well done,” he said.

I opened my eyes and saw the cuffs lying on the ground, directly in front of him. Then I held my hand out and made a sweeping motion toward myself. The cuffs responded by scuttling over the cement floor like some bizarre looking crab. Then they launched themselves between the prison bars and landed in a heap beside my feet.

“Don’t say I never did anything nice for you,” I said with a smile as he reached for the sandwich again and I handed it to him.

“Have you been to the Netherworld?” he asked while unwrapping the foil from around the sandwich. He wasted no time in proceeding to take a huge bite.

“Careful you don’t swallow a finger,” I reprimanded him, before thinking about the question he’d just asked me. Although I didn’t want to give him any personal information, I knew that wouldn’t get me very far. And, really, this question seemed innocent enough to answer. “Yes.”

He nodded and swallowed an enormous mouthful before talking again. “Then you know what happens to fairies in the Netherworld?”

“Do you mean the wings bit, or the sexual crack bit?”

Upon undertaking the misfortune of traveling through the Netherworld, I’d immediately sprouted wings. They were more of a nuisance than anything else and randomly started flapping at the most inopportune moments. I had zero control over them. And the sexual crack part? In the Netherworld, fairies can make any male creature completely lose his mind in favor of his libido. I’d had a hell of a time keeping male creatures away from me, or getting anything with a phallus to take me seriously.

“The sexual crack bit,” Jax answered with a deep chuckle that I immediately found charming against my better judgement.

“Yes, I’m well aware of that already,” I muttered, “but thanks for reminding me.”

“Luckily for you, we aren’t in the Netherworld,” he continued, shrugging in an offhand manner. “I doubt seriously whether I’d be able to control myself if we were.”

“Lucky us then.”

He nodded. “How long have you been working for the ANC?”

That was the question I kept hoping he’d ask me. My answer could either help significantly, or sadly hinder my relationship with him. “Not long,” I said, hoping to hell he couldn’t see the lie in my face. I assumed it was a safe lie since I’d never come across him before, even though I’d heard about his organization. Besides, I was such a small fish, no one in the Netherworld would have any reason to know about me. Well, no one who mattered anyway. “I was just hired on pretty recently actually.”

“So you’re a newbie and, hence, no one trusts you with a prison full of inmates so they sent you here?” he asked, motioning at all the empty cells surrounding us. He took another huge bite and polished off the remainder of his sandwich. I viewed my pasta and noticed I still had a long way to go.

“Right, this place doesn’t exactly have a lot going on. Hence why Knight brought you here. He figured this prison would be under any and everyone’s radar.”

“If you weren’t so nice to look at, I might actually be offended that I’ve been left in the care of a new cadet,” he continued.

I shook my head. “That’s not entirely true. You do have Judah and Ernie.”

He frowned. “Right, and what exactly would they be able to protect me from?”

I shrugged to say I didn’t have an answer for him. “Well, luckily for you, this is a small town and easy to overlook. So if anyone is searching for you, this would probably be the last place they’d look.”

“It’s just a matter of time before someone locates me,” he said with a shrug. Then, his eyes settled on me and narrowed. “And who’s to say what they’ll do to you? Although we both have a pretty good idea, I’d wager.”

“Let anyone try,” I answered with steely resolve.

He didn’t reply but just nodded before his eyes dropped to the plate of spaghetti in my lap. “You gonna eat all that?” he asked with sincere interest.

FIVE

After we finished eating our lunch, I managed to breathe a little more easily because it meant the time for idle chitchat was over. I was increasingly anxious to move on to the more serious questions that needed answers. Well, that is, as long as Jax decided to play by the rules he’d previously agreed to …

“Okay,” I started, watching him polish off the last bite of my spaghetti and meatballs. He’d already downed his submarine sandwich, which, in a word, was … large. The dude had a serious appetite. ’Course, being the size of a Titan, what did I really expect? “I have questions and you have the answers.”

He smiled immediately but it was a smile which unsettled me. Why? Because it reminded me of the Cheshire Cat—something mildly perverse. At the same time, his grin also hinted that he still had the upper hand, or believed he did.

“You certainly are a woman who cuts right to the chase.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I replied as I shook my head and regarded him coolly. “Case in point—we’ve been sitting here for the better part of thirty minutes, talking about a whole lot of nothing.”

“Ah, yes. And for that, I am very grateful, and will forever be in your debt,” he said in a mocking tone to which I didn’t respond.

He sat back on his cot and plopped both of his large feet out in front of him, stretching his arms above his head before exhaling audibly. Even through his prison uniform, I could detect his bulky and sculpted arms, as well as his defined chest. This guy was strong, probably as strong as they came. It was something I didn’t dare lose sight of. If the shit hit the fan and I ever found myself squaring off against him, I had no idea what would happen. Actually, that wasn’t true … I did know what would happen. My fairy powers would be useless against a Loki; meaning, I would basically be as good as dead. Well, that is, unless I had my Op 6 loaded with dragon blood bullets. Then he’d be as good as dead.

“Funny, Jax,” I answered with a straight face. Clearing my throat, I let my poker face take over as I remembered the mountain of information I still needed from him. I wasn’t sure how willing he would be to part with any of it. “So, you were the second highest in command in Crossbones?”

“You have a good memory,” he answered in a slightly patronizing way, which started to irritate me. Then I reminded myself that I shouldn’t take anything Jax said, or did, personally.

“How many people are below you?” I asked.

He shrugged and clasped his hands together above his lap. He looked about as contented as was possible, given that he was jailed and lying on a hard cot which, by definition, wasn’t exactly comfortable. “Ah, maybe three hundred or so foot soldiers obey my command.”

I didn’t know what to make of that number at first—whether that was a lot of people beneath him or not a lot. But the more I thought about it, the more it concerned me, because Crossbones was only one in a bunch of potions rings. And if each of the crime rings operated with a few hundred or more members, that was definitely bad news for the ANC.

“How does Crossbones compare to other potions rings in the Netherworld, in terms of troop numbers?” I asked. I immediately remembered Knight saying something about the various factions of potions organizations and how they were all vying for powerful positions in the new Netherworld order. That was a sticking point that bothered me. Knight also mentioned those rings relied on their strength in numbers, even if they couldn’t cooperate long enough to pose any sort of serious threat to the ANC. Nonetheless, as far as I was concerned, any threat to the ANC had to be taken seriously. And I had a feeling it was simply a matter of time before the bad guys started to smarten up and assemble against the ANC, the bigger threat, in their minds.

“We’re one of the bigger organizations,” Jax answered with a shrug. “Mayhem might be tied up there with us by now, but all the others are smaller.” Then he appeared to reform his answer. “’Course, seems they’re growing bigger every day. Ever since your father got his ass killed, we’ve been eager to see one of our own take his place.”

“How did you know Melchior was my father?” I demanded while eyeing him narrowly. My stomach dropped to my toes as my breath caught in my throat. He’d acted so nonchalant about throwing that point out there; and yet, I was more than sure he knew exactly what he was doing. Yes, Jax was definitely good about keeping me on my toes. I had to be just as good at keeping him on his.

“You know, this cot is mighty comfortable,” he said with a knowing smile. Then he tapped the open space of cot beside him. “I could move over and make enough room for you to squeeze in that tight little ass of yours?”

“How did you know Melchior was my father?” I repeated. My voice sounded like shards of glass scraping over metal.

“Or if you’re still a little shy, I could just scoot all the way over and we could sit side-by-side until you warm up to me?” He smiled lasciviously as his attention fell to my hips. “Either way, I’m dying to get up close and personal with that fine ass.”

“Cut the crap,” I warned him, my heart racing. “How did you know Melchior was my father?”

He shook his head, like that information was no big deal. “I’m in the business to know, baby. It’s what I do.”

“Who told you?” I persisted, trying desperately to regain control of myself and the situation, but there was no denying how shocked I was by his zinger.

“No one who matters.”

So he wasn’t going to confess anything, meaning, I’d have to let it go. It seemed the harder I fought, the more Jax dug in his heels. Granted, it was beyond frustrating, but I chose not to focus on it. I had to move on. After pondering his admission that the crime rings intended to see their own gain power in the Netherworld, instead of Caressa, I decided that juicy tidbit was something I should further explore.

“So do you think any of these gangs are a real threat to the ANC?” I asked, putting to rest the question of what else Jax knew about me personally. I sensed he had more ammunition with which he’d zing me again, when the time was right.

Jax was silent as he appeared to consider my question. He theatrically drummed his long fingers against his thighs and then whistled absentmindedly for a few seconds.

“Really?” I asked, shaking my head with obvious irritation. “Do you have any idea how completely annoying you are?”

Glancing over at me, he smiled broadly, his dimples in full effect. “I admit that I actually enjoy annoying you. It’s just so easy.”

“That’s probably true,” I agreed with a heartfelt sigh. “But I also have to hand it to you: you appear to be irritating by nature.”

“Ouch,” he said with a chuckle that rocked the entire cot. Then he stopped laughing and inhaled deeply. “I think you’re probably right—I seem to have the innate ability to get under anyone’s skin.” His gaze dropped to my bust, before landing on the junction of my thighs. “And I’m not sure about your skin, but I’d love to get inside your panties.”

“Your charm knows no bounds,” I answered with a faux smile before taking a deep breath and changing the subject. “So, let’s get back to the potions rings,” I began again, giving him an expression of impatience and pronounced discouragement. “Do you think they pose a real threat?”

“Yes … and no.”

I waited a few seconds for him to explain, but he just sat there, smiling at me dumbly. “Yes and no? What does that mean?” I hated having to force the subject, and was unable to hide my irritation. I knew I should have kept a better handle on myself, as well as my reactions to his annoying comments, but Jax was beginning to exasperate me. And if there was one thing I knew about myself, it was that I lacked patience.

“Yes, from a pure numbers standpoint; the rings have power. No, because they’d have to band together to have any hope of defeating the ANC; and I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“Why not?”

“Why not what?” he fired back at me. “Why would I love to get into your panties? Well, for starters, your body seems to have been designed for pleasuring a man and I’m a definite boob man. Although that ass of yours is starting to make me rethink my stance …”

“Oh my God, will you give it a rest?” I demanded as I exhaled my frustration, even as I warned myself to calm down.

“I’m hoping I’m breaking down your resistance.”

“All you’re doing is giving me a major headache,” I admitted, none-too-happily. “So unless you want me to leave right now, stick to your end of the bargain and answer my questions.”

“While I will admit that if you did decide to leave, I would enjoy getting an eyeful of that round little ass of yours, I promise I’ll be good from here on out.” Then he stopped talking to smile at me. “Deal?”

“As long as you’re being sincere.”

“I am.”

“Okay, deal,” I answered, still giving him a frown so as not to encourage him. Then I cleared my throat and returned to the subject at hand. “Why don’t you see the potions rings banding together anytime soon?”

“To make a long story short, we hate each other almost as much as we hate you Regulators,” he replied with another laugh.

“So let’s say you put aside your differences temporarily with one another?”

He nodded. “It would take a strong liaison between the top three rings; or maybe the top ring and four to five smaller ones,” he concluded before taking a deep breath. “The ANC is still too powerful a force for any one ring to take on and expect to win.”

“So if you joined forces with two or three rings, do you think you’d be powerful enough to go against the ANC and ultimately prevail?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Something like that.” Then his smile broadened. “But don’t worry your pretty little inexperienced head about it. Leave all the problem solving to the problem-solvers.”

Angry heat filled my cheeks, but after a few deep breaths, I managed to maintain my composure. He was trying to get under my skin again, to throw me off. It was my sole responsibility to prevent him from succeeding. The truth was that Jax knew exactly which buttons he needed to push with me. And he’d figured it out in record time …

What was becoming more and more evident was that even though Jax was our prisoner, we were by no means in the driver’s seat. He still had us where he wanted us; and it was up to him whether or not he released the information we were after. Yes, we could have always tossed him out onto the streets and left him to fend for himself despite all the death threats he was convinced were out there. But the chances of us abandoning him were nonexistent.

If he refused to give us what we sought, the worst that would happen was he’d remain our prisoner. I had a feeling he was okay with that. On the other hand, if he answered all of our questions, and we could prove the truth in his statements, of course, we would provide him with the protection he desired. At the very worst, he’d only become another inmate in a system where protection was somewhat standard. So, in reality, there was nothing left for me to threaten him with, which left me in a very precarious position.

“What other organizations could you unite with?” I asked, pretending like I hadn’t heard his last comment.

“Not me,” he corrected. “I’m out now, remember?”

“What other organizations could Crossbones unite with?” I rephrased, albeit glumly.

He shrugged as if to say he didn’t know. “I didn’t say Crossbones was looking to join up with anyone.”

I frowned to let him know I wasn’t swallowing his BS. “There was no reason for you to bring up that whole uniting against the common enemy bit if your organization never even considered it!” I exclaimed. “And I’m sure your boss is more than intent on seeing himself as the new Head of the Netherworld.”

“Of course,” Jax answered quickly, drawing his eyebrows together in an expression of mild irritation. “But who wouldn’t?”

I, for one, wouldn’t. But I didn’t admit that much to him because I didn’t want our conversation becoming personal again. I was having a hard enough time trying to steer it away from me and my “tight little ass” as it was.

“So, tell me, Jax, based on your evaluation of the nature of crime rings, and their requirement for strength in numbers, doesn’t it follow that Crossbones would try to team up with other rings, if only so your boss could take the place of Melchior?”

“There is more than one way to skin a cat,” Jax replied loftily.

“If we call that way number one, then what’s way number two?” I asked, but Jax immediately shook his head, obviously refusing to answer my question. Rather than growing impatient or angry with him, I swiftly shifted to my next subject. “Tell me about the potions your organization supplies.”

“What would you like to know about them?” he asked, his tone suddenly more childish and fun. “What colors they are? What do they taste like? Which one is my favorite?”

I inhaled deeply while reminding myself to stay cool despite how far beyond tiring he was becoming. “I’m starting to reach the conclusion that you are incapable of answering any question without trying to drive me to insanity.”

“Maybe I simply want to see what you’re really like when you drop that reserve of yours you’re trying so hard to maintain,” he answered. Sitting up straight, he then leaned forward, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’d love to know what Dulcie O’Neil is like when she’s spontaneous, and not pre-calculating every word.”

“Who says I do that?”

“I can read you like a book,” he answered with a shrug. “You’re trying so hard to play the tough cop; but inside, you’re nothing more than a little, scared recruit. An amateur who is trying her best to fill shoes that are two sizes too big.”

Great! He’d bought my lie about being new to the ANC. That was good. The less he knew about me, the better. That he knew Melchior was my father still unsettled me, but maybe he’d just surmised as much from our last names. And if such were the case, I’d already given too much away by admitting it. Damn. Score for him.

“I’m not scared,” I responded in a matter-of-fact tone. He stood up and approached me, gripping the bars in front of him. I didn’t flinch or take a step back; I held my ground, bent on proving, once and for all, that I wasn’t afraid.

“I wonder how scared you’d be if you were locked inside this cell with me right now,” he started in a low voice.

“I would never put myself in that position.”

“Would I beat you senseless?” he continued, as if I hadn’t said anything at all. “Or would I push you against the wall, wrap my hand around your throat to keep you immobilized as I found out for myself what that tight little ass of yours feels like?”

I swallowed hard. No, I gulped audibly. I couldn’t help it.

Dulcie, keep yourself together! He’s just pushing your buttons. You can’t react! I told myself, trying to ignore the fires of indignation inside me that raged. My hands were already fisted at my sides of their own accord. It took all my effort to talk myself down from the precipice. My temper flaring, I was ready to go, and full steam ahead. But once that happened, I knew I wouldn’t be able to rein it back in. So it couldn’t happen.

It took me a few seconds before I found my voice again. “What sort of potions does Crossbones supply?”

He eyed me narrowly for a few seconds, apparently disappointed I hadn’t lost my cool. Then a smile formed on his mouth as he pushed away from the bars. He walked to the far end of his cell before turning around and walking back toward me. He reminded me of a tiger trapped in a cage far too small.

“We’ve got the standards: ArsonFire, Marsh Root, Angel Breath,” he began with a shrug before pacing back to the other end of his cell again. “But you can pretty much find those anywhere.”

“But those aren’t all Crossbones supplies?”

“You’d be right on that supposition,” he affirmed while approaching me again. “There are only two potions we are known to exclusively provide,” he continued, this time pausing right in front of me. “Thissel and DragonFire.”

Thissel was a relatively new street potion. I’d only come across it three or four times in the last few months. A small, black pill, the size of a Tic-Tac, it looked innocuous enough, but when placed beneath the tongue, it instantly dissolved, hitting the blood stream relatively quickly. Thissel was also addictive in its sense of euphoria, which could last as long as a few days. The worst side effect to the euphoria, though, was the victim’s inability to keep breathing. Take too much Thissel, and you could end up with permanent brain damage, or comatose.

“I haven’t heard of DragonFire,” I admitted, being careful not drop my guard or allow myself to appear uncomfortable despite his rigorous, penetrating stare. Truly, his incessant wolfish glances were nowhere near as off-putting as all the crap that came out of his mouth.

“That’s because it hasn’t hit the streets here yet,” Jax explained with a quick shrug of his immense shoulders. Pushing against the cell bars, he extended his arms out straight in a stretch. He again reminded me of a large, feral cat in captivity. Definitely an apex predator. “We were working on widespread distribution.”

“What is DragonFire?”

“It’s much more addictive than Thissel,” he said while crossing his large arms over his immense chest. If things were different and I hadn’t been spoken for, or I wasn’t a Regulator, and if he’d never started with his insulting comments, I might have actually considered him attractive.

“Great,” I said, suggesting the polar opposite.

“In fact,” he continued, sounding pedantic, “it’s the most addictive substance available. In every clinical test case we’ve performed, once it’s taken, the user is hopelessly addicted.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You actually test your narcotics?”

“Of course—that’s the only way to know which ones are the most potent; and, therefore, which ones to market.” He paused for a second or two, stifling a few more yawns, before returning his attention to me. “And thus far, DragonFire has exceeded everyone’s expectations, owing to its addictive results upon first ingestion.”

“That’s gotta be good for distribution and, more specifically, for your bank account,” I replied sarcastically.

“DragonFire could revolutionize the whole industry of street potions as we now know them,” he agreed, apparently missing the irony in my voice. “Think about the potential numbers involved when anyone who takes DragonFire is immediately addicted.”

“I already have,” I continued dryly. “The possibilities are endless.”

“Exactly,” Jax concurred.

“So what are its effects? What’s the draw?”

“Nothing,” he replied with a shrug and a smile. “It does absolutely nothing!”

“It does nothing?” I repeated, frowning as I shook my head because I wasn’t following him. “What do you mean, it does nothing?”

“There’s no reason for it to do anything other than get the user addicted to it,” he explained, taking a seat on the cot again and leaning back against the wall. “If someone tries it once and gets addicted, there’s no need to infuse it with anything else.”

“That makes no sense,” I countered.

“No?” he asked. “Think about it. What is the main goal of all of these rings? What are they really trying to sell? Chemical dependency, of course.”

“Right, but usually that dependency arises from a unique high, which the potion promises to provide. The reason anyone takes a potion is to achieve an otherworldliness; a blissful feeling that only the potion can provide.”

“Right! And the reason someone would try DragonFire is no different.”

I frowned and shook my head. “You just told me it doesn’t give you a high or anything else, for that matter.”

“Exactly! It doesn’t!” he repeated with a large, smirky smile that made me more irritated.

“Okay, so, logically speaking, why would any sane person want to try the stuff if the only thing they can expect is becoming addicted to it?” I asked, voicing the obvious.

“Because most of them won’t know that it doesn’t supply any sort of high until it’s too late. Once they try it, they’re ours for life! The damage is already done. It’s an instant money-maker!”

“But how do you market something that doesn’t provide any stimulation in the first place?” I persisted. I totally failed to see how such a drug could gain any popularity at all. Once one person was victimized, he or she could warn the others. It seemed like the most important drawback was being overlooked, case studies or not.

“What motivates most people?” he asked, and I shook my head. I wasn’t sure where he was headed. “Hope, of course. And hope, my dear, sexy ANC Regulator, is what compels them to get caught in our net.”

“So your plan is to cash in on the chances that people will try DragonFire merely because of the hope that they will like it?” I asked. I wanted to make sure I understood his point. “That seems like a lot of ifs to be betting on, don’t you agree?”

“Well, personally speaking, I have no intention of cashing in on anything. I’m out of the game, remember?” I didn’t respond, so he continued. “But, yes, that’s the idea; and no, it’s not completely illogical at all. The contrary actually. ”

“How do you figure?” I asked, frowning. “What’s stopping a potential user from asking someone who already knows about DragonFire whether or not it’s worth it? Most people get turned on to something by word of mouth. And word of mouth can’t help you in that case.”

“Exactly the opposite, my dear.”

“How so?” I demanded, throwing my hands on my hips in frustration.

“Because as soon as someone tries DragonFire, what does that mean?”

“Instant addiction,” I answered, hating to be quizzed. But Jax was difficult in general, so it came as no surprise. I hated to admit it, but I had a feeling all of his eccentricities were starting to grow on me.

“Right, and if one person is addicted to something, what does that advertise to someone else?” he inquired. His arcane attitude made me want to slap the smirk right off his face.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that our conversation was essential for the bigger good. “That their addiction must be well worth it,” I said softly as his points started to sink in. Only now did I realize how ingenious and insidiously dangerous this new street potion was.

“Exactly,” Jax said with another swashbuckling smile. “So what do you deduce might be the biggest benefit for Crossbones?”

“That you don’t have to experiment with more ways to alter someone’s consciousness,” I answered. “You only have to bother doing the first step of the process, not the second.”

“And she hits the ball right outta the park!” he announced, smiling, despite my frown. “Our sole focus and emphasis on creating DragonFire was the addictive factor. By not spending further time or effort in creating a new high, we instantly saw a huge savings in time and money. The effect, or the high, of the potion is always the sticking point—it’s the part that takes the most amount of time: testing potions, mixing them, finding the strongest ones, and the list goes on. Without that complication, the time it takes from production to market speeds up considerably, and with minimal investment.”

“And what exactly is the minimal investment then?”

“If you’re asking what it is financially, I don’t have an exact figure. But what I can say is that all the proceeds and money are reinvested into assuring the potency and addictiveness of the potion. And our financial responsibility ends there. Once we have the recipe down, it’s just a matter of mass production and distribution.”

“So you do manufacture it yourself?” I asked, jumping on the fact that he’d just answered my next question without even realizing it. Or maybe he had, but didn’t care.

“Yes, we manufacture all of our potions.

“How?”

He shrugged. “We have numerous witches on staff—all highly competent in their craft.”

“And they were the ones responsible for divining the DragonFire recipe until it was as addictive as possible?” I asked, now genuinely curious as to how it all worked. Up until now, I’d only experienced the distribution side of the street potions scene—busting those who sold or used potions on the streets of Splendor. Lacking a lot of experience with the Netherworld in general, I wasn’t familiar with the behind the scenes aspect. This was definitely a learning experience, and then some. Well, that is, if everything Jax was telling me was true. Strangely enough, I did believe him.

He nodded. “We also have some sorcerers and warlocks on staff.”

“Interesting,” I said, mentally filing all the information in my head. I couldn’t wait to inform Knight about everything I’d just learned. But first, I had to finish up with Jax.

“Is it?” he asked, smirking at me. “Do you find me interesting, Ms. O’Neil?”

“You know I do,” I answered without pause. “Your life is very different to mine; but one I need to understand in order to become a better Regulator. So, of course I’m interested in you.” I decided to play the new cadet card again, hoping it would somehow help me later. Why? I wasn’t sure; but I went with my gut feeling anyway.

“I find you very interesting, myself.”

“I know, but not for the same reasons that I find you interesting.”

He shrugged before exhaling audibly. “I admit your ANC position is less than thrilling in my eyes, but everything else about you piques my curiosity.”

“I would venture to say the only thing about me that piques your curiosity is what’s inside my pants.”

“That isn’t true,” he argued with a frown. “I find your personality ever so intriguing.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Is that what you tell all the girls?”

“Just the ones I’m serious about… serious about bedding.”

I shook my head again and exhaled audibly as I tried not to let his comments ruffle my feathers. Instead, I tried to play the part of curious. “Do lines like those ever really work because I can’t imagine they would.”

“Lines?” he repeated, appearing puzzled.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” I said with another acidic laugh. I was now well beyond tired of him. “You can’t actually think that I believe any of the crap that just came out of your mouth?”

Jax was spared the need to respond when the ground beneath us started to rumble and sway as if we were in the midst of an earthquake. But this felt very different from a quake, although I couldn’t put my finger on why it was so different. A loud burst reverberated through the air. Moments later, it faded away to silence, as if it had never been.

My heart climbed into my throat as I caught my breath. My wide eyes met Jax’s, but he didn’t look surprised at all. On the contrary, his expression revealed a complete lack of concern.

SIX

“What the hell was that?” I asked Jax as soon as the rumbling died down. My heart was tightly lodged in my throat, but still pounding like an SOB. I was panting so hard, I was finding it hard to breathe.

“An earthquake?” he asked, but his lack of surprise or concern threw me. Furthermore, I didn’t see any fear or anxiety in his eyes, which I found odd.

“I don’t think so,” I said, studying him pointedly.

But he simply shrugged as if he didn’t have an answer for me and wasn’t concerned enough to try to find one. His reaction initially struck me as strange, but I was too nervous to focus on it, or him. Instead, I glanced to my left and then to my right in an attempt to take stock of the room. Nothing seemed to be damaged as far as I could tell.

As soon as I looked back at Jax, the floor beneath me started to heave back and forth, then up and down. This time, I was a little more convinced that we could have been experiencing an earthquake, since the rumbling seemed faintly familiar. Wally’s chair began to skip forward from the end of the hallway, and the pixie’s cage swung back and forth violently, knocking her from one side to the other. I worried that it might pop itself right off the hook, which was coming out of the ceiling.

“Get me the hell outta here!” she screamed in her helium voice, as she clung to the bars of her tiny prison and beat her wings frantically.

Meanwhile, the two weres in the holding cells located at the front of the hallway were also getting understandably freaked out.

“What the hell is that sound?” One of them yelled out, his tone revealing his panic.

“Earthquake!” the other one answered and due to my keen sense of smell, I could detect their increased perspiration. They both smelled earthier than usual.

“Let me out of this cage!” the pixie continued, but I couldn’t say my mind was on either the pixie or the weres. Instead, I was trying to figure out just what the hell was going on because I still wasn’t convinced we’d just experienced an earthquake.

There was no sign of Wally, Ernie, or Judah, which was probably a good thing. Hopefully, they’d found cover, or were somewhere safer than here.

“It sounds like the rumbling stopped,” I said as I faced Jax, who still looked completely unconcerned, bored even. Neither of us said anything else for the span of a few seconds as I stood stock still, testing the truth in my words. I looked down at the floor, studying it for a moment or two before I glanced back up at the walls, trying to detect if they were still moving. They didn’t appear to be.

I returned my attention to Jax, who remained very solemn. No sooner did my eyes meet his than the floor started to shake again, making a horrible grinding noise as it did so. Jax immediately grasped onto the iron bars to remain upright. As the floor swayed beneath us, going up and then down again, my knees buckled before my legs flew out from underneath me. The floor suddenly shoved me forward and I was hurled headlong into the wall, landing beside Jax’s cell. I had to brace myself for the impact with both arms against the wall to avoid breaking my neck or nose.

“Are you okay?” he called out, finally looking worried.

“I’m fine,” I said as I tried to stand up but it suddenly felt like someone was pulling me backwards into the room with a pair of invisible hands. I started to trip over my own feet again and had to right myself against the wall, trying to stand in place long enough to plan my way back to Jax.

Regaining my balance, however, was nearly impossible when the ground continued to rumble and buckle beneath me like a feral horse. I fell over again, this time, landing on my butt. I was so freaked out, I couldn’t register any pain and wasn’t even sure if I was hurt or not.

Immediately rolling over, I got onto my hands and knees, assuming my chances for getting hurt decreased the closer to the ground I was. I inched forward, heading for Jax’s cell. My only thought was to get us both to safety.

When I reached his cell, I tried to right myself again, but the floor kept swaying and rolling to such an extent, it made it impossible to stand up.

“Look to your right!” Jax yelled out as I glanced over my shoulder, only to see Wally’s chair flying past me, one of its legs narrowly missing my head. It crashed into the wall at the far end of the room.

Dulcie, you have to take cover! I told myself.

The only problem was that there weren’t any tables under which I could shelter myself, and the doorway to the hall was a long way off, which meant I wouldn’t be able to secure myself inside the door frame.

“Just grab hold of the bars,” Jax interjected, his voice much louder than the grumbling, angry quake. “Nothing in the room can hurt you because it’s all fastened down.”

“You mean aside from that chair that nearly knocked me out?” I ground out while struggling beside the wall. The floor was rolling back and forth, but also jerking from side-to-side, and out from underneath me. It was impossible to walk, almost impossible even to stand up.

“Yes, aside from that,” Jax answered. His smile seemed too nonchalant, given what was going on. “The only other thing to worry about are the lights in the ceiling; but those seem to be still intact. Grab the bars and hold on tight; you’re about to have the ride of your life!”

Considering his was the only option I had, I leapt forward and wrapped my fingers around the bars in front of me. Just then the ground buckled beneath me and I felt myself drop. I tightened my grip around the bars and gradually lifted myself back up. Barely a half second later, the ground heaved upward again, and I worried my head would ram into the ceiling. My stomach climbed up into my throat and dropped again just as fast, making me feel sick. The vertigo reminded me of how it feels when you drive up and down a twisting, mountainous road at too high a speed.

“Woo hoo!” Jax yelled with a laugh that seemed way too excited, given the circumstances.

“What is wrong with you?” I screamed at him.

“The Gods must be pissed that I’m locked up!” he yelled back with an outstretched smile, his voice barely audible over the din in the room.

I couldn’t respond because it felt like the floor was ready to give out beneath me. Gripping the bars of Jax’s cell as tightly as I could, I hoisted myself upright again. I tried to catch my breath and tried even harder to stay standing, despite the ground breaking up and bucking beneath me.

“I got you now,” he said. “Just don’t let go,” Jax said as he covered my hands with his and pushed his weight against them, obviously trying to keep me secured in place.

I didn’t take a whole lot of relief from his comment though. If the seesawing activity of the ground got any worse, there was no way I could remain steady. And I doubted that Jax had a good enough grip on me to make him any more successful.

“Put your feet on the bars like I’m doing,” he said. Glancing down, I noticed he was keeping the soles of his feet on the side of the bars. It looked like he was climbing on them like some sort of tree-dwelling animal. “You’ll have to support the weight of your body with your arms,” he explained.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be able to manage that,” I admitted. My upper body strength was definitely inferior to my lower.

“You have no other choice,” he answered calmly, narrowing his eyes on me in a serious expression. “The bars are the only things in the room that aren’t moving.”

On that point, it seemed he was correct. I checked out the floor again, and even though it didn’t seem like the rumbling had gained any momentum, the ground continued to rise and fall beneath us as if we were on the sea, at the mercy of the waves. The incessant bobbing motion made it nearly impossible for my feet to gain any purchase on the bars, but I continued to try.

“This is no earthquake!” I shouted, shaking my head as I faced Jax again. He just looked at me vacantly, not bothering to respond. But, really, he didn’t have to say anything because I was already convinced we were dealing with something else. As a native Californian, I’d had my share of earthquakes, and knew what to expect—usually a sudden jolt, followed by violent shaking that lasted for several long seconds.

But this shaking was very different. It was a rolling vibration that pulsed and throbbed through the ground beneath us. And it had been going on now for a few minutes, not seconds. It almost felt like something huge was beneath the floor, trying to escape, and causing the floor to arch up and drop back down again. Almost like a plow tilling the earth, but upside down.

“Dulcie! What’s happening?”

Hearing Sam’s panicked voice, I glanced over my shoulder only to find her staring at me, open-mouthed. She stood in the doorway of the jail cell and she wasn’t grasping onto anything. She was also standing up straight, and it appeared as though the ground beneath her wasn’t rumbling or shaking. But how was that possible when it felt like Jax and I were adrift on an angry ocean?

She took a couple of steps closer until I yelled at her. “Stay where you are!” I warned her. “Don’t come any closer!”

As soon as the words left my mouth, my right foot slid off the bar. Then both of my feet landed on the floor again. As if reacting, the ground heaved upward and dropped down again, making me nearly knee myself in the chin before ramming my butt into the ground. Without even realizing what I was doing, I released the bars and plummeted to the floor.

“Get up and wrap your hands around the bars again!” Jax yelled at me. “You have to keep yourself off the floor!”

I nodded even though it was a Herculean effort to pick myself up and attempt to grip the bars again. Once I was able to right myself, I lurched forward, narrowly missing the bars and landed, face first on the ground, which surged up to meet me. Luckily I braced myself with the palms of my hands so my face didn’t crash into the cement.

“Get up!” Jax yelled.

I rolled onto my butt and then pushed myself up, all the while feeling like I was on a tiny boat in a rough ocean.

“Give me your hand!” Jax ordered as he released one of the bars and then stretched his arm through the opening between it and the bar next to it. I hoisted myself forward and gripped his hand as hard as I could, even as the floor completely dropped at least a foot or so underneath me.

But Jax’s hold on my hand was sure and strong and with one healthy tug, he pulled me right up to him.

“Grab the bars!” he said as I wrapped my hands around them, straining to stay upright, and trying desperately to control my flailing legs. I made several attempts to get my feet up and onto the sides of the bars, but my arms by then were physically exhausted.

“I can’t hold on,” I said, sounding defeated. “My arms are too tired.”

“I will help you,” he answered with a quick nod as his eyes bored into mine. “Your only job is not to let go.”

“I can try,” I said but there was no way I could continue holding on like he’d instructed me. Instead, I wrapped my legs around the bars as tightly as possible. Jax also helped ensure I wouldn’t fall off the bars by tightening his grip on my hands until his knuckles turned white.

“Dulcie, hold on!” Sam yelled out and when I turned to face her, I noticed she’d taken a few steps back up the hallway, apparently heeding my warning and avoiding getting into the thick of it, thank God.

“I heard something that sounded like an explosion! What’s going on?” Elsie called out as she appeared beside Sam. She visibly held herself back from entering the room once she saw me hanging from the cell bars while the ground continued to buckle and roll beneath me. She wore the same expression of horror that decorated Sam’s face.

“Something’s beneath us! It’s moving the ground up and down,” I cried, figuring that was the only explanation that made any sense. And from what I could tell, whatever that something was, it was centered directly underneath Jax’s cell, which meant Jax was directly in the line of fire.

I have to get him out, I thought to myself, even as I realized how futile my words were.

Futile because the only key to open the cell was located on a chain, which was currently wrapped around Wally’s waist. And who the hell knew where Wally was? I would have attempted to open the cell with my magic, but the bars were reinforced with magical wards to make sure the only way to open them was with the key.

At the sound of the floor heaving beneath us, I glanced down, only to find it rippling and buckling, the concrete breaking apart as if it were as frail as pastry crust.

“Dulcie, get away from his cell!” Sam called back, her voice cracking. “Whatever is under the ground is directly beneath you both!”

“I can’t leave him here by himself, Sam,” I countered, audibly conveying my frustration. Not waiting for Sam’s response, I addressed Elsie instead. “Elsie, get Wally! Tell him we need the key to the cell so we can get Jax out!” Elsie nodded at me before turning on her toes and running back up the hallway. I added, “And get back as quickly as you can!”

I prayed and hoped she’d find Wally immediately because I had no idea how much time we had before whatever lay beneath us would make itself known. And that was one moment I really didn’t look forward to. Something that could burrow up through the ground and cause the floor to buckle and shake like it had only meant it was gargantuan in size …

“Who knows how long it’ll take Elsie to find Wally?” Sam asked. The sound of dread in her voice was more pronounced when she added, “It may take more time than you have!”

I refused to look at Sam because I wanted to avoid the concern I knew I’d see in her eyes. Of course, she wanted me to fend for myself rather than act the hero to a prisoner; but I didn’t regard it the same way. Jax had come to us for protection; so it was up to me to provide it. The idea of turning tail and abandoning him to his doomed fate was something I would never consider doing.

“You know she’s right?” Jax asked. “You should save yourself.”

When I looked up, his gaze was already fixed on me. He didn’t say anything more, but gave me a sly smile, acting like he wasn’t as concerned with his predicament as I was. Well, good for him. Nice to know one of us wasn’t taking the whole thing seriously. However, when he didn’t loosen his hold on my hands, I sensed he wanted me there with him as much as my own sense of duty demanded.

“Why aren’t you worried about what’s going on?” I asked in exasperation.

He shrugged. “I can’t control fate. My destiny is whatever it was intended to be.”

“That’s really poetic, but it’s not much help,” I grumbled with a frown and then shook my head to let him know I refused to accept his answer. Still, I had bigger fish to fry than Jax and his apathy in improving his own destiny.

Eyeing Sam, I tried to figure out how Jax and I could make it across the hallway. Well, that was, as long as I could get him the hell out of his jail cell.

I glanced down again and noticed the floor was actually starting to break apart, and pieces of concrete now stuck out of the ground at various angles. Not only that, but the ground continued to rumble, moving the jagged pieces of concrete every which way.

But our escape route wasn’t my primary concern. The most important thing I could do right now was to get Jax out of his cell and then get as far away from it as we both could. But the whole getting-Jax-out-of-his-cell was the sticking point. There was still no sign of Elsie or Wally. And I couldn’t, in good conscience, save myself while leaving Jax to fare alone. Being confined behind bars, he had nowhere to go and no way to save himself. He was basically a sitting duck, just waiting for whatever was underneath us to make itself known.

That was when something occurred to me. “Are they coming for you?” I asked as I wondered if someone from Crossbones was responsible for this…attack. Maybe someone had found out where Jax was and was now sending some enormous creature to eat him, or something even worse.

“I don’t know,” he answered as he shrugged. He still appeared very stoic, or maybe that was just his way of dealing with his own fear. “But you should stop thinking about me and start thinking about you,” he finished as he released my hands.

“You know I won’t do that,” I replied. Shaking my head, I looked over at Sam, hoping to see Elsie and Wally beside her, but no such luck.

“Dulcie!” Sam yelled. “Please!” I couldn’t look at her any longer because of the fear I could see in her eyes. I just shook my head and took a deep breath before facing Jax again.

“The situation isn’t so bad that I’m going to give up on you,” I said, having to yell the words because the rumbling inside the room was so loud.

As soon as my eyes met Jax’s, the ground began to rock back and forth with renewed fervor. Once again, I could only cling to the bars of Jax’s cell in order to stay upright. The sound of huge boulders grinding against each other grew unbearably louder. Pretty soon, it became as deafening as thunder.

“Oh my God!” I breathed out as I watched the floor at the far end of Jax’s cell start to crumble away where it intersected with the walls. Pieces of the walls started to drop off into some sort of sinkhole.

“What the hell is going on?” I screamed as I gasped, watching more and more of the cement floor disappearing into the void and nothingness below. The blackness appeared to be consuming the ground, swallowing it, piece-by-piece. The brown soil of the earth and rocks appeared briefly beneath the floor before the earth simply collapsed into the deep tunnel.

“Dulcie, get out of there!” Sam yelled from the other side of the room with unbridled panic in her voice. “It looks like the floor is falling out!”

But I couldn’t pull my eyes away from what was happening inside Jax’s cell. I watched the small room descending into the ground, as if the darkness below were gorging itself on the floor. Chunk-by-chunk, the cement foundation fell into the black tunnel forming beneath us. I unwound my legs from the prison bars as I realized I had to make a choice—either get sucked down with Jax, or save myself.

There was still no sign of Elsie …

No sooner did my feet touch the ground when the floor shook uncontrollably in an up and down motion. As it rose up like a volcano, the floor inside Jax’s cell caved into myriad pieces of concrete. The broken pieces dropped down into the huge abyss beneath us, the sound so loud I wished I could cover my ears. The gaping hole inside Jax’s cell stretched beyond it, traveling all the way to where I clung to the bars.

“You need to get out of here!” Jax yelled at me.

Realizing he was right, I jumped down and turned around to get an idea of whether or not I could reach the area where Sam stood. After assessing the broken concrete slabs that blocked my path, I sincerely doubted I could climb over them. The entire floor was cracking and swaying apart. It shifted up and down like gigantic piano keys playing a quick symphony.

Another roar and the fault line that started between Jax’s cell and the rest of the room suddenly widened into a valley that was at least three feet wide. It continued to expand as the floor shook, leaving Jax and me basically stranded on an island. We were totally surrounded by the growing chasm.

There was only one way out of our predicament, and I held the answer. Fisting my right hand, I closed my eyes. As my magical dust filled my palm, I opened my eyes and, glancing behind me, I threw the particles at the pieces of broken concrete, which reminded me of old tombstones being tossed from the ground.

My magic didn’t go very far. All of the magical particles were immediately sucked down the chute of the black tunnel, disappearing from view before I ever got a chance to magick either of us out of this quandary.

“It’s too late to try to escape,” Jax called out, shaking his head. “If you try to reach your friend, you’ll get swallowed up,” he finished in a grave tone, apparently having witnessed my poor attempt to save us. “The only hope we have left now is to keep holding onto these prison bars. I’d take a lesson from them, because they aren’t going anywhere.”

When I looked at Sam again, there were tears in her eyes, which soon overflowed, rolling down her cheeks. “I’ll be okay, Sam,” I tried to reassure her, even though I didn’t mean it. At this point, I seriously doubted whether or not Jax and I were going to make it out of this … alive.

Regardless, Jax had a good point. The bars seemed to be the only things we could hold onto while the floor inside the cell rapidly disintegrated. The iron bars weren’t attached the floor, but to the walls, which, so far, seemed to be holding up pretty well. Wrapping my legs around the bars again, I now clung to them as if my life depended on it.

And it probably did.

“Oh, God,” I whispered when the cot, which was bolted to the floor, started to shake. The floor beneath it began to break apart into chunks of concrete, each one vanishing into the blackness below. The cot, half of which was now hanging in the chasm, began to whine and moan as the suction of the tunnel tried to rip it out of the wall. The bed linens were stripped right off and sucked down the chute, the mattress immediately following. In seconds, all that was left were the metal slats and wire mesh that comprised the base of the cot.

“Dulcie, hold on!” Sam yelled. In the din of the wind tunnel, her voice sounded very small, and far away.

As the floor inside Jax’s cell continued to fall into the void, the entire bottom of the cot was soon consumed. The upper half still whined while shifting this way and that. It was barely attached to the wall and appeared to be pulling itself free, taking with it the two enormous bolts that held it against the wall.

Meanwhile the floor continued to break apart, disappearing into the darkness below as if it had never been. In no time at all, more than one half of the floor in Jax’s cell was gone.

The cot strained and scraped the wall before suddenly being yanked away from it as pieces of drywall and two-by-fours disappeared into the wide gorge, along with what was remaining of the cot.

I could feel the force of the vacuum generated by the black hole because my hair started to get sucked forward, between the iron bars.

“The suction is too strong!” I yelled out to Jax as the full force of the greedy wind yanked at my clothes. I had to shut my eyes tightly to keep them from watering in the fierce air current.

“Yes, it is,” Jax responded, his voice devoid of any emotion. I opened my eyes immediately, just at the moment he let go of the prison bars. With his arms parallel to his body, he allowed himself to fall, dropping helplessly backwards, straight into the abyss.

“No!” I screamed, fear surging up inside me because this had to mean that Jax realized the futility of trying to resist the vacuum. And what did that mean for me?

“Dulcie, don’t you dare give up!” Sam yelled at me, but I couldn’t turn my face in her direction. The unending suction was suddenly positioned right beneath me. The pull of it was almost unbearable. I made the mistake of opening my eyes; and worse still, looked directly below me, where I couldn’t see anything except the inkiness of the expanding hole.

I held onto the bars with all of my strength, keeping my eyes shut tightly against the incessant grasp of the air. As one of my legs suddenly unwound itself from the bars, I watched my tennis shoe get sucked right off my foot. It was quickly followed by my sock. Feeling an intense tugging on my pants, I heard the sound of the seams ripping apart. Seconds later, half of my pants were swallowed by the darkness below me.

You’re not going to make it, Dulcie, I told myself, realization dawning on me.

NO! I screamed back at myself. This can’t be the way I go!

But it looked like this was going to be the way I was going to die because there was no way in hell that I could save myself. The suction was like nothing I’d ever experienced. My other shoe and sock were suddenly ripped off as soon as my leg dropped from around the bars. It was just a matter of time before the other half of my pants would follow.

“Sam, I love you!” I screamed out as loudly as I could. Turning my head, I faced her, even though it took all my will power to do so. She stood there, crying so hard, she was unable to speak. All she could manage to do was shake her head before gallons of tears fell from her eyes. “Tell Knight I love him!” I added before the roar of the wind tunnel overcame me. I knew I didn’t have enough strength left to fight it any longer.

I released my fingers one-by-one, before fully allowing the suction to envelop me in its darkness and condemn me to the tunnel and my fate.

SEVEN

With no idea what to expect, I released myself to the dark void beneath Jax’s cell. At first, I thought I’d be killed as soon as the inky darkness enveloped me, but that wasn’t what happened at all. My pounding heart proved I was very much alive. And I could feel the coldness of the air rushing past me, as well as the intense suction that relentlessly pulled me downward, taking me God only knew where.

I couldn’t say if seconds or minutes ticked by as I fell through the darkness or maybe I was in a vacuum where time stood still. Either way, I couldn’t see anything at all. I briefly wondered if I’d inadvertently closed my eyes because the rushing air made them water. But my eyes weren’t closed, or I wouldn’t have been able to see a faint light in the distance. It appeared to be coming from the bottom of the wind tunnel I was trapped inside. It was difficult to focus on the light, since I was still falling, and my body kept twisting and turning upside down.

When I found myself facing what I thought was downward, I noticed the light again. It started as a speck, but soon began to grow brighter and larger, the longer I stared at it. Several seconds later, I rotated around until I no longer could see the faint light, just the tunnel’s darkness once again. I figured I had to have fallen pretty far down the wind tunnel, since I couldn’t see Jax’s cell at all anymore, not even the slightest flicker of light that might have hinted at its location.

I tried to swim back around again, hoping to face the tiny light. I assumed it was at the end of the tunnel, but trying to perceive it wasn’t easy. Maybe it was due to how rapidly I was falling, or maybe it was the greedy suction that drew me through the tunnel, but for some reason, I couldn’t seem to flip myself around.

As soon as I gave up on seeing the wavering glow again, it seemed like someone had turned on a light switch, because I was suddenly bathed in fluorescence. I immediately used my hands to shield my eyes from the harsh intensity of the blinding light. When that failed to relieve the stinging in my eyes, I slammed them closed. My eyelashes barely dusted my cheeks before I felt myself landing. I touched down on something that was too soft to be the ground and, yet, I still managed to land hard enough for the wind to get knocked right out of me. When I felt the pressure of hands on my back and under my legs, I realized I was in someone’s arms.

“And that was a perfect catch on my part!”

I heard Jax’s voice and blinked my eyes open while sucking in a few shallow breaths. I no longer had to shield my eyes because the light surrounding us was nowhere near as oppressive as it had been. Instead, it surrounded me in shades of light blue, almost like it was dawn or dusk.

“What happened?” I asked, feeling shell-shocked.

Jax shrugged like the answer should have been obvious. “A wormhole.”

“A wormhole?” I repeated, frowning at him all the while. Although I’d never experienced a wormhole prior to this one, I vaguely knew what they were. They were similar to portals in that they would connect you from place A to place B. The only difference between the two being that wormholes were usually created with the express purpose of kidnapping someone …

I glanced up at Jax’s smiling face and then looked down again to see I was cradled in his large arms. And I was sans pants.

Yes, my missing pants concerned me, but not as much as the realization that I was here with Jax. Jax was a wanted man, both by the ANC and his own people which meant we could be in hostile territory, surrounded by both of our enemies. I immediately checked the area in front of me before doing the same behind me to ensure that I was aware of any possible threats.

“We’re here alone, hot cheeks,” Jax announced in a tone of voice that I found much too familiar for my liking.

But as far as I could tell, Jax was correct—it seemed there was no one else around, just us. And we appeared to be surrounded by numerous, and unusually tall … pine trees? It was no surprise to me when I began panting. My heart was pounding so hard, I half wondered if I might suffer a heart attack. I had to take a few deep breaths before facing Jax again.

“Wh … where are we?” I started before shaking my head as I wondered if I had just died, because this scenery didn’t make any sense. I closed my eyes and opened them again, half hoping or expecting the environment to change, but it didn’t.

“No can say,” Jax responded with a shrug. I wasn’t sure if he didn’t know where we were or if he just wasn’t interested in sharing. But I also didn’t push the subject because I already knew I wouldn’t get far.

“Great,” I muttered as I took a deep breath and reminded myself that at least I was alive. Things could have been a hell of a lot worse. Only then did I remember he was still holding me and then I realized one of his hands was perched securely beneath my ass. “Put me down!”

“Okay,” he replied before releasing me from the cradle of his arms. He took no precautions about placing me carefully onto my feet. Instead, he simply let go and I landed, butt first, on the ground below which was littered with pine needles.

“Ouch!” I yelled as I glared up at him and rubbed one of my offended cheeks.

“What? You ordered me to put you down!” he replied with a shrug while holding his hands up in mock surrender. “A simple thank you would have sufficed.”

“For what?” I snapped. “I should thank you for dropping me right on my ass?” I stood up to brush the impaled needles from my butt.

“No! Thank me for catching you when you plummeted out of the wormhole!” Jax answered. “That was practically a superhuman accomplishment!”

“Well, as a Loki, you’re not exactly human to begin with, are you?” I grumbled. After inspecting my sore butt one more time, I also remembered I was nearly naked from the waist down, except for my panties. And Hallelujah for those. Jax was more than enjoying my predicament by narrowing his eyes on my ass, and then my crotch, until I slammed one hand in front of my thighs and used the other to cover my cheeks. He just laughed at me.

“No, I’m not a human,” he replied before taking several calculated steps to the side so he could more easily observe my backside. I muttered something under my breath that was so unintelligible, even I couldn’t understand it. Then I moved to the side to prohibit him from further glimpses of my family assets.

“I have to admit, I was very pleasantly surprised to find myself up close and personal with that great ass of yours,” he jibed with a shrug. He continued to skirt around me as I continued to thwart all his attempts to improve his view.

“Probably not as surprised as I was,” I muttered.

“At least there was one good thing to come out of that bumpy as hell wormhole,” he commented while eyeing my butt again as if to enact a charade of just what that one good thing was.

“You’re so predictable, you’re beginning to bore me,” I said with my nose in the air.

“Leave the next twenty minutes up to me and we’ll see how bored you are.”

I just looked at him blankly before expelling an exasperated sigh. “Ugh, you’re a pain in my butt whether you’re locked up or free, you know that?”

“Baby, I would like nothing more than to be a pain in your butt,” Jax retorted with a more lascivious glint in his eyes. “A very large pain in your butt, I might add.”

I chose to ignore the whole large comment. Instead, I focused on the fact that our most recent exchange was pretty much my fault. “Yeah, stupid me,” I grumbled with a brief nod. “I set myself up for that one,” I finished while backing up into a tree, thus preventing Jax’s eyes from feasting on my rear any longer.

“Tell me something, has that boyfriend of yours ever had the privilege of …” he started to ask, but I immediately held my hand up. With my palm facing him, I tacitly told him he could talk to the hand because the rest of me refused any part of this conversation. “Well?” he asked, obviously not able to understand sign language.

“We are absolutely not discussing anything else personal now or ever!” I responded, spearing him with my piercing gaze. I then wondered if my magic would work here, wherever here happened to be.

“Okay, okay,” he finally relented. Holding his hands up, he smiled down at me. “May I just finish by saying that your ass felt every bit as tight and round as I imagined it would?”

“No.”

“You know, I think you have single-handedly turned me into an ass man!” he continued, nodding and seeming excited over the fact. “I used to be exclusively a breast man, as I told you, but now I’m thinking better of it.”

“Great, I’m happy for you,” I grumbled. All the while I hoped and prayed my magic would work now, because if it didn’t, there wasn’t much more I could do about my current state of undress. And that was a subject which deeply worried me.

“So I got a little peek at your lower assets but you’ve still given me nothing regarding your upper ones,” he continued with a shrug. “How’s about you take that shirt off and show me what you’re working with upstairs?”

“How’s about you give it a freaking rest!” I yelled while shaking my head. “Oh my God, you are beyond frustrating!” I closed my eyes and fisted my hand, starting to shake it in order to conjure up my magical dust but Jax’s grating voice interrupted me.

“You probably didn’t notice it when I caught you, but I copped a generous feel,” he confessed, clearly ignoring my last comment. Actually, it was probably fair to say that Jax, in general, ignored nearly everything that came out of my mouth. He was exasperating to say the least.

“Yeah, I noticed,” I admitted, opening my eyes to glare at him.

“You did and yet I didn’t get a complaint?” he asked, smiling with true mirth. “Interesting. Should I take that to mean that you enjoyed being felt up?”

“No!” I railed back at him. “In general, it’s safe to say that anything having to do with you and sex leaves me nothing but maddened, disgusted and ready to pull my own hair out.”

“You say that,” he continued, eyeing me narrowly. “And yet, I can’t help but wonder why you didn’t discourage me much earlier, if my roaming hands really bothered you that much.” His eyebrows reached for the tops of the trees as he shook my head. “Methinks the truth is more along the lines of you wanting me as much as I want you.”

“No,” I insisted immediately. “The truth is more along the lines of me being so shocked by everything that I’d just gone through that I wasn’t paying enough attention to you and your attempts to molest me. Had I been completely coherent, your hand would now be broken.”

“Well, that, or we’d be pursuing other, more pleasurable activities,” he purred with a look of unrestrained hunger again.

But I wasn’t paying him any attention because I was too busy trying to magick myself a pair of pants. Closing my eyes again, I silently prayed my magic would work as I shook my right hand. A few seconds later, I felt a mound of my dust materialize in my palm. Things were looking up …

I opened my eyes when I threw the magical particles directly over my head. As I watched the glittery specks sprinkling down on top of me, I imagined a pair of jeans covering my lower half. Seconds later, I smiled to see I was no longer naked from the waist down, but clad in my favorite Levis.

“And just when I was beginning to really appreciate the view,” Jax said with a frown while shaking his head and acting overly disappointed.

“Okay! That’s enough,” I sniped back at him. Taking a deep breath, I tried to figure out a plan, something to keep me moving forward. First of all, however, I needed to understand what had just happened to us over the last ten minutes or so.

“I’m not sure which is worse—grabbing a healthy feel of your ass, or never having had the opportunity in the first place,” he lamented in dramatic soliloquy.

“I don’t care.”

“I know the answer,” he continued, nodding. “It’s worse now that I’ve had the opportunity,” he finished, obviously ignoring my comment. He might as well have been having the conversation with himself. “Only because now I can’t stop thinking about getting another feel.”

“Oh, my God, you are so exhausting,” I replied with my hands on my hips as I shook my head in pure desperation. “I have no energy left to deal with you anymore.”

“You don’t know the half of how exhausting I can be, baby girl,” he answered with a wink that made me want to vomit.

“I don’t want to know the half of it! I don’t want to know a third of it! I don’t want to know any of it!” I barked, taking a deep breath before entering the more important conversation that we still needed to have. “What I do want to know, however, is what happened back there?”

“What happened back … where?”

My heartrate increased again, but this time, out of growing frustration. “Oh, I don’t know, for starters, how about us both disappearing into the wormhole?”

He shrugged. “Sounds like you summed the whole thing up fairly well. What more would you like to know?”

“Don’t screw around with me, Jax!” I yelled at him finally, feeling my temper starting to fray. “I’m not in the mood for it!” Then I inhaled deeply three times because I was suddenly feeling faint.

“I would never try to screw around with you, Dulcie,” he answered, that pesky smile of his in full effect.

My heartbeat started to pound through my chest again; and despite some more deep breaths to slow it down, it persisted. I felt like I was on overload at the moment. I had no clue what had happened to me, much less where I was. Furthermore, I wondered if there was any way back—was I even still traveling on an Earthly plane? I figured I must have been because my magic worked here; and it didn’t in the Netherworld. Throwing Jax into the mix was just one more question mark and one more answer I didn’t have.

I decided to sit down for a second or two until I could get my fight or flight response under control. Putting my head between my knees, I closed my eyes.

You can handle this, Dulce, I told myself. You’re tough and strong and you can handle whatever curveball life might throw at you. All you need is a little bit of downtime, just enough so you can catch your breath and think more clearly.

“This is good training for you,” Jax interjected.

“I don’t need more training,” I muttered in reply. I failed to suppress my scowl as I glanced up at him briefly before wedging my head between my knees again.

“All good recruits never stop training,” he continued, commanding my attention again as he shrugged, like I should have admitted that he had a point.

“I’m not a recruit!” I yelled in a moment of unrestrained frustration. Yes, I realized almost instantly that it was a bad move. I shouldn’t have been ready to reveal my cards at this point, but I couldn’t say I cared anymore. I just wanted to get him to shut the hell up.

“You’re not a recruit?” he asked, shaking his head. Then he tsked me, but didn’t seem really offended. “It appears the honorable ANC officer hasn’t been exactly straight with me.”

“No, I haven’t been,” I answered with no trace of apology. Then I laughed angrily. “Why should I be? It’s not like you’ve been straight with me.”

“Then we are at an impasse, aren’t we?” he asked. His serpentine smile indicated how much he enjoyed our verbal sparring. But I wished he’d just keep quiet so I could formulate a plan in my mind to get out of this predicament.

“There doesn’t have to be any impasse,” I answered. “Instead, you could start answering my questions, now that you have nothing more to lose.”

“You think I have nothing more to lose?” he asked, eyeing me with keen interest.

I shrugged. “You aren’t locked up anymore, and you seem to know where we are, although I don’t, and you’re physically much stronger than I am, and I’m unarmed. I’d say you have nothing more to lose.”

“Good points, all of them,” he admitted with a curt nod. Then he shrugged. “Okay, ask away, fair lady.”

“You’ve known exactly what was happening all along, didn’t you?” I inquired instantly, sitting up straight as soon as I wondered if he might be willing to give me the elusive answers to my questions I’d been seeking all along.

“What do you think?” he asked with little interest. His expression showed the same lack of concern or surprise as he did when the “earthquake” first started. I suddenly remembered how throughout that episode, and right up until the point when he finally dropped down into the tunnel, his expression never changed.

“I think you had it all planned.”

“Yes,” he answered unapologetically. “It was all part of my sinister master plan,” he added with a drawn-out, well-practiced, malevolent laugh that sounded purposefully evil. “And if it hadn’t been for you meddling kids, I might have actually pulled it off!” he finished, quoting every ridiculous villain ever to appear on Scooby-Doo.

“So what was the point of it all?” I asked as I faced him squarely. My breathing had returned to normal, and the fuzzy feeling behind my eyes was dissipating rapidly. Things were definitely looking up.

“To get you away from Headquarters,” he answered with a shrug, like it should have been obvious to me.

“Why?” I asked while heaving myself onto my feet. I took a few seconds to make sure I wouldn’t get dizzy again and keel over.

“Because those were my orders.”

“Orders? From whom?” I demanded.

He glanced up at the sky before taking a few steps forward. “I already told you—that’s not your concern.”

“I thought we were answering each other’s questions now!” I retorted, wondering if I could ever get him to bend on that point.

“I’m only answering questions that I choose to,” he corrected me. Looking up at the sky again, he seemed to be navigating by using the stars, which were now fast appearing in the dark blue sky. He glanced over at me again with a curious expression. “And I didn’t realize we were answering each other’s questions?”

“We aren’t.”

“You just said we were,” he pointed out.

“I misspoke,” I responded, shaking my head. “Getting back to the subject, since you won’t answer that last question, how about this one? Was the sole reason you turned yourself in designed to get me away from Headquarters?”

“Yes,” he answered without any explanation. Facing the sky again, he took a quick right, and walked forward a few steps.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re the one who just connected the dots,” he responded with a shrug. “If it doesn’t make sense to you, ask yourself why.”

“It doesn’t make sense because I don’t know your reasoning yet. I mean, how does turning yourself in result in protecting me? Especially when you had no idea that you would even end up in Splendor in the first place?” I inquired as I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you surrendered yourself in the Netherworld. How could you ever have known that Knight would relocate you to Splendor?” I shook my head the more I thought about it. “There’s no way you could have!”

“Just call it an educated guess,” he retorted before taking a few more steps forward and glancing back at me impatiently. “We need to get a move-on. It’s getting dark, and those clouds in the distance look like rain.”

“Educated guess? How?” I asked without budging.

He shrugged. “As soon as I told Vander about the death threats, he knew he couldn’t keep me confined in the Netherworld. I knew he’d seek as inconspicuous a location on the Earthly plane as he could. And the one place that had to have been always foremost on his mind was Splendor, of course. That way, he could incarcerate me and see his girlfriend all at the same time. Sort of like killing two birds with one stone.”

I couldn’t argue because his reasoning made sense. Well, obviously it did because that’s exactly what had happened. “Okay, so why did you take me away from Headquarters?” I continued. “Are you expecting some sort of ransom in exchange for me?”

“It’s my turn,” he said with steely resolve. “What’s your favorite sexual position?”

“Really?” I asked, shaking my head, my frown in full effect.

“Really.”

“I don’t want to talk about anything sexual with you.”

He shrugged. “Then guess we’re going to have a quiet walk through the woods.”

“You’re such a pain in the,” I started before catching myself and swallowing the remainder of my words.

If you don’t play by his rules, Dulce, he’s not going to answer your questions, I told myself and immediately recognized the truth in my own thought.

“Missionary,” I ground out.

“Boooring!” Jax responded, wrinkling up his nose like he’d caught a whiff of something bad.

“Hey, you asked,” I barked back at him.

“I was hoping you’d say doggy style.”

“Well, I didn’t. So, getting back to my original question: are you expecting to ransom me?”

“No,” he replied while shaking his head and moving forward again. “And unless you start following me, I’m not going to answer any more of your questions.”

I sighed with annoyance, but decided to follow him a little longer, just until I got all of my questions answered. “Okay, I’m following you now, so answer the question.”

He glanced back at me, apparently to make sure I was behind him, and then offered me a wide smile. “I was told to get you away from Headquarters in order to keep you safe.”

“To keep me safe?” I repeated. Now he’d lost me. “Why would anyone from a potions ring want to keep an ANC Regulator safe?” I demanded when the first raindrop splashed against my nose. He was right; rain was in the forecast. Great.

Jax shrugged as he faced me with curiosity in his eyes. “I can’t answer that, baby. That’s a question you’ll have to ask yourself, or you can ask my boss.”

“I have no intention of coming face-to-face with your boss.”

Shrugging, he picked up the pace, ostensibly feeling the raindrops as well. “Then I guess you’ll have to be okay with never getting the answer to your question.”

“I guess so,” I said with tight lips. “Unless you’re just bullshitting me again,” I slammed back at him, narrowing my eyes.

“I’m not,” he pleaded with an expression of sincerity before wiping a few drops of rain off his forehead. “On this point, I’m being totally honest.” Seeing my skeptical expression and visible disbelief, he laughed. “I thought it was weird to take you out of harm’s way as well, but I don’t question my orders, I just follow them.”

I frowned at him, irritated that he thought I was so stupid to buy his ridiculous explanation. “Okay, let’s put aside, for the time being, my opinion that your story has huge holes in it,” I started. “And let’s just say I believe you, for the sake of argument.”

“Okay.”

“So let me ask you what’s going on that your boss would tell you to keep me safe in the first place? Keep me safe against what?”

“That, I can answer,” he said with a wide grin. Eyeing the sky again, he began heading northeast. I followed him obediently. “But first, it’s my turn to ask you a question.”

“Ugh,” I grumbled, having hoped he’d forget we were playing tit-for-tat. “Hurry it up.”

He glanced back at me and nodded, his grin wide. “When a man’s penetrating you, are you loud?”

“What do you mean?” I snapped.

He shrugged. “Are you loud? Not sure how more direct I can ask it. Do you moan? Are you a talker?”

I felt heat rushing through my cheeks as embarrassment stained them. There was no way I wanted to answer this question. Not when it was so personal.

So just lie about it, I thought to myself. There’s no reason Jax should know such personal information about you. If anything, if you make yourself seem boring in the sack, maybe he’ll leave you alone.

It was a novel idea so I ran with it. “No, I’m not loud,” I said with authority. “I don’t moan and I would never even dream of talking!” I paused to take a deep breath. “There, are you satisfied?”

“No,” he answered.

“Well, I don’t care because I just answered your question so now it’s my turn again,” I managed. I cleared my throat and tried to remember the question I’d last asked him before he sent me on this most recent tangent. “You said you were ordered to keep me safe. Just what is it that you’re keeping me safe against?”

“Crossbones teamed up with a few other organizations; they intend to take control from the ANC,” he admitted.

“Even though you swore up and down that they weren’t interested in doing that?” I couldn’t help grinding my teeth because it seemed he’d pretty much lied to me on all accounts. And now? Now I didn’t know what to believe.

“Well, it’s not like I was going to give away all my secrets to a cop who works for the ANC!” he rejoined. I didn’t fail to miss the “duh” expression on his face as well as in his tone of voice.

“What’s the difference between then and now?” I asked the obvious.

He looked back at me with a wide grin. “Now I’m no longer your prisoner,” he pointed out. Even though he didn’t bother saying I was now his prisoner, the hint of the comment hung in the air.

I chose to ignore it. “Go on.”

“So Crossbones collaborated with a few hundred of our closest friends, and agreed the best way to ensure our desires and needs got considered in this new regime was by attacking the ANC from the back door.”

“What does that mean?” I demanded, my heartrate racing again. I had to take more than a few quick steps just to keep up with him. And I did notice that he was purposely keeping his voice very low, specifically so I wouldn’t tarry too far behind him.

“It’s simple,” Jax replied. “The ANC is so concerned about what’s going on inside the Netherworld, they stopped worrying about what’s going on outside the Netherworld.”

“So?”

“So, if you’d let me finish, you’d have your precious answers a lot sooner,” he answered with a lofty expression.

“Ugh, continue then!” I snarled, throwing my hands on my hips and giving him as much attitude as I could muster.

“I liked you better in your panties,” he said, running his gaze down my front before frowning at me.

“And I liked you better behind bars.”

He chuckled and then winked at me, as if to say, touché. “Apparently, everyone is focused on trying to control the potions industry within the Netherworld. But no one ever stopped to consider how potentially damaging it would be to control all the arrivals and departures of every portal that leads to and from Earth.”

“So your plan is to take control of all the portal crossings in Earth?” I finished, hoping I understood what he was saying. “In order to … what?”

“Yes,” he finished with a curt nod. “To take the ports; that means there won’t be anything traveling to or from Earth unless we deem it okay.”

“So what?”

“So, that’s where the true power lies,” he explained. “One of the largest sources of revenue for the Netherworld is in its imports and exports to and from Earth. Not just contraband, but also automobiles, food, travel, you name it. If we control the ports, we control everything. Think of the profit! And that’s without even including the proceeds gained from exporting street potions.”

I swallowed hard because his plan made sense. It was well thought out. And it scared me to death. “And you think you can actually accomplish that? Controlling every Earthly port?”

“You’ve asked me a ton of questions,” he announced flatly. “It’s my turn again.”

“Fine.”

“Have you ever been with a woman?”

“No,” I answered immediately, thinking I’d gotten off relatively easy on that one. “So you think you can accomplish taking over all of the ports on Earth?” I repeated my previous question before he could ask me another ridiculous one.

“I told you it was only a matter of numbers. And the gangs already have those numbers. Granted, we probably don’t have the manpower yet, but that’s just a matter of time.”

“Until you can take over every portal from Earth?”

“Yes! And once that happens, we can work back retrospectively, returning to the Netherworld. Once we control all of the commerce to and from the Netherworld, we can determine what comes in and what goes out.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” I said glumly as I worried about everyone in the ANC in Splendor, and then everyone in the ANC in the Netherworld.

“Another big benefit in taking all the ANC offices at each port is that it provides us with plenty of weapons to use against anyone who tries to resist or come against us.”

“I still can’t figure out where I fit into this,” I replied, frustrated. “If you intended to take Headquarters in Splendor, why not just take it? You had your chance way back when.”

“Because that wasn’t my mission at the time,” he replied immediately. “My mission was to get you out of there before it was overtaken.”

“Does that mean your people are in the process of taking it over now?” I asked. My voice cracked when I thought about Sam, Elsie, and Wally. The clouds overhead suddenly exploded with cold, hard drops of rain. They seemed to be reflecting the storm that raged inside me.

“I don’t know,” Jax answered in a softer tone. “All I do know is that I’ve got to get you out of here.” As if to prove his point, he sped up his pace. “And I’ve got to get myself the hell out of this rain,” he added. “I hate the freaking rain!”

When he said he had to get me out of here, I could only look around myself again. All I could see were the endless trunks of pine trees. Clearly, we were deeply ensconced in a forest somewhere. “Are you ready to tell me where we are now?” I asked, sounding hopeful.

“No,” he answered. He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at me this time, but instead, increased his pace even faster.

“You do realize, don’t you, that I’m not going to keep following you all night?” I asked. Throwing my hands on my hips, I made a point of staying right where I was. I’d already followed him far enough. And who knew where he was going?

“Suit yourself,” he responded without bothering to slow down. “But you have no idea where you are, and the storm’s coming. You also have no idea what’s lurking inside this forest, because you don’t know if we’re still on the Earthly plane, or inside the Netherworld. Not to mention, you’re also unarmed.”

“So what?”

I could call his bluff on the Netherworld part since I was fairly sure I was still on the Earthly plane, or my magic would never have worked. The idea did cross my mind that maybe my magic could work in some locations of the Netherworld. Maybe it was like cell phone reception …

“So your chances of surviving are much better if you stick with me,” he answered with a shrug.

“I’m a survivor by nature,” I replied while shaking my head. “And I’d rather take my own chances.”

Of course, if I went my own way, that also meant that I would lose track of Jax, my prisoner. Not that he really was my prisoner any longer, considering he wasn’t behind bars, and his compatriots were probably gaining control of Splendor Headquarters right now. That, and he was right, I was unarmed. It was probably truthful to say that I was more his prisoner than he was mine …

EIGHT

It was at this point that I had a critical decision to make: either attempt to keep track of Jax, operating under the probably misguided notion that he was still my prisoner; or head back to Splendor to do whatever I could to keep Sam and everyone else I cared about safe.

It wasn’t a difficult decision to make. I didn’t know where Jax was going, much less to whom he was answering and, what was more, I didn’t intend to find out. I knew enough about his mission, as well as that of Crossbones in general, to take that information and make good use of it. My only priority at the moment was to protect Splendor Headquarters.

Whether or not Jax would simply allow me to go off on my own, however, was another story. It was fairly obvious that he wouldn’t. Especially since his express orders were to remove me from Headquarters and ensure my safety. Well, providing I believed him on that point anyway. And to make a long story short, I didn’t. I figured the truth was more along the lines of Jax absconding with me in order to demand a ransom from the ANC. Why? Because there was no way that anyone in a street potions ring would want to keep me safe. Dead maybe, but safe? No.

I took a few more steps forward, in Jax’s direction, even though I was still bringing up the rear. Luckily for me, the trees were so densely packed, the only way we could travel was in single file. At least it wouldn’t strike Jax as strange that I was following him, rather than walking beside him. The last thing I needed was for Jax to suspect my intention to escape, or that I was now finalizing my plan on just how I could successfully do so.

The rain relentlessly pounded us with plump and very cold drops, but nothing appeared to slow Jax down. Ambling steadily forward, he proceeded despite the uneven forest floor, which was strewn with dead logs, sharp rocks, and piles of pine needles. Some of the piles were so deep, they reached my ankles. So, yes, I did lose my footing on more than one occasion, although I did manage to keep myself upright and moving ever forward.

Even though the going was tough, I was grateful for the density of the trees. They provided some level of shelter from the rain. Not a whole heck of a lot, but definitely better than nothing …

Yes, I briefly considered magicking myself some shelter from the incessant rain but I wanted to conserve my energy and my magic since my escape attempt was going to take a huge toll on my magical reserves.

“I believe we are close to a road,” Jax commented over his shoulder. He slowed down to a more moderate walk before stopping altogether. Glancing up at the sky for the nth time, he studied it for a few seconds, cocking his head to one side and appearing to be in pensive thought.

“Good, because it’s cold and miserable out here,” I replied with a nervous glance to my right and then to my left.

I wasn’t exactly sure what I hoped to find, or what I hoped not to find, but all I could see were trees. The tall pines deluged the landscape all around us, with no break or reprieve. But if Jax thought we were approaching a road, I had to believe him, seeing as how I didn’t know any better. Besides, a road going anywhere was very good news for me. Because I wasn’t the star navigator that Jax was, the street would serve me well. I was hopeful that I could eventually reach a town and then figure out where I was. And, more importantly, how to get back to Splendor.

Every way I looked at it, the time for stalling was over. I knew what I had to do, and now the time had arrived to accomplish it. However, running away wasn’t that simple. If I tried to beeline it in the opposite direction, Jax would run me down in no time at all. Although I was pretty fast on my feet for a woman, Jax would be faster. Of that I was convinced. But luckily for me, I had a little thing called fairy magic at my disposal.

Jax started whistling and then humming, the melody of the song something I vaguely recognized although I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

“…I want to feel you from the inside,” he started singing and I immediately recognized the song as “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails. “You let me desecrate you, you let me penetrate you,” he continued and I was more than sure his choice of song was by no means a coincidence.

I just shook my head, hoping and praying that I’d be taking my leave of him soon enough. I was even more hopeful that I’d never see him again.

“I’ve got no soul to sell,” he continued, his pitch completely off.

Looking over at him, I noticed he’d already resumed his quick pace. The back of his head was now fading fast in front of me, so I immediately began following him again. I didn’t want to give him any reason at all to turn around and check on me. And reprimanding me for not moving faster would definitely be a good reason. After he took another five steps without looking back at me, I figured he assumed I was directly behind him.

There’s no time like the present, Dulcie, I thought to myself.

Fisting my right hand as inconspicuously as I could, I shook it once. Maybe my attempt was a little too weak, or too hasty, because I couldn’t feel my magical dust taking form. Keeping one eye on Jax all the while, I shook my fist again; this time, with a little more gusto.

I had to resist smiling as soon as I felt the telltale sensation of ethereal dust filling my palm. A half second later, Jax began to slow down while looking up at the sky again. My breath caught as my heart climbed up and lodged in my throat and I wondered why we were slowing down. He paused several more seconds before turning right and resuming his quick stride. Like a dutiful dog, I obediently trailed him.

I allowed another few seconds to tick by, if only to make sure he wouldn’t check on me. Then, with my eyes riveted on his back, I held my hand out in front of me. Rotating my palm, I released the glittery particles, sprinkling them over my feet. Then I closed my eyes briefly and imagined my shoes taking on supersonic speed.

When I opened my eyes again, I double-checked and saw Jax still forging ahead. Time was the only factor now, especially since I could feel the soles of my feet heating up as my magic took its desired effect. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out with my right foot, pivoted on my toes, so I was facing east, and broke into a full gallop.

Well, “gallop” was an understatement. I was moving so quickly, it felt like I was flying. Cold air rushed against my face, blowing my hair out behind me in a horizontal plane. I traveled so swiftly, I couldn’t even feel the rain, although the smell of wet ozone tickled my nostrils, the scent natural yet clean. When I glanced down at my feet, they appeared as a blur, and the ground was no more than flashing splotches of green and brown.

After nearly slamming headlong into a tree, I reminded myself to face forward, lest I knock myself out and, thus, forfeit any chance I had of escaping. With renewed vigor, I raced forward, slipping between live trees and dodging the hulled out carcasses of long dead ones. After another few seconds, my feet began to slow down and I figured my magic was starting to wear off. Or maybe it was my body that was wearing out. Either way, moving at such a rapid speed was no treat for my legs, my heart, or my lungs.

The blurring colors on the forest floor started to delineate themselves as bushes and rocks. Pretty soon, I was moving at a comfortable jog. After my magic dissolved completely, I slowed down to a walk; but even that took too much of my energy, which was now beyond depleted. I had to stop and lean against a nearby tree as I strained to catch my breath. I suddenly worried that maybe I wasn’t alone and glanced behind me to ensure that Jax was nowhere in sight. He wasn’t.

Heaving a sigh of relief, I could only smile with amusement as I pictured Jax’s expression of shock and surprise as soon as he turned around and discovered I was gone. Yep, I guessed it would be right about now that he was probably cursing and berating himself for not keeping a closer watch on me. Poor Jax …

Yeah, not so much.

Knowing that Jax was no longer my concern was very liberating. But I couldn’t celebrate it for long. Instead, my primary focus was figuring out where I was in relation to the road. An unfortunate side effect of my escape attempt was that I now had no clue if I’d put more distance between myself and the road or less. Hopefully the latter …

Thankfully, my magic could also help me out of this predicament. After inhaling deeply, my heartbeat slowed down again to its regular pace. I stood up and took a few steps forward, craning my neck to study the canopy of tree branches overhead. I needed an open area, or a break in the trees, somewhere that I could observe the sky. I proceeded forward, but kept my eyes on the night sky as I tried to avoid tripping over all the forest litter confounding my path.

Taking another few steps, I noticed a small clearing in the trees that suited my needs perfectly. Once I reached it, I stood still and shook my palm until I felt my dust inside my hand. Throwing the particles in an arc above me, I closed my eyes and imagined myself floating upwards. Almost immediately, I felt a lightness in my feet, which could only mean I was levitating. I opened my eyes to ascertain my position and saw my feet floating about a yard above the ground. I had to smile at my own resourcefulness.

Impressed with my abilities or not, I needed to go higher. So, closing my eyes, I imagined my body soaring up as if I were on an invisible elevator. Immediately, the air rushed past me and I opened my eyes. I was now about halfway as high as the pine tree behind me, maybe twenty or thirty feet. A good start, but it still wouldn’t do. I closed my eyes again, wishing to go higher, and my body complied. When I opened my eyes again, I was exactly where I needed to be—at the very top of the tree. Good thing I wasn’t afraid of heights because I was floating in midair at least fifty feet above the ground.

It was exactly as I’d intended—I had a bird’s-eye view of the forest below me. Now I’d be able to locate the nearest road. Of course, having nothing more than the moon for illumination, that task wasn’t exactly easy. The rain could now beat down on me fully too, and my vision soon grew bleary.

I wiped the heavy drops from my eyes and face as I beheld all the pointy treetops of the endless pines. They looked like a sea of green, with no break or hint of a road. Turning to my right and then my left, neither direction offered a different view. It seemed like the trees went on for miles. As to the street Jax had referred to? There wasn’t any indication of a road anywhere nearby.

Maybe Jax wasn’t quite the star navigator he believed he was …

Twirling around, I still saw nothing besides the ceaseless treetops of thousands of pines. Could I have projected myself beyond the road during my escape? I shook my head, trying to figure out what went wrong. I mean, yes, I’d definitely run at least a few miles after I’d left Jax. Maybe I’d even managed to go ten or so miles in the minutes it took me to ditch Jax. But even if I had covered that much distance, I still should have been able to see a road from my current elevation.

Just as I was about to give up hope and turn to Plan B, which I hadn’t even devised prior to this moment, I thought I detected the faint glow of lights in the far distance. Narrowing my eyes, I attempted to focus on the lights, which continued to grow in intensity.

“Headlights,” I whispered as my heart started to swell with renewed hope. I watched the lights turning to the left and then the right as the car sped along the road, and a winding one at that. Several times, the lights were eclipsed by the trees, but only seconds later, they reappeared. I continued to follow the light with my eyes, needing to figure out which direction the car, as well as the road, ran.

Turning slowly around, I watched the headlights weaving in a northeasterly direction. At approximately “three” on a clock, the headlights vanished completely. I had the answer I needed.

Closing my eyes, I extended my arms out on either side of my body. I waved them upwards and imagined myself floating down to the ground. When a rush of cold air blew from beneath me, I knew my magic had dutifully complied with my wishes. Upon my descent, the sting of a tree branch snapping against my face captured my attention, and I immediately opened my eyes and pushed the offending limb out of the way. Looking down, I realized I was heading for more jutting branches. In response, I swam through the air, trying to reach the original clearing I’d found, which was maybe three air laps away. Once I was freed of the tree’s sharp branches, I closed my eyes again and coaxed myself back down.

When my toes touched the ground, I opened my eyes, and heaved an audible sigh of relief. The rain continued to pelt me relentlessly, owing to the absence of any cover inside the clearing. I took a few long strides to my right, seeking shelter from the forest canopy again.

Then I tried to figure out what to do next. Jax had to be headed for the same road as I was, and the last thing I wanted was to run into him. My best option was to try to hit the road at a different point than Jax would. Granted, I didn’t know where Jax was located at present, but based on how far I’d come when I escaped, I figured traveling northeast was my best bet. And of course I’d have to stay hidden beside the trees, hugging the road’s perimeter, rather than just walking down the road, itself.

My next consideration? Timing. Factoring in the location where Jax and I had been when I split, I figured we were pretty close to the road. Maybe only a mile or so away. If Jax had continued on in the same direction, after discovering I was MIA, he could have already reached the road by now. I briefly wondered if he had a car waiting there for him, or if he intended to walk, just like I had to do. Then another grave thought crossed my mind. For all I knew, those headlights I’d spotted could have belonged to a vehicle currently in Jax’s possession.

Or not.

Since it was a question I couldn’t answer, I decided to ignore it for the time being. Instead, I itemized the facts I did know in order to come up with another viable plan. The only danger at this point was in reaching the road and getting up close and personal with Jax again.

Calculating my present location, I conjectured the road at probably a good six miles away. Meaning, by the time I reached it, Jax should have already been way ahead of me, especially if he were driving. Or so I could only hope. Well, again, that depended on which direction he’d taken once he reached the road. I prayed he’d taken a left instead of a right.

But, if Jax was driving that car, he was traveling eastward, I thought. So maybe it’s better if I hang a left on the road?

But what if Jax took a right and he’s walking? I fired back at myself. Then you’d probably run right into him since you’d be further east than he is.

There’s no way you’re going to know which way he went, much less if he’s walking or driving, I argued. The best thing to do is make a choice and hope for the best.

I eventually opted to take a right. Once I hit the road and headed northeast, it didn’t matter if Jax also decided to head in that direction. I wouldn’t risk walking right into him. And if he’d gone left and headed west, all the better for me because he’d be long gone by the time I reached the road.

Luckily I wouldn’t have to rely on my magical powers for the next step in my plan. Instead, I glanced down at my wristwatch, which also served as a compass, with the click of a button. Pressing it, I found that if I continued walking straight ahead, I’d be heading northeast.

“Sounds good to me,” I whispered before starting on my way again.

An image of Knight suddenly unfolded before my eyes as I wondered what he was doing at this very moment; and if Sam had managed to reach him and inform him about my disappearance. Then again, for all Sam knew, I could be dead. Actually, that was probably exactly what she would have thought since the last time she’d seen me, I was getting sucked down into a black pit.

The urge to reach out to Sam and Knight, just to let them know that I was still alive, suddenly overcame me. I ached to tell them I was lost in a forest somewhere, but still very much alive. But then I realized how completely impossible that was, since I had no phone. Unfortunately for me, my cell phone had met its maker when the wormhole sucked my pants right off me and with them, my mobile phone. Even if I managed to find another phone, in whatever town I might stumble upon, it wasn’t like I could just call the Netherworld. Nope. The only way to make contact with the Netherworld was through special, ANC-provided telephones.

And Sam might not be alive anymore, Dulcie, that small voice in my head suddenly piped up. It was a thought I had to instantly banish. There was no way I would allow myself to ponder whether or not Sam was wounded, or dead. No, I had to maintain my unflagging hope. Without hope, there would be no reason to push harder. Hope was the only thing I had worth fighting for.

But the reality of what could have been happening in Splendor weighed very heavily on me, all the same. If what Jax had said was true and Crossbones intended to lay siege to Splendor Headquarters, or if they were already in the midst of it, the safety of my friends was definitely at stake. I couldn’t imagine the potions rings giving a flying crap about Sam’s life, or Elsie’s, or anyone else’s, for that matter.

The plan devised by Crossbones et al. to attack every portal connecting the Netherworld to Earth was a very good one, I had to admit. The ANC was too powerful a force in the Netherworld, and no one dared to come up against it, especially now, when all the heavyweights (aka Knight, Dia, and Quill, just to name a few) were residing there. Entering the back way was really the only hope in hell that Crossbones had to overtake the ANC.

And, yes, it wouldn’t be an easy feat for Crossbones to take control of all thirteen portals, which were located inside ANC Headquarters here on Earth, but it also wasn’t a monumental task. Especially now that Crossbones was reaping the benefit of strength in numbers.

I suddenly regretted the fact that every ANC Headquarters located on the Earthly plane also acted as a portal to the Netherworld. It hadn’t always been that way. In the past, the only means of traveling to the Netherworld from Earth was pretty complicated. First, you had to ask permission from the Netherworld ANC. If they approved your visit, and it was VERY difficult to receive their approval, the ANC would send you a strata-hopping dimensional portal in order for you to reach your destination.

As a rule, no direct routes to the Netherworld from Earth existed. There wasn’t an airport where you could conveniently board a rocket which would allow you to hop dimensions. The few times I’d traveled to the Netherworld were simply via a “portal ripping” device which Bram had given me. The device created a portal wherever I wanted one, simply by the ripping through the air. The other times I’d visited the Netherworld were with Bram, who had his own set of tricks up his sleeve, Netherworld travel just one of them.

Any migrations between Earth and the Netherworld were controlled by strict policies. Why? In order to maintain the balance. Otherwise, the numerous and various Netherworld creatures could overpower humans on Earth, which the human government wasn’t exactly thrilled about.

Ever since we’d deposed my father in the Netherworld, the new world order had to be set up. And the powers that be decided to install permanent ports in all the ANC Headquarters so that the critical contributors, like Dia and Knight, could travel back and forth more easily. Naturally, every port was protected by ANC guards, and strictly enforced. However, if the potions rings outnumbered us, there was very little a handful of guards could do to maintain the safety of the ports.

“Dammit,” I whispered after failing to notice an exposed tree root and consequently tripping over it. I was far too lost in my thoughts; I needed to pay attention to the here and now. I checked my compass watch and realized I’d veered off track slightly. Now, I was traveling more eastward than northeasterly, which was a problem.

Come on, Dulce, you’ve gotta stay focused, I reminded myself. You can’t help anyone, or do any good, if you can’t get out of this freaking forest!

And that was the truth. Feeling like I was reunited with my most immediate goal, I hurried my steps, skipping over the uneven terrain on the forest floor as quickly as I could. I was very careful to check my compass more regularly to make sure I stayed in the right direction.

To my huge relief, the rain let up after another few minutes. My progress was still relatively slow, and definitely sloppy, considering how the ground was either flooded or muddy. But I knew I would see the road at some point within the next six or so miles, and that alone reassured me.

Dulcie.

It was Knight’s voice and I could hear it as clearly as I could hear the birds calling to one another in the trees. I immediately stopped walking and looked around, whirling in a circle to make sure I was alone. It appeared I was.

Knight? I asked in thought, even as I wondered if maybe I was losing touch with my sanity.

Are you all right? came his response.

I could feel a beaming smile suddenly gripping my mouth and not letting go. Yes! I’m okay, Knight, I thought back. Are you okay? And Sam? Is Sam all right?

When he responded, his voice started to break up, sounding like I was talking to him on my cell phone while traveling through an area with a bad signal.

Knight? I repeated, my voice starting to sound panicked. Can you hear me?

Yes, his voice broke through the static in my head. But you’re coming in and out. Are you okay, Dulcie? Are you hurt?

No, I’m fine, I responded.

Did you say you’re okay? he asked again. Your voice is breaking up.

Yes, I’m okay, I answered, and then added after a lengthy pause. Did you hear me?

Yes, he responded, his tone of voice sounding hurried but concerned. You need to tell me where you are, Dulcie!

I glanced around myself and started shaking my head as I realized I had no clue where I was. I don’t know where I am!

Are you with Jax? he asked.

Yes, well no, I thought back. I mean, I was but I escaped. I’m by myself now.

Tell me everything you know before we get cut off.

I nodded, even as I realized he couldn’t see me, and tried to organize my thoughts, tried to find a good starting point to explain the whole mess of a situation. It was a wormhole which allowed Jax to escape from Headquarters, I started. It sucked me down with it too. And the whole thing was planned by Jax and his boss. So his whole thing about turning himself in to get out of the lifestyle was bullshit. And I still don’t know who he’s working for.

None of that matters right now, Dulce, Knight interrupted. Stick to the facts that will help me find you!

Okay. After I got sucked down the wormhole, I ended up here in this forest. And I have no idea where I am, I responded as I glanced around myself again, wishing I could come across a sign or something that might give me a better idea of just where I was.

A forest? Knight repeated. What sort of trees are in this forest?

Pine trees, I immediately responded. Very tall ones.

Describe the forest for me, with as much detail as you can.

Um, okay, the trees are so dense, it’s hard to see beyond them, but I do know there’s a road and I’m heading for it. I saw a car’s headlights on it just a few minutes ago. The road looked like it was a really winding one. Oh, and it’s raining and cold.

Do you think you’re still on Earth or in the Netherworld? Knight asked.

I’m pretty sure I’m still on the Earthly plane because I was able to use my magic to escape from Jax.

Good. How far do you think you are from the road?

Maybe a few miles. I’m not really sure, I answered with hesitation.

I want you to, he started, but then his voice cut out again.

Knight, I can’t hear what you just said, I called out to him in my head. I didn’t hear a response which caused my heartrate to increase. Knight, are you there?

Yes, he answered. I said I wanted you to get to the road and then …

But his voice cut out again. I was so frustrated, I suddenly wanted to cry. Knight! I called out to him but there was no response. Knight! I yelled again. Are you there still? Can you hear me? But there was still no response.

Knight, I called out his name in my thoughts. Can you hear me?

“Ah!”

I heard myself wail out as something rammed into me. The force of whatever that something was was so intense that I felt myself being pushed sideways and then down. My feet flew out from underneath me and I was airborne for the space of two heartbeats or so.

I hit the ground so hard, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even blink or form a thought. I couldn’t even breathe. It felt like my chest was suddenly caving in on itself, constricting my ability to draw a breath or force one out.

“Apologies,” Jax said, tightlipped, as he stood up and dusted the pine needles off his arms and shirt. It was a silly thing to do because he was also covered with mud. “And, thanks, by the way,” he continued. “Your little conversation with your boyfriend led me right to you.”

Dulcie! Knight screamed inside my head. Tears swelled behind my eyes as I tried to form a thought to respond to him, but found I couldn’t. My mind was blank.

I tried to respond but I couldn’t. I was still completely out of breath. At the same time, though, there was a fire that was burning inside me. I started to recognize it as intense anger—anger for being thrown off my feet and into the ground. But the anger was also reserved for the death of any hope that had previously existed inside me.

NINE

“So you were able to eavesdrop on my conversation with Knight?” I asked Jax after I managed to sit up and catch my breath. But even though my breathing began to regulate, my chest still ached like an SOB, and my head ran a close second. I pushed myself up against a nearby tree and leaned the back of my head on the bark. Closing my eyes, I attempted to avoid the dizziness that threatened to disable me.

“I’m a Loki so it goes without saying that whatever your man can do, I can do,” he replied, and I opened my eyes to see one of his eyebrows arched in obvious irritation. “So, yes, I was able to eavesdrop on both of your telepathic waves.”

“I should have thought of that,” I grumbled, angry with myself that I hadn’t.

I slowly breathed in for a count of four, and then exhaled for another count of four, closing my eyes and trying very hard to remain alert. Yes, I could have magicked the pain right out of my head, but I had an inkling that if I even tried to shake my fist, Jax would be on me like a werewolf on prime rib.

“Regardless, the point is you’re caught,” he continued.

Vexed by his cocky comment, I opened my eyes just to glare at him. When I did, I found him standing in front of me, with his arm stretched toward me and his hand only a few inches from my eyes. He was offering to help me get back on my feet. Help that I wanted no part of. After a few seconds, during which time I just studied him, he waved his hand, as if impatient for me to take it.

“You look like you could use some assistance in standing,” he explained.

Although he was probably right, I didn’t want to give him the gratification of admitting as much. Taking another few moments to deliberate while inhaling deeply and then exhaling, I decided I actually needed to accept the small olive branch he was offering. I doubted I could successfully get back onto my feet alone. I sighed in obvious aggravation and accepted his proffered hand. As soon as my skin touched his, he hoisted me onto my feet and studied me with narrowed eyes.

“I wouldn’t recommend attempting to escape again.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I barked back at him as I rubbed what felt like whiplash from my neck. Still feeling slightly off balance, especially now that I was standing, I had to use the tree behind me for support. “I doubt I could survive another one of your body slams anyway,” I added with a frown because my stomach was still upset from the fall I’d taken. “And while I’m on that topic, you could have gone a little easier on me. I am barely a third your size, you know?”

“I did go easy on you,” he answered with a shrug as he leaned against the tree right next to me and considered me casually. “Not my fault you fell so hard.”

“Really?” I asked in obvious anger but then just shook my head at his expression of amusement, because I found this situation anything but. “So what now?” It was better to change the subject since this one only kept pissing me off.

Even though Jax was standing way too close to me, and scarcely five inches separated us, I couldn’t step away from him. My head was still too foggy and I half-wondered if I might pass out or throw up. Yep, I’d definitely hit the ground way too hard; I only hoped I didn’t have a concussion.

“Now we get back to the original plan,” he replied before walking a few paces away from the tree. I stood up straight and gradually released the tree, testing the waters to see if I felt steady enough to stand alone.

Knight, I’m with Jax again, I thought the words, hoping I could make contact with Knight again, even if Jax could overhear us. I just needed to give Knight any information that might help him locate me.

“It’s useless trying to reach out to him,” Jax announced after a purposeful yawn. Then he shook his head. “I’m blocking the connection between you both.”

“Were you the reason we kept cutting out on each other?” I asked, frowning at him all the while.

“Yep, that was me.” Then he shrugged, as if he didn’t care that I was giving him the death stare. “I had to allow you enough rope to hang yourself, yet not let it kill you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Apparently you don’t have much of an imagination,” he started, his expression one of disappointment. I chose not to respond, so he continued. “I let you reach out to him just enough to where I could pick up on your trail, but I didn’t want you to give him too much information, so I made sure I muddled up the rest.”

“Really thoughtful of you,” I grumbled, and then rubbed my forehead when I started to feel a dull ache in between my eyes. I took another few steps forward, tuned to my body to make sure any damage Jax might have inflicted on me wasn’t permanent.

“You skipped a step.”

“What?” I demanded with a frown. Although I wasn’t as dizzy, which I figured was a good thing, my stomach was still sour.

“Crawling before walking, remember?”

“Really funny,” I growled. Narrowing my eyes, I exhaled a breath of complete frustration. “You’re lucky I’m not armed,” I finished.

“Ah, come now, Dulcie, even if you were, you wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man!” he laughed with a smirk while holding his hands up to show he was unarmed. “That’s not the ANC Regulator way!”

“What happens in the forest, stays in the forest,” I responded glumly as he broke into a hearty chortle. Feeling slightly better, I ventured another couple of steps away from the tree. As soon as I did, it felt like someone started repeatedly stabbing me in the knee cap. I immediately crouched down, cradling my knee until the searing pain morphed into more of a dull ache.

“Told you to crawl first.”

“Thanks, but I could really do without your peanut gallery comments,” I spat out before trying to stand up again. Once I was erect, I took a tentative step forward, more than pleased when the stabbing pain didn’t return. The dull ache, though, was becoming more of a moderate one.

“You tweak your knee, or your ankle?” he asked, approaching me with sincere concern in his eyes.

“Knee, I think.” I limped a few more steps away from him.

“Let me see,” he said before reaching for my leg.

“Don’t touch me! You’re the reason I’m limping in the first place.”

“Well, if you want to study cause and effect, you wouldn’t be limping if you hadn’t tried to escape in the first place,” he remarked testily. Crossing his arms over his chest, he regarded me with ill humor. “So as far as naming the original wrongdoer, I would have to say only you fit that bill.”

I took another tentative step, noticing with chagrin that every step hurt worse than the preceding one. “If you want to play that game, I wasn’t the one who orchestrated the worm hole in the first place,” I snapped, wincing all the while.

He cocked his head to the side and smiled at me. “Yes, you do have a good point there. I can’t argue with you on that.”

“I rest my case.”

He heaved out a healthy sigh and shrugged, but continued to grin at me like the whole thing was one big joke. If only it were that easy … “Guilty as charged, I suppose.”

I didn’t respond as I waddled forward, favoring my injured leg.

“At this pace, we won’t reach our destination for another year or so,” Jax grumbled as he came up behind me.

“Sorry I’m not exactly in a rush to get to my unpredictable future,” I retorted before another shooting pain in my knee made my breath hitch. I sought out the closest tree and hobbled over to it, leaning on it to take all the weight off my bad leg. “And getting back to our destination,” I continued, eyeing Jax as I started to massage the back of my knee, hoping I was just suffering from a pulled muscle and not something worse. “Where exactly would that destination be?”

“At this point, the only destination I’m interested in is the road,” he answered as he glanced up at the sky and then back at me again. “And if my calculations prove correct, which they always are, we should reach it very soon.”

“Okay, so once we reach the road, what happens next?”

He shrugged. “Then we’ll have a long drive ahead of us.” He started to smile again, and his teeth glowed very white in the moonlight. “Plenty of time for us both to get more … acquainted with each other.”

“A long drive where?” I insisted, opting to ignore his last comment.

“All you need to know is that you’ll be meeting my boss, the kingpin,” Jax finished. His expression told me he refused to discuss any more specifics. Or maybe he was just sore that I hadn’t acknowledged the whole “getting more acquainted” bit. Either way, I couldn’t say I cared.

“What business does he have with me?” I demanded, nervous to be walking into a situation that I was in no way prepared for.

“I don’t know the nature of the business he wishes to discuss with you,” Jax admitted as he shrugged and smiled at me again. “That, I’m afraid, is strictly between you and him but if I had to guess,” he started, before his voice trailed away and he just looked me up and down.

“What does that even mean?” I demanded.

“That’s one of those silent comments,” he informed me.

“You’re stupid.”

He immediately started chuckling to which I just frowned at him and shook my head. The last thing I wanted to do was encourage him.

“It was supposed to mean that if my boss doesn’t already have plans to nail you, he will once he sees you.”

“I’m dreading asking this, but could this day get any worse?” I grumbled before taking a deep breath and trying to walk again. Not that I was successful …

“You’re limping,” Jax continued, eyeing my injured leg with what appeared to be distaste. He was, no doubt, realizing my debilitation was only slowing us down.

“And you’re an asshole, but you don’t see me pointing out the obvious,” I flared back at him. My eyebrows knitted together as drops of rain started to fall from the sky again, bathing my forehead, cheeks and chin in their cold wetness. Angry and indignant plumes began firing up within me as I berated my luck which appeared to have just gone from bad to worse.

“You’re a fairy; so why don’t you fix yourself?” Jax asked as he continued to assess my bad leg. Refusing to accept the pain in my knee as a legitimate concern, I continued to hobble forward. I took each step as gingerly as I could, but I couldn’t deny the pain was getting worse. And it really didn’t help to see the forest floor was covered in woodland debris, making it much harder to navigate without stumbling.

“You mean, I should use my magic and give you another excuse to attack me again?” I murmured as I continued to limp alongside him while he looked at me like he was afraid I was going to keel over any second. “No thanks.”

“If you promise to use your magic for good, I won’t attack you,” Jax answered with a wide grin that was instantly lost on me.

“If I were to use it for good, I’d magick one of those flying monsters from the Netherworld and then I’d order it to swoop down and eat you. That or I’d magick a giant sinkhole to open up as soon as you took your next step and swallow you whole.”

“So you do have an imagination after all?” he asked with a smile.

“Apparently I have a fantastic imagination where getting rid of you is concerned.”

“Such a shame,” he said as he sighed and shook his head.

“What’s a shame?”

“I don’t imagine your death at all, in fact,” he started.

“Spare me the details; I’m already in enough pain as it is.”

He dropped the smile and eyed me with what appeared to be real sincerity. “You need to heal yourself. You have my word that I won’t try anything untoward.”

“No offense, but your word doesn’t count for very much,” I rasped back. I was barely able to speak when the pain in my knee began to radiate up my leg and expand throughout my entire body. Irritated with his pedantic expression, I faced forward and with my jaw set tight, plodded on, albeit slowly.

“Well, regardless,” Jax started in a bored tone of voice, “I have a schedule to keep; and you aren’t helping me keep it.”

“If you’re looking for sympathy, I have none to give you.”

“I’m not looking for sympathy,” he quickly answered. “What I am looking for is a way to get this show on the road. And given your current breakneck snail pace, I’m going to give you two options.”

“Two options?” I repeated in annoyance, without bothering to look at him. Truth be told, I preferred looking at the mud I was currently schlepping through. At least the mud wasn’t a lying sack of …

“Yes,” he answered with no amount of apology. “Option one is you heal yourself so we can hurry the hell up. Or option two: I throw you over my shoulders and carry you the rest of the way.” He took a few quick steps until he was standing in front of me. “Option two is my preference because your ass will be in perfect spanking reach, which, as you can probably imagine, suits me to a tee.”

“You never give up,” I said, amazed that such was the case. “I can’t even start to understand how you have the energy,” I started.

But he interrupted me as he faced me squarely, and dropping his grin, his new expression warned me not to continue arguing with him. He stopped walking and clasped my upper arms, forcing me to face him. “I’m not a patient man by nature, so which one is it?”

“There’s no third option where you get to go fuck yourself?” I asked as I scowled at him and my chest heaved up and down with indignation. The pain in my knee had become all-encompassing. With each beat of my heart, it felt as if the throbbing ache was invading all parts of my body. And it didn’t help that the heavens insisted on releasing a deluge of rain above us.

FML.

“The only option three that would involve fucking wouldn’t have me doing it to myself,” Jax answered.

“Then I choose option one,” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest as soon as his attention dropped down to my bust. I didn’t have the strength left to waste arguing with him anymore.

“Shame, I was hoping for option three; or, at the very least, option two, but beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.” Then he offered me a radiant smile and all I wanted to do was sucker punch him.

“I’m still waiting for you to fall down a sinkhole,” I responded.

“Sorry to disappoint you, baby,” he said, his left eyebrow rising impatiently. “You’ve made your choice so get on with it.”

I declined to comment, but closed my eyes and clenched my right hand into a fist. The rain continued to assault me with its freezing cold drops, making me suddenly wish Jax had a car waiting for him. Or, at the very least, an umbrella …

Shaking my fist, I immediately felt my precious dust filling my palm and leaking through my clenched fingers. When I opened my eyes, I found Jax studying me intently.

“And don’t try anything funny,” he warned me. “No running away at ridiculous speeds, or sprouting wings like you’re back in the Netherworld,” he continued as we both honed in on a squirrel as he scurried up the side of a tree, ostensibly seeking shelter from the rain. “And no turning me into a ground squirrel either,” Jax finished with a knowing grin.

“The only thing I could magick you into is what you already are—a pile of shit,” I said haughtily, my nose in the air.

“Ah, don’t be a sore loser, Dulcie,” Jax responded with another boyish smile. “All’s fair in love and war, right?”

I didn’t respond because my knee was aching to such an extent that all I could think about was healing it. As such, I held my fist above it before opening my hand. I watched the glittery powder sprinkle down on top of my leg and then imagined my knee acting like a magnet. In response, the particles immediately clung to it. Then I closed my eyes and imagined a bright, white light enveloping my injury. I pictured the light growing even brighter as it healed, working little by little to return me to my pre-Jaxed state.

I felt heat warming the area behind my knee. Pretty soon, it extended to the front of my leg and traveled to my thigh before returning all the way back down my calf, heating my shin and then my ankle. Once the heat dissipated and I could feel the cold wetness of the forest again, I opened my eyes.

“Good as new?” Jax asked, his eyebrows arching like my little performance must have impressed him.

“Damn it, you’re still here,” I ground out.

This only made him smile even more broadly. “You’re too sexy for your own damn good.” I didn’t respond but lifted my bad leg a foot or so off the ground. Then I bent it, carefully lifting it up and down, back and forth, as I waited to feel any pain in my knee. “Good as new?” Jax asked.

“Only one way to find out,” I replied, taking a deep breath as I planted my foot back on the ground and then I took a step forward. I took another few steps, trying to determine whether or not my magic had completely healed me. “Looks like I’m okay,” I announced before glancing up at Jax who was studying me again.

“Good, then let’s be on our way,” he said with a quick smile which seemed at odds with how wet he was, completely soaked from head to toe. He took a step forward, but must have thought better of it, because he turned around again and reached for me. “Actually, I think I’ll be keeping you a bit closer to me this time,” he announced. He wrapped his mitt-like hand around my upper arm. “Don’t want you to get any more funny ideas,” he explained cheerily.

“You know what happens when women get funny ideas,” I grumbled while shaking my head. Of course, I intended on escaping again, but at this point, I figured there wasn’t really anything more I could do. Jax had already demonstrated his innate ability to locate me, even if I were miles away …

Not that I was giving up … As long as there was still breath in my body, I could and would never give up. As long as I knew Knight and Sam were still out there, I would fight my way back to them. But now wasn’t the time for impulsive decision-making. Now I had to formulate a new and improved plan—one that was foolproof.

Now, what I needed more than anything else, was the luxury of time.

***

If there was one thing to be grateful for in this whole crappy situation, it was the car that was waiting for Jax when we reached the road. If nothing else went my way, at least now we had shelter from the incessant rain. The storm was falling in raindrops so big, I wondered if it should have been categorized as a hurricane instead.

“You should rest,” Jax said as soon as I was seated in the passenger seat and he was behind the wheel. He cranked the heat up as high as it would go while turning on both of our seat heaters. I wasn’t sure what sort of vehicle we were in—just that it was black and an SUV of some type. Not that it really mattered.

“Rest?” I repeated with an acidic laugh. Glaring at him, I crossed my arms over my chest because when I looked down, it appeared that I’d become a contestant in a wet T-shirt contest. “You abducted me, I’m soaking wet, I don’t know if my friends are safe, and I have no idea where we’re going, or what I’m going to find when we get there. And you expect me to rest?”

“You won’t come to any harm,” he answered, like I was becoming overly dramatic.

“Again, I have a problem putting much stock into your word.” I took a deep breath as I faced the window. I couldn’t make out much of the scenery. The headlights managed to light the trees a bit, but the incessant rain relegated them to nothing more than drippy blobs of green and brown.

“Suit yourself. We’ve got a few hours until we reach the portal that will take us to my boss. Then, I imagine, you’ll find yourself very busy.”

“The portal?” I asked, my nerves suddenly jumping to full attention.

I actually wasn’t sure what startled me more—the fact that we were about to travel portal style or that I would supposedly be very busy once we arrived at our destination.

“Yes, the portal.”

“What portal?” I asked, deciding this was the more important topic to focus on for the immediate present. “Are we traveling to the Netherworld?”

Jax chuckled and shook his head as he faced me. I noticed that look of amusement had returned to his eyes. “Which question would you like me to answer first, Ms. O’Neil?”

“Where are we going?”

“I already told you, I can’t elaborate on that.”

“Elaborate?” I scoffed. “You won’t even answer it at all!”

“We are traveling out of state, but that’s all I can say about it.”

“To the Netherworld?” I repeated, although I was hoping and praying the answer was no. The Netherworld was about as far away from Splendor Headquarters as possible, and right now, there was no other place that I wanted to be than Splendor, if only to make sure that Sam and everyone else there were okay.

“No, we’re not going to the Netherworld,” Jax answered in a very matter-of-fact tone.

“That’s a relief.”

“Glad I could improve your mood,” he jested with a wink.

“And we’re driving to the location of the portal?” I asked, ignoring his wink.

“No, there’s a horse and wagon waiting for us just around this bend,” he answered. His eyebrows rose as we took said curve in the road.

“Funny, Jax,” I grumbled. Terrible thoughts of what might be happening at Splendor Headquarters suddenly overwhelmed me. “What’s going on in Splendor?” I demanded. I immediately regretted asking the question, however, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his answer. If I didn’t like Jax’s answer, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” I repeated, frowning. Of course, I was more than convinced that he wasn’t telling me something. “Come on, Jax, do you really think I’m going to do anything with that information?” I asked, shaking my head. “What could I possibly do when I’m basically your prisoner?”

“I don’t know of anything you could do with that information; and yes, I agree, you are my prisoner. But that’s beside the point, because I’m telling you the truth.”

“Whatever,” I griped and then brought my attention to the window again because looking at Jax did nothing except piss me off.

“You exasperate me,” he said. “You must realize by now that not everything I say is a lie?”

“I don’t know that at all!” I railed back at him. “And as far as me exasperating you, you have no idea how utterly frustrating you are!”

“Regardless of who outdoes who on the scales of exasperation and frustration,” he continued in a bored tone, “I had orders to remove you from Headquarters. That’s what I did. As for what’s going on there now, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Fine,” I said, while crossing my arms over my chest and slouching down in my seat.

He glanced over at me, maybe to decide whether or not I believed him. “Did you happen to see a cell phone on me?”

“No.”

“Right,” he said with a nod. “That means I’ve had no contact with my boss or Crossbones since I was taken to Splendor. And since you and I escaped, I’ve had no way of knowing about anything except right here and right now.”

“So why haven’t you used that handy little Loki trick you exhibited during my telepathic conversation with Knight earlier?” I demanded, spearing him with a cross expression. “That would be the perfect way to keep in touch with your boss.”

“Clearly, you do not understand how that ability of ours works,” he started. “It’s not just a matter of reaching out and mentally phoning random people. It’s no E.T. Phone Whoever.”

“Clever,” I said with a grimace. “Then how does it work?”

“You either have to be within a few miles of someone or, in your man’s case with you, there has to exist an extremely strong connection between you both.” He was quiet for a couple of seconds. “Let me guess, he’s selected you, hasn’t he?”

I figured he meant the whole Knight’s eyes lighting up bit. Not that I was going to divulge any of that information to Jax. “I have no interest in discussing my relationship with you.”

“I’ll take that to mean ‘yes,’” he announced, but when I didn’t respond, he continued. “Regardless, the point is I have no way of getting in touch with anyone, so I know as much as you do regarding what’s happening at Splendor Headquarters.”

“How very coincidental,” I responded testily. I couldn’t help it though. I hated not knowing what was going on, or whether I should be worried or not. All the unanswered questions hovering in the air consumed me, making me feel like I would lose my mind if I couldn’t find the answers soon.

“I give you my word that nothing bad will happen to you.”

I faced him with narrowed eyes. “How can you be so sure of that? You already admitted you have absolutely no idea what your boss even wants to discuss with me?”

He shrugged. “Because he told me that your safety was my number one priority.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I grumbled, facing forward and slouching deeper into my seat. The seat heater was suddenly overwhelmingly hot. Or maybe that was just my temper flaring up inside me and overheating my entire body. “If he intends to ransom me, I have to be healthy. Otherwise, I’m not worth much to anyone.”

“He’s not going to hold you for ransom.”

I faced him again and studied him for a few seconds. I was trying to grasp any clues from his body language, but he didn’t give anything away. As far as I could tell, it appeared he was telling the truth. He seemed confident and calculating in his responses. Of course, that could also suggest he was simply well versed in the art of deception. “How do you know?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t believe a word that comes out of my mouth, do you?”

“No,” I answered honestly. “In general, I’m not one for trusting criminals.”

“This mission was not about kidnapping you to hold you for ransom,” he said as he stepped on the brakes and the SUV began skidding on the wet road.

“What are you doing?” I yelled while bracing myself for whatever was coming. Luckily, the vehicle came to a complete stop and we ended up in the middle of the road, rather than becoming up close and personal with the nearest tree trunk. “Was that really necessary?” I asked.

Jax’s expression was full of determination. “My mission was to remove you from Headquarters, in order to keep you safe, and that’s what I did. Those were my boss’s exact words.”

“And you don’t think that maybe your boss was just pulling one over on you?” I asked as I scrutinized him.

“Pulling one over on me?”

I shrugged. The answer seemed obvious to me. “Maybe his plan all along was to ransom me, but he figured if he appealed to your great sense of chivalry, he could make you do his bidding without questioning his orders?”

“My great sense of chivalry?” he repeated before laughing and shaking his head as if to say he had none. “And what great sense of chivalry would that be?”

“I don’t know,” I grumbled as I wondered what in the hell I’d been thinking. Chivalry? “That fall I took must have really messed up my head.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because any man who body checks a woman half his size isn’t exactly chivalrous.”

“And any woman who thinks she can outrun her Loki captor deserves to be body slammed,” he retorted with no trace of an apology. “If you want to call a spade a spade.”

“I’m starting to rethink that nap,” I mumbled. Rolling over, I faced the window, trying to, at least mentally, emancipate myself from my companion.

TEN

I wasn’t sure how long we were on the road because, amazingly enough, I did manage to fall asleep. Maybe because I was that exhausted.

Actually, there was much more to it than just my exhaustion, and the more to it had everything to do with Jax. I wasn’t sure why, but something about him began to put me more at ease. Even though he was supposed to be a hardened criminal, he didn’t now and never really had come off that way. At least, not to me. It was more fitting to say he seemed like nothing more threatening than an oversexed, high school jock. Well, an oversexed, high school jock with one mean tackle.

Moreover, I did believe him when he said his mission was to keep me safe. That wasn’t to say his boss didn’t plan to ransom me (which I was still convinced was the truth); but I also trusted that Jax thought otherwise.

Bless his misinformed heart.

“We’ve crossed over,” Jax said in an even tone as I started to wake up. I stifled a sleep-heavy yawn as I opened my eyes, only to discover we were no longer being pummeled by the rain. Night still ruled the sky, but the enormous pine trees that had practically consumed us previously were nowhere to be seen. As far as I could tell, there weren’t any trees at all.

“We traveled through the portal?” I asked, sitting up straighter. My heart started to palpitate when I glanced outside my window and tried to get a read on the terrain. I hoped to get a better idea of where we were, but all I learned was that we were on a very narrow road and we were still ascending.

“Yes, we just passed through the portal,” Jax answered without bothering to look at me. Instead, he watched the road ahead of us, which was a good thing, given how precarious the drive had become. “We should arrive at our destination shortly.”

“And let me guess, you’ve had a miraculous change of heart and now plan on telling me anything and everything about where we are?” I asked with renewed optimism.

“We’re in the mountains,” came his reply, and his self-impressed smile bordered on downright cocky.

“Thanks for nothing,” I grumbled. Staring out my window again, I noticed myriad lights far off in the distance. They glittered from a valley ensconced between the mountains and appeared to be dishearteningly far below us. Regardless, though, lights meant there was a town nearby. And a town meant there would be people. I only hoped there would be people who would or could help me. Well, that is, if I managed to escape my current predicament …

Jax stopped the car. I was about to inquire when I found we were parked in front of an enormous iron gate. He rolled the window down and studied the black box which would contact whoever happened to be inside the house. A few seconds later, Jax entered a passcode on the number pad before the gate began slowly swinging open.

“Guess we’re here?” I asked, not able to hide the trepidation from my voice. I couldn’t deny that I was nervous, because I had no idea what lay beyond those gates, which were now completely open. A well-lit driveway appeared, flanked by large trees that I assumed were some type of willow. Their long, hairlike leaves and drooping branches served as a canopy over the driveway and looked like they belonged on an old, Southern plantation.

“Don’t worry; you’ll be safe,” Jax promised me again with a reassuring smile.

“Safe can be a very arbitrary word.”

“Your physical wellbeing won’t be compromised,” he corrected himself. “How’s that?”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” I answered. I took another deep breath before we started the incline of yet another steep precipice. At the top of the hill was what I imagined had to be a breathtaking view in the daytime. But for now, the only thing I could see were the voluminous stars, twinkling in the sky.

“Come,” Jax said, offering his arm.

I took one glance at it and then at him before shaking my head. “I can walk by myself. It’s not like I’m not a revered guest here, so let’s not pretend otherwise.”

“Have it your way, but the cobblestones are uneven, and you did just injure your knee.”

“Which, as you may recall, is now healed and, thus, no longer an issue.”

“Just trying to help,” he finished with a shrug before starting toward the house.

Well, “house” wasn’t exactly the right noun to describe the monstrosity before us. It looked like the centerfold from one of those fancy home magazines. At three stories high, it had ornately intricate, iron balconies featured outside each arched window. On either side of the floor-to-ceiling windows were black shutters, a perfect contrast to the brilliant white of the mansion. The front of the house had no less than eighteen Corinthian columns, six on each level. The gingerbread cutouts that adorned the roofline imbued the building with Victorian splendor, although it was more fitting to say it looked like it belonged in the deep South. It reminded me of something I’d seen on Gone with the Wind.

Large oak trees hugged both sides of the walkway that led to the house, Spanish moss hanging decoratively from their great boughs. Below them were alternating bushes of red and white roses, all manicured perfectly, and probably the source of the sweet scented air.

Despite it being nighttime, I could see the landscaping before me almost as easily as if it were daytime. That was because of the endless streetlamps illuminating the walkway, along with the lights on the footpath, which were even more plentiful. The streetlamps, at approximately six feet tall, appeared to be constructed of black iron, and their glass lampshades featured etched angels blowing trumpets.

The angel motif was repeated in the fountain, which occupied the middle of a huge courtyard. This angel was very oversized, probably larger than sixteen feet. Her wings were fully extended behind her as if in midflight. In her hands, she held a bucket of water, which bubbled up and over the edge before running down her billowing robes and splashing into the pool at her feet.

“Someone must have a thing for angels,” I commented, more to myself than to Jax.

“Yes, ironic, isn’t it?” Jax agreed as he shook his head and raised his eyebrows, apparently seeing the irony.

“Funny, is it not, how a life spent in darkness results in the craving of all forms of light?”

The man’s voice came from behind me, and in response, I instantly wheeled around, my body already poised in fight or flight mode. I stood with my feet shoulder-width apart, the best stance to ensure a firm equilibrium. My heart climbed up into my throat and every nerve in my body was alive and fully at attention as I searched for the stranger. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Seconds later, I spied the form of a tall man when he stepped out from the darkness of the trees and revealed himself in the light.

My breath caught. He was every bit as suave and handsome as I remembered him.

“Bram!” I said, my voice revealing my surprise. “You son of a bitch!” I roared as soon as the shock wore off and I was left with nothing but anger as I realized that everything I’d just gone through in the last twenty-four hours was Bram’s fault.

“Sweet,” he said, in a breathy, deep voice. “You are just as lovely as I remember.”

“Don’t Sweet me!” I yelled at him, even as I closed the space between us until no more than a few inches separated us. Then I did what any irate and justified woman would do; I unleashed the flat of my palm against his icy cheek.

If it were possible for a three-hundred-year-old vampire to look surprised, that’s exactly how Bram appeared. He didn’t even try to cover his injured cheek; but thankfully, it didn’t seem like he intended to return the favor either. Instead, his long arms hung at his sides as if I hadn’t ever slapped him at all. But this was no surprise. On the contrary, that was Bram to a tee. Eternally calm and cool, he was never one to lose his composure. And he was always dressed to impress. Tonight was no different. Wearing black trousers and a dark gray, long-sleeved dress shirt, he looked like he’d just returned home from the office, or was heading out to a nice dinner.

Of course, I knew better. Bram was a vampire and, thus, didn’t eat food. And as far as any offices went, as the kingpin of the largest illegal potions organization, it wasn’t like he was clocking in at a nine-to-five.

“I am rather disappointed, Sweet. I envisioned our reunion as a much more joyous occasion,” he said in his signature, aristocratic, British accent.

“If I could drive a stake through your heart, I would do it in a second. No questions asked,” I seethed at him. My jaw was clenched and my chest was rising and falling in time with my hurried breathing.

Bram was very tall—probably six-five or so, and broad in the shoulders. He had an overbearing confidence that ensured every person sharing his physical space had to notice him, and it didn’t matter if the observer were a man or a woman. Seeing the perennial black stubble on his chin, cheeks and jaw, he again reminded me of a pirate. Well, pirate or not, no red-blooded woman, or man, could deny that Bram was handsome. Pitch-black hair and light blue eyes, along with a well-defined, narrow nose and masculine jawline endowed him with an attractiveness that any model or actor would envy.

Good looking and charismatic or not, Bram was currently taking up the number one space on my shit list.

“What the hell kinda game are you playing, Bram?” I snarled.

A mix of feelings swarmed through me as I beheld him—incredible anger since I blamed Bram for this whole mess and, yet, there was also relief to find him still alive. Well, not alive as much as still in existence. I hadn’t seen or heard from Bram in several months, not since he’d helped orchestrate the expulsion of my father from office. Naturally, I’d wondered what became of him and hoped he was okay.

Also included with the anger and relief was a sense of gratitude because I never could have dethroned my father if it hadn’t been for Bram … Despite all those feelings swirling inside me, it was my anger that refused to be ignored. Anger because, as far as I knew, it was Bram who was the main threat to establishing the new regime in the Netherworld. But, more importantly, Bram was the reason why my friends in Splendor could still be in danger.

“What happened at Headquarters, Bram?” I demanded, still trembling with repressed rage.

“I must admit how I have missed your … candor, dear Sweet,” Bram said. He was staring at me like he’d never seen a woman before.

“What happened at …” I started again.

“I’m surprised you know each other,” Jax interrupted. I temporarily forgot that he was still standing there. Crossing his arms over his chest, he regarded us with unmasked interest.

“Of course,” Bram replied. His big smile seemed to suggest everything between us was kosher and A-okay. “Sweet and I go way back, don’t we, dear?”

“Stop calling me that!” I yelled at him and had to forcibly hold myself back from unleashing my fist against his face again. “Sweet” was Bram’s pet name for me and even though I’d never found it particularly charming, now it irked me even more than it ever had before. And that’s saying something, because I’d never been fond of the appellation to begin with. “I will repeat my question since you apparently failed to understand it,” I snapped, glaring at him. “What happened at Splendor Headquarters?”

“She has a bit of a temper sometimes,” Jax explained in an apologetic tone to Bram. Bram didn’t reply at first, but kept smiling at me vacantly, and his eyes appeared almost glazed.

“Yes, that she does,” Bram replied finally. The smug grin on his plump lips suddenly revealed his fangs.

“The only reason for my short temper is because you’re a lying pile of undead shit!” I railed at him and had to consciously restrain my fists at my sides because I was seconds away from releasing them on his face and chest. It was silly, really, since Bram was a vampire. That meant he possessed unfathomable speed, and could easily dodge or avoid any of my blows in less than a split second. The only reason I’d been able to strike him at all was because he’d allowed me to.

“Sweet, please try not to get so upset,” Bram purred, holding his hands up as a gesture to placate me before he approached me. “You must recall how difficult it can be for me to restrain myself when I detect a rise in your blood pressure?”

“Don’t you dare come any closer!” I barked at him. “I’m having a hard enough time suppressing the urge to finish you as it is.” Lucky for him that there didn’t appear to be any stakes lying around …

“My dear, let us not lose ourselves in histrionics,” Bram admonished with a slight chuckle. Apparently thinking better of approaching me, he chose to walk toward the house. After taking a few steps forward, he paused and glanced back at me. He proffered his arm, suggesting I take it, or follow him, but I did neither. I wanted some questions answered instead.

“You’re Jax’s boss?” I asked as I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to regulate my breathing. First things first, I had to make damn sure I had all my facts straight.

“Yes, Sweet,” Bram answered, almost in a bored tone. “I thought that much was already quite clear.”

“And Jax’s orders to remove me from Headquarters came from you?” I inquired, adopting my Regulator interrogation hat.

“Yes, Sweet.”

“Were you also responsible for the worm hole?”

“Yes, Sweet.”

“We’ve already been through this, Dulcie,” Jax said, sounding slightly irritated, probably because I was second-guessing him.

“I want to hear all of this directly from the horse’s mouth,” I snapped before returning my attention to the horse. “Have you taken over Headquarters yet, Bram?” I continued, hearing the ache and worry in my voice.

“I believe that is the first time I have ever been referred to as an equine,” he replied. The expression on his face showed more surprise than humor. “A snake, once, and a fox, although that was a century or so ago. A rat too … Perhaps I have been called a rat more than once,” he continued as if I’d asked him to elaborate. “But, never a pack animal. I daresay, I find the comparison somewhat insulting.”

“Have you attacked Headquarters yet, Bram?” I repeated, ignoring his last comment because it was completely off topic and useless. Bram didn’t answer me as he faced the megahouse again and started toward it. “Is everyone at Headquarters okay, Bram?” I called out after him. I raised my voice because he was nearly out of earshot, then I remembered how well the sense of hearing is developed in vampires.

He stopped walking and turned around to face me. “My dear, I refuse to engage in a shouting match to discuss any particulars,” he said, shaking his head as if I should have known better. “If you care to conduct a civilized conversation over a refreshing libation in my drawing room, then I shall be most happy to accommodate you.”

Of course, I wanted nothing more than to sit down with Bram and pry all the answers to my questions out of him. I knew one thing about Bram, however, and that was that he operated on a quid pro quo basis. In order to get what I wanted, I had to give him what he wanted. For now, I’d have to swallow my pride and stifle the impulse to stake him right there.

I didn’t reply, but inhaled deeply before making the decision to allow him this small victory. I furthered my surrender by dropping my arms and approaching him. Jax stood right beside Bram and offered me a small smile of reassurance. Not that I needed any. Bram and I had known one another for years, and although Bram regularly straddled the line between obeying and breaking the law, we’d always enjoyed a tit-for-tat kind of relationship. In exchange for pertinent information and good leads, I usually agreed to ignore whatever outlawed antics Bram was currently engaging in. Of course, I couldn’t say the same in this situation. This time, Bram had definitely gone too far.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” I grumbled before joining him. He didn’t say anything as he raised his brow and smirked. Then he led the way to the enormous house with Jax and me right behind him.

Upon reaching the double mahogany doors, Bram opened one and held it for us. Jax allowed me to enter first, and when I did, I couldn’t help it as I practically gaped with awe when I beheld the plush surroundings of Bram’s stately home. Smelling of fine Italian leather and hardwood, I noticed the entire interior featured rare species of dark woods in the extensive floors and paneling. All of the furniture was upholstered in black leather.

“Nice to see how well Crossbones pays you,” I grumbled. Turning around, I faced the incorrigible vampire, waiting until he closed the door and returned to give us our tour.

“By now, dear Sweet, I would have thought you knew me well enough to know that I appreciate only the finest things in life,” Bram answered without waiting for me to reply. “Please, follow me,” he finished before heading down a corridor on his right side.

Having little or no other options, I obeyed him, fully aware that Jax dutifully trailed behind me. Not that I was worried to be sandwiched between the two of them. Maybe I should have been, but knowing Bram as well as I did, I figured I was safe. I only hoped it wasn’t the wrong assumption to make.

At the last room down the hallway, Bram paused before opening the dark mahogany door. Like the two front doors, this one also was Shaker style. The drawing room, as he’d modestly termed it earlier, was far beyond impressive. The dark wood theme continued in this room but it wasn’t the central feature. No, that was reserved for an enormous fireplace that occupied most of the far wall. The imposing mantel was constructed of rich wood that matched the front doors except it was intricately carved and spanned from the floor to the ceiling.

I felt my heart drop down to my feet as soon as I looked at the painting that hung above the fireplace. I was soon completely overwhelmed with a sense of déjà-vu because I recognized it. The déjà-vu immediately gave way to disgust.

“Oh, no,” I grumbled before moving a few steps closer, and shaking my head all the while. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

It was my portrait. I’d previously had the misfortune of viewing it a few months earlier, when Bram proudly showed it to me at one of his many homes, this one in the French Alps. After revealing the repugnant thing, he’d proceeded to drug me with his vampiric powers of persuasion and I’d nearly had sex with him. Luckily I was a fighter, and managed to break his control over me. Of course, Bram refused to accept any responsibility for the incident. He claimed he was merely testing my powers to be sure I was ready for our mission to banish my father and his militia from the Netherworld.

“Ah, yes, ‘Fairy Law,’” Bram said, quoting the portrait’s title. He gazed on it with the same adoration he’d had when he’d first shared the revolting thing with me.

“What’s it doing here?” I asked. I was barely able to stomach looking at it because it was so off-putting.

“I consider it my most prized possession,” Bram replied, his eyes firmly fastened on the representation of me in oils. “I found it very hard to part with, so I commissioned duplicates to be painted. They are exactly like the original and now proudly ennoble each of my homes.”

“Un-freaking-believable,” I grumbled as I looked up at the offending thing, feeling a sour taste in my mouth.

It was a full-scale rendition of me, and I was dressed in a very sheer, yellow negligee that left little to the imagination. The garment was so short, nearly all the flesh on my thighs was visible. The painting represented me with a sly smile as I pulled up the hem of the ridiculously short nightie. It nearly displayed the v of my thighs, making it appear like I was inviting the artist, or the viewer, to get very personal. And if the pose itself wasn’t lewd enough, the perky, pebbled nipples that protruded through the flimsy fabric provided even more smut.

As for the title, Fairy Law, it had nothing to do with the painting. I looked more like a floozy from the Renaissance Fair who’d been dropped onto the set of The Sound Of Music, owing to the background that included a meadow and all sorts of woodland creatures.

“It’s you,” Jax exclaimed with way too much interest as he looked from the painting down to me, and then back up at the painting again. I couldn’t restrain the blush that instantly heated my face and neck. This was just so damn embarrassing …

“It’s not me! I had nothing to do with it,” I insisted. Not for one second would I allow him to think that I’d actually posed for the hideous portrayal.

“It’s very beautiful,” Jax added as he glanced back at me and smiled even more broadly. “Though it’s missing her…attitude.”

“Yes,” Bram said with a deep sigh. “That is the one characteristic that is most certainly lacking.”

“That could be considered a good thing,” Jax continued.

“Ha-ha,” I grumbled at him in response.

“No,” Bram announced as he shook his head. “I wish the painting possessed Sweet’s fire.”

I didn’t reply when I noticed both he and Bram couldn’t seem to pry their eyes away from my pornographic likeness.

“Okay, haven’t you two stared enough at her boobs for today? I don’t have time for this shit. I have questions that are begging for answers,” I interjected, addressing both of their backs.

“Are those truly her breasts?” Jax asked Bram.

“No!” I railed in defiance. “Of course they aren’t! Look at them! They’re like a size F!”

“Sadly, no,” Bram answered with another heartfelt sigh. “I knew Sweet well enough to suppose that she would never pose to have her portrait painted. Her likeness was created from photographs and my own impeccable memory.”

I didn’t want to visit the fact that Bram had photos of me or how he’d gotten them or when or why. Not when there were still too many pertinent questions weighing on me. I turned around and scanned the rest of the room, not wanting to waste another second looking at the horrible painting.

The furniture in the room was covered in a rich brocade of velvet, which matched the same shade of red in several of the Oriental rugs. And if the fireplace (minus the dreadful painting) wasn’t the most arresting feature in the room, the ceiling certainly was. Painted a light vanilla shade, it included a bas-relief in a scrolling pattern that was repeated all across the entire ceiling. The room was definitely a study in overindulgence and extreme wealth.

Exactly like Bram, himself.

In trying so hard to concentrate on anything but the painting, it took me a few seconds before I realized music was playing in the room. I didn’t recognize the tune, but it was soft, yet it also had a quick beat. It almost sounded like a mix between dance and electronica but with a much more chill vibe.

“Hey!” I yelled at both of their backs. “Enough with the painting!”

Bram was the first one who turned around and faced me with an apologetic smile. “It is far too easy to lose oneself in your inexplicable expression, captured here on the portrait, my dear,” he explained. Then, eyeing the empty couch in front of me, he inclined his head toward it, and said, “Please, take a seat.”

Bram sat down on a richly upholstered chair beside the fireplace, and I noticed there weren’t any logs on the iron grate. “No fire tonight, Bram?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer to the question. A burning fire would make no difference to Bram. As a vampire, he was forever perpetually cold. Environmental conditions made no difference to him.

Sitting down on the couch across from Bram, I faced Jax, growing curious as to whether he would stay or go.

“Jax, thank you for accomplishing a well-performed task. I am very pleased to see you obeyed my orders meticulously and delivered her completely intact.” Bram emitted a deep chuckle and winked at me.

“Of course,” Jax answered. Taking one last glance at the painting, he gave Bram a quick nod before his eyes fell on me. “And you, Sweet, better behave yourself,” he added with a flirtatious smile.

“On the contrary! One of the reasons our little spitfire enthralls me so is because she never behaves herself,” Bram retorted while eyeing me with fond praise.

“Enough! I have no more patience for any of this shit,” I interrupted. “Jax, if you have somewhere to go, then get going!” I snapped.

“Your patience is highly commendable,” he said to Bram before frowning at me. Shaking his head, he started for the door, and his deep laugh trailed him all the way down the hallway. Once he was out of earshot, I faced Bram again. I had so many questions for him, it felt like my head was spinning. I didn’t even know where to begin.

“Sweet,” he said while staring at me pointedly, “shall I offer you something to drink?”

“No,” I nearly snarled. “This isn’t any social visit. In case you’re suffering from temporary amnesia, you ordered Jax to kidnap me!”

“Ah, yes, well, let us discuss that subject in due time,” Bram replied, and I immediately shook my head.

“No! We will discuss it right now. Why did you order me to be removed from Headquarters?” My eyes widened with unrepressed anger when something suddenly dawned on me. “And if you think for one second that I would willingly allow you to hold me hostage, just so you can use me as ransom for the ANC, you’ve got your head crammed way too far up your own ass!”

Bram immediately started to laugh even as he shook his head. “Sweet, Sweet,” he crooned. “I would never think of doing something so nefarious and underhanded as all that.”

“Really? I doubt that very much!” I roared hastily before remembering to control my temper and calm the eff down. As a rule, Bram always seemed more willing to work with me when I was in a calm state of mind. If I were riled up, he generally tried to push my reactionary buttons just to make me more so. And that meant we’d end up getting nowhere.

“Shall we leave the subject of why I ordered you to be removed from Headquarters alone for the moment? I daresay it is a long and convoluted answer,” Bram replied. “I am certain there are other, more pressing questions you wish to ask me?”

“Yes,” I replied, jumping on his open offer immediately. I figured we’d eventually circle back around again to the reasons why he’d involved Jax in the first place. But, for now, the most important subject occupying my mind was the question about what was or wasn’t going on in Splendor. “What’s happening at Headquarters?”

He studied me for a few seconds with a mysterious smile. “I apologize for failing to grasp the essence of your question, Sweet. Please find another way to restate it.”

“Jax told me you deliberately planned to attack Splendor Headquarters so you could take control of the portal to the Netherworld.”

“Yes, that is so,” Bram answered. His candid response hung in the air for a few seconds because I was suddenly so angry to hear it, I couldn’t even comment.

But I had to ignore my anger and outrage for the time being, I needed to learn what forces I was now competing against. “Tell me if you attacked Splendor; and if you did, then tell me if everyone who works there is all right?” I insisted.

“You must calm down, my pet,” Bram announced, eyeing me with concern. “I believe you are near hyperventilating.”

“I’m fine,” I ground out and then taking a deep breath, I thought about Sam and wondered if she might be injured. “If you did attack Headquarters, you had better hope to God, or whoever the hell you worship, that everyone is okay. If not, you’ll have me to deal with.” I tried to exhale all the anxiety inside me before adding, “And it won’t be pretty.”

ELEVEN

“Do you recall that evening when I first revealed to you your portrait?” Bram asked as he faced me with his left brow arched in unmasked curiosity. “When you and I came the closest we have ever come to acquiring intimate knowledge of each other?”

I gulped down the huge lump that was forming in my throat as I faced him glumly. “Of course I do. I have nightmares about it every other night.”

Bram threw his head back and chuckled heartily before focusing on me again. I watched him drumming his long, slender fingers against the armrest of his chair as he studied me. “I have enjoyed the carnal pleasures of many women, Sweet.”

“Here we go again,” I said before sighing in unconcealed displeasure. I noticed my knee was bobbing up and down, seemingly of its own accord. Usually, that meant I was feeling antsy. “Please spare me the details of your past sexual escapades, Bram, because I can honestly say I don’t care!” I took a deep breath in advance of my next point. “And what’s more, I can’t even think about this conversation, or any others for that matter, when I don’t know if my friends in Splendor were taken captive, or hurt, or if they’re even still alive.”

“Your friends are perfectly fine,” Bram was quick to respond.

“Then you haven’t attacked Splendor?” I asked, eagerly perching on the edge of my seat.

“I do not care to delve into those particulars just yet,” Bram answered with a shake of his head. “Suffice to say they are all safe and unharmed. Their well-being should not concern you any longer.”

“Okay, well, my next cause for concern is Knight.”

Bram immediately glowered at the mention of the Loki and speared me with an unimpressed frown. “And what concern would that be?”

“I need to get in touch with him and tell him I’m okay,” I insisted. “He needs to know that I’m safe and that I’m with you.”

“I do apologize, Sweet, but that phone call will have to wait,” he announced. “I must speak with you before you speak with him.”

“That sounds cryptic,” I said, eyeing him with suspicion.

“Call it what you will,” Bram finished, his expression one that said he wouldn’t change his mind on this point.

“But you will let me reach out to him at some point?” I asked, wanting to make sure he wasn’t just bluffing me.

“You have my word,” he finished before I witnessed a change in his thought pattern that immediately caused his eyes to dazzle. “And now I would like to discuss a subject of my own choosing.”

“Okay,” I answered with a quick nod. I assumed that was as much information as he was willing to give me about calling Knight and about the well-being of my friends at Headquarters, so I accepted it. I sort of had to.

Honestly, though, Bram had reassured me enough that I could stop worrying about Sam, Elsie and everyone else at Headquarters—at least, for the time being. And, strangely enough, I did trust him. I’d known him long enough to realize he was a man, er, a vampire of his word. So the good news was I could finally calm my fears, and that was enough for me at the moment. The not so great news was I’d now have to endure whatever Bram decided to discuss before I could get back to the truly important conversations. Again, I’d have to play by his rules.

So be it.

“Living for three hundred years has endowed me with all the arts and skills required to seduce the opposite sex, pet,” he enunciated slowly, obviously intent on returning to this conversation.

Bram never had, and I imagined never would, give up on trying to have sex with me. Sometimes, I even wondered if it wouldn’t have been easier if I had succumbed to his orchestrations. (Well, if Knight hadn’t been in the picture, that is). If I had, maybe Bram would now view me as nothing more than a past conquest and finally overcome this bizarre crush he harbored for me.

He cocked his head to the side and appeared to delight in his own thoughts. “Or, perhaps, it is more fitting to say that my exquisite face and physique are truly the sources that procure me such a perfect record of success with the fair sex.”

“Or maybe it’s your incessantly long and boring stories?”

“Regardless of the reason,” he started, but I shook my head vigorously and interrupted him.

“Come on, Bram, that was a good one! At least give me credit where credit is due!”

He chuckled briefly. “Yes, Sweet, you are quite humorous.” Then he cleared his throat dramatically, and I winced to think he was again trying to theorize why his luck with the opposite sex was invariably successful.

Freaking Bram …

“As I was in the midst of explaining, I have savored the willingness of many beautiful maidens,” he orated, as if it were the beginning of another soliloquy. Still eyeing me rakishly, he continued, “And, yet, I can say without any doubt, in that exact moment when I held you in my arms and ordered you to resist me, even as you so willingly begged to succumb to me, that was the most erotic moment I have ever experienced in my three hundred years of existence.”

I yawned on purpose.

“You allowed me a first glimpse of your most private sanctuary. You encouraged me, and begged me to thrust my flesh into your eagerly willing flesh, to penetrate you, to know you as I have known so many maidens before you.”

“You’re leaving out one of the most pertinent details,” I grumbled while recalling the same incident, albeit very differently. My cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and I couldn’t stop blushing. Sometimes Bram was just so direct, so blunt. Not to mention his bizarre choice of words …

“Which detail would that be, pet?”

I felt my eyebrows climbing to the ceiling. Of course, he had to know exactly what detail I was referencing. “You were doing your damnedest to subjugate me with your vampire powers of persuasion. So whatever you think you saw or felt from me, it was entirely of your own fabrication.” I suddenly remembered some of the particulars, and added, “And I’m still pissed off about it, by the way.”

Shaking his head emphatically, he began drumming his fingers again on the velvet of the armrest even faster. Then, as if he couldn’t resist any longer, he suddenly shot onto his feet and approached the fireplace mantel and the hideous painting of me. The tension was visible in his shoulders and the way he fisted his hands at his sides. He looked at the painting for a good five seconds before he turned back to me. When he did, he seemed to have gotten himself under control again. Well, his fists relaxed, anyway.

“I do not possess the necessary power to create feelings within someone that do not exist. They must already be there,” he announced in a flattened voice. Maybe this wasn’t the direction he intended or hoped our conversation would go. Not that I felt any sort of sorry for him …

“Well, that can’t be true,” I argued with a frown.

“My powers merely allow me to unmask any feelings that already exist, and encourage them to emerge.” He was quiet for a second or two as he glared at me. “But you already know that, Sweet, don’t you? You just enjoy giving me a hard time.”

“Although I have to admit that I do enjoy giving you a hard time,” I started, since there was no point in denying it, “as to me having any sort of … sexual feelings for you, I’m afraid that I don’t now and I never have.” Then I thought better of what I’d just said. “And I never will.”

“We both know that is a blatant lie.”

“What?” I ground out. My knee was now bouncing ridiculously fast, and I put my hand on my thigh in an effort to get it to stop. My fidgeting was making me nervous. Or maybe that was all Bram’s doing.

“What do you fail to comprehend, Sweet?” Bram asked. He obviously mistook my outburst as confusion when it was actually mild shock over what had just come out of his mouth. “I am very aware that you harbor some level of sexual magnetism toward me. If not, you would never have allowed me the few liberties you did allow. May I remind you that I can only evoke emotions that already exist inside you. I am only able to stimulate that which you already desire; albeit deep down within your essence.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Perhaps you are not even aware of your feelings for me!” he railed back at me. “I daresay you have repressed them efficiently over the years, brainwashing yourself to believe you never ached for or wanted me.” Nodding, he seemed to further contemplate the idea. “That must be so,” he emphasized when turning toward me again. “Your pride forbade you to express your true needs, and you were forced to deny your cravings for me because you were and are too proud.”

“What?” I started but he interrupted me.

“However, I released your inner voice, Sweet. I heard it even before you did, and I simply became your voice. I became the vehicle by which you could freely pursue your own deep longings.”

It was my turn to laugh because Bram’s ego knew no bounds. “So you think I wanted you to jump me? That’s what you’re trying to say in a nutshell?” I asked, my lips tightening. I noticed with some chagrin that my other knee decided to start bouncing incessantly too. I stood up, just to get my legs to stop shaking.

“I fear I do not know what you mean by me wanting to ‘jump’ you, but I am convinced that you yearn for me,” he stated, in a very matter-of-fact and offhand sort of way. “I imagine you often lie awake at night, picturing the two of us naked and entangled. You imagine me on top of you or perhaps behind you and we are engaged in unspeakable acts. You imagine all of this until you can no longer resist your primal urges to impale yourself upon me and you must touch yourself in order to release your body from its prison. You have gone so far as to pleasure yourself while thinking of me, have you not, my dear? You …”

I interrupted him before he could elaborate any further. “Let me guess; I’ve pleasured myself thinking about impaling myself on your ginormous staff?” I finished for him with an acidic laugh. His entire hypothesis was so ridiculous, it bordered on being offensive.

“I believe you often struggle while trying to restrain your orgiastic fantasies where I am concerned,” Bram finished. The expression on his face suggested his victory. Well, only in his own mind, that is.

“Orgiastic?” I asked with a smile. “Wow, one dollar for your word jar!”

“The time is ripe for you to finally admit your true feelings for me, Sweet,” he continued, with no amount of reserve. “Just say the words.”

“What words?”

“Reveal to me how you crave me and have always craved me. Let us join together in matrimony of our willing bodies,” he said, his voice raising an octave as it also grew louder. “It is high time we enjoyed the dance of our fused flesh.”

I was speechless. For five seconds, I just stared at him in absolute amazement that he had so many ludicrous delusions. When I finally found my tongue, my voice sounded a little bit scratchy. “Wow, um no.”

Bram’s hopeful expression immediately gave way to a scowl as he glared at me for a few seconds. When he spoke, his voice was back to its normal pitch. “I am quite convinced that were it not for that barbarian to whom you so erroneously swear your undying loyalty …” he started.

“You mean Knight?” I asked, just to be sure he was referring to that barbarian.

“Yes, that oxymoron by which the creature calls himself,” Bram answered, his expression now of supreme disgust.

“This is great; I’m glad I have a front row seat,” I mumbled, smiling in spite of myself. Sometimes, Bram could be so damn funny.

“As I was saying,” he grumbled, “I am quite convinced that had he not entered your life, you would have surrendered yourself to my ministrations a long time ago.” He paused for a moment and frowned at me. “And for that, I must admit I am quite resentful.”

“Oh? You’re convinced of that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. Now this conversation was straddling the territory of starting to piss me off. “So you think if it weren’t for Knight, I’d be riding the vampire train?”

“Indubitably so,” he answered, although I doubted he grasped my reference. He glanced up at the painting again before clearing his throat and facing me with a pedantic expression. “At any rate, upon witnessing your unruly behavior on the evening when I first revealed your portrait to you, it only further convinced me of your desire for me. Perhaps, you desire me nearly as much as I desire you.”

“Uh-huh. Let me play the devil’s advocate for a second,” I started, as I took a seat on the couch again and then leaned forward. I uncrossed my legs and then crossed them again at the ankles because I was tired of watching my knees bounce incessantly.

“Yes, do,” he said with unexpected childish glee that seemed so out of place on the elegant Englishman.

“Let’s pretend that Knight never came into the picture, or my life.”

“That charade is not new to me, but one I indulge in nightly,” Bram interjected.

“Stop interrupting me!” I railed at him. “And let me get my thought out before I forget it!”

“My heartfelt apologies, my sweet, please carry on.”

Frowning again, I tried to remember where I’d left off. Bram always managed to do or say something that invariably frazzled me. “Okay, so let’s say Knight is no longer in the picture and I did—” I started, but the words were suddenly difficult to say. I took a deep breath and pushed the rest of them out of my mouth. “Let’s say I did harbor some sort of … feelings for you,” I nearly choked out, trying to keep the bad taste from forming in the back of my throat. I also didn’t miss the smug smile that Bram pasted on his handsome face. He was such a pain in my ass. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that any future between us was already doomed? I’m an ANC Regulator and you’re the head of the most notorious potions organization.” He just looked at me blankly so I continued. “Don’t you get the ‘duh’ moment here?”

The smug smile he’d formerly worn began to vanish until it was a mere hint on his full lips. He stared at me, without saying anything for a few seconds, just appearing to be very amused. He glanced up at the painting again before sighing audibly. It was a silly thing to do, really, because he couldn’t sigh, or breathe, or burp, or anything else that required a respiratory system; well, one that worked anyway.

“I fear our fate would be as star-crossed lovers, Sweet,” he replied before turning to face me again. “Our romance would be thus immortalized, like Romeo and Juliet, Lancelot and Guinevere, Pyramus and Thisbe, Tristan and Isolde …”

“Shrek and Princess Fiona?”

“We would rewrite the annals of forbidden love,” he continued, obviously ignoring me. “And there would be countless books written about us, and songs composed in our honor.” As a dreamy expression glazed his eyes, he insisted on staring at me, unblinking. “Dulcie and Bram: a love so tragic and pure, doomed for all eternity.”

“Sounds catchy,” I said with a grimace. “Maybe you can sell it to Dreamworks.”

“I agree, Sweet; but fear not, our day will come, or our night, as the case may be,” he finished. I figured there was really no point in me even being present for this conversation considering he was ignoring everything that came out of my mouth. But, like it or not, I still had to sit and tolerate it. That is, if I ever expected to begin the conversation I really wanted to have.

“We are an impossibility,” I corrected him.

“Will you deign to explain to me why?” he inquired, his lips constricting.

“It’s obvious, Bram,” I answered, shaking my head because we’d just had a conversation, albeit a very dramatic one, but a conversation on this topic all the same. My patience was quickly thinning.

“Perhaps it is obvious to you, but not to me. It never has been obvious to me,” he responded coldly before crossing his arms over his broad chest. He looked at me with visible displeasure.

“Didn’t you just try to pitch me a movie about it?” I asked. Maybe Bram had lost a few of his marbles during those three hundred years. When he didn’t respond, I sighed and figured I’d have to spell it out for him. “Didn’t we both just agree that our job descriptions automatically preclude us from having any relationship other than a professional one?”

“Pah!” he responded before waving his hand at me and hastily dismissing my point.

“Um, wasn’t that what you were just waxing poetic about?” I asked, now feeling completely lost.

“No!” he said before glaring at me. “You and I would be star-crossed lovers because I am vampire and you are fae,” he explained, shrugging like I should have known all along. “Such an arrangement should never work as I want to devour you as much as I want to … devour you,” he said, and his eyes traveled down to my bust before dropping lower to the junction of my thighs.

“Devour me?” I asked with a hiccup of a laugh. “Hey, I’m up here!” I waved at him when his attention stayed on my happy place too long.

Eventually his eyes returned to my face. “I long to lose myself inside you, and become one with you.”

“Okay, Prince Charming, I get it,” I grumbled.

“Our careers in this life, with you as a Regulator and I as the Head of Crossbones, although on opposite ends of the morality spectrum, could never keep us apart,” he replied. “They are trivial obstacles when compared to what could be our unending bliss.”

“Hmm,” I started, shaking my head. “Funny, but I don’t see it that way. At all.”

“Let us cast our caution to the wind! Let us ignore fortuna and the voice of destiny! Let us tempt fate, and see where it will take us!” he heartily suggested, suddenly wide-eyed and hopeful. I was waiting for him to burst into song and dance.

“I kinda think this is our destiny, Bram,” I answered with a shrug.

“What is our destiny?”

“This moment right now.”

“What does that mean?”

I shrugged again, all the while knowing he wasn’t going to like what was about to come out of my mouth. “Maybe we are exactly where we were always meant to be,” I replied, sensing the truth of my words. “Have you ever thought that?”

“I do not believe we are pawns of fate,” he answered immediately, even shaking his head.

“Because you don’t want to believe it,” I scolded him and then added, “And on that note, I believe we have exhausted this conversation.”

Bram narrowed his eyes at me, and a split second later, he was standing right in front of me. He stood so close, I could feel his cold breath on the tip of my nose. His unexpected appearance startled me so much that my breath caught in my throat and it was all I could do to swallow it.

“Confess that you feel nothing for me,” he whispered. I was vaguely aware of his hands when they encircled my upper arms, but I wasn’t sure if the icy temperature of his skin or having such close contact was responsible for the goose bumps that appeared up and down my arms.

I immediately closed my eyes. The last thing I wanted was to fall victim to his power and influence. “I could never allow myself to feel anything for you, Bram,” I admitted almost sadly. “Even though you don’t possess a moral compass, I do.” When he didn’t respond, I swallowed hard but forced myself to continue. “But all of this is a moot because I’m in love with someone else.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, and I wondered what he was thinking. I didn’t dare open my eyes to look and see if I could get a clue, though, because I didn’t trust him.

“You fear my eyes,” he said.

“Yes,” I admitted, continuing to squeeze mine shut tight. “I don’t want an instant replay of the last time we got into this situation.”

“Perhaps that is wise. I doubt seriously if I would have the strength of mind I exhibited then.” He tightened his hold on my arms briefly before releasing them altogether. At the sound of his footsteps, I opened my eyes and noticed he’d retreated a few steps. His back was now to me and he was again facing the painting.

I could finally breathe a little more easily.

“I must admit how I hate this constant combat in my mind where you are concerned,” he said, and his voice was deep and low. “It exhausts and fatigues me. Sometimes, I fear it will be my undoing.”

“I think you’re being a little bit dramatic, Bram,” I interrupted.

“Not in the least,” he replied without bothering to turn around. He was quiet for a few seconds that seemed to drag on because I was at a loss for what to say or do. In general, I wasn’t adept at dealing with emotional situations. And Bram was probably the most emotional man I’d ever encountered. I didn’t know how to speak his language.

“Never have I known such sorrow as what I endured at your father’s library when your life slipped away and I held you in my arms. The heartache, the pain …” he started.

“Yes, well,” I interrupted before clearing my throat. I wasn’t at all comfortable with this conversation. I could feel sweat beginning to bead on my lower back and forehead. “I survived that ordeal, obviously.”

It was actually a miracle that I was even here and having this conversation with Bram because he was right, my life had slipped away in his arms. After thinking I’d killed my father, he’d truly had the last laugh when he shot me in the back. The bullet had been dragon’s blood which entered my bloodstream immediately and killed me within seconds.

I was fully convinced that I’d really died because I’d traveled to a place that existed beyond Earth and the Netherworld. I was sure it had to be the afterlife since I saw my mother there and she’d passed away when I was still a young girl. My mother, who’d told me it wasn’t my time to go, insisted that I fight the poison flowing through me, and fight to live. So I obeyed her and did exactly that. I’d fought harder than I’d ever fought for anything. And I’d been victorious.

I don’t know how or why I managed to defeat death, or how I was able to come back after being struck with a dragon blood bullet. They were notorious for killing Netherworld creatures in seconds …

I just chalked it up to a miracle and left it at that.

“Yes, you did survive,” Bram agreed, turning to face me over his shoulder with a sad, little smile. “However, the memory of that evening still haunts me, and refuses to release my tortured mind from its clutches.”

I was growing increasingly uncomfortable as the seconds and minutes ticked by. I didn’t want to recall my own death, much less the impact it had on Bram. Conversations like those were futile. All they did was frustrate us both, and for very different reasons.

“I never got the chance to thank you for everything you did for me, and for the ANC,” I told him. It was a subtle attempt to change the subject again.

“Every action I have ever taken or not taken has only had one purpose,” he stated as he turned to face me. His eyes were narrowed into an angry and determined expression. “That purpose is to benefit myself at all costs.”

“I don’t believe that,” I replied, shaking my head.

Bram definitely strove to secure his own preservation, no doubt, but I found it hard to believe that every action he ever took was only to benefit himself. Not when he’d had such a huge hand to play in dethroning my father and in helping me, in general. And, truly, Bram had always been there for me. Not just in this most recent situation, but for as long as I’d known him. I’d always been able to count on him.

“Believe what you will,” he announced loftily, “but my reasons remain the same. I am and always have been, purely motivated by my own self-interest.”

“Then how do you justify your feelings for me?” I asked. I really preferred not to return to this touchy subject, but I saw no way around it, if I wanted to prove my point. “How do you rationalize your actions when they were specifically designed to help me?”

He shrugged. “Whatever I did for you is no different. It, too, came from a place of selfishness and self-serving.”

“How so?”

“I wish to possess you,” he announced flatly, and his eyes bored into mine. “Yes, I can think of nothing else but being inside of you, although there is so much more to it than just that. I want to own you, to know I can take you whenever and wherever I choose. I want you to belong only to me.”

My eyebrows arched of their own accord because I couldn’t say his response pleased me. Not at all. “I am not that type of woman. Nobody can or will ever own me,” I said flatly. “I belong to myself. End of story.”

“I fully realize that,” he replied with a deep sigh before his attention fell to the floor. “Perhaps that is the foremost reason I desire you so much as I do.” When he looked up at me again, his fangs were slightly indenting his lower lip. “Very little in this world exists that I have wanted and not taken.”

“Maybe it’s time for you to start getting used to disappointment?” I summed up with a hesitant smile and a quick shrug. I was hoping a little levity might lighten his somber mood.

“I prefer the word Disappointment to be absent from my vocabulary,” he retorted with obvious irritation.

“You can’t always get what you want, Bram,” I replied. “Just listen to The Rolling Stones ‘cause they wrote a song about it.”

“Saying I have possessed anything I have ever wanted is not limited to material assets and wealth,” he continued as he started walking toward me. “Every woman I have ever chosen and wanted has been mine, both in body and soul.”

“And, yet, as soon as you get what you want, I’m sure you grow bored with it just as quickly.”

“Yes,” he admitted immediately, nodding, despite a frown that appeared on his face. “That is the irony of life, do you not agree?”

Wanting to finish this conversation so we could turn to other topics, I decided to try another angle. “Yeah, that’s ironic but maybe you’re looking at this all wrong?”

He stopped approaching me and paused, looking surprised. “How so?”

I shrugged. “I think it’s pretty simple. Your desire for me provides you with a quest, a mission of sorts, something to keep you occupied. And something you find challenging.”

He nodded as he studied me. It seemed as if he were trying to remember every part of my face. “Please, go on.”

“Just imagine if I did give in to you,” I proceeded, hoping my words wouldn’t create the opposite response from what I was going for. “Imagine if we consummated our undying love for one another.”

“I have imagined that scenario countless times,” he answered, looking bored.

“But you haven’t thought about it the way I want you to think about it,” I barked at him. “So stop interrupting me!” Taking a deep breath, I only hoped my words would have the effect on him I intended. “What if, after finally getting me, or possessing me, or whatever you called it, what if you grew bored with me? Then you no longer would have a quest, or a goal. The challenge would be over and done with. And where would that leave you?”

“I could never grow bored with you,” he protested, shaking his head as if I’d suggested something completely absurd.

“Just think about it for a minute, Bram,” I persisted, since I didn’t believe him for a second. “Everything is handed to you on a silver platter; you said so yourself.”

“Nothing has been handed to me,” he corrected me. “But I always achieve that which I pursue, so yes, I see your point.”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe your undying fascination with me has very little to do with me and everything to do with you not having me?” I inquired.

He quietly pondered the question, and continued to stare at me, but I could tell the gears in his brain were turning. When he finally spoke, he seemed more resigned somehow, or tired even.

“I do not have a ready response for you,” he said. “This is a question which requires much more thought and consideration. I must admit, however, I do see your point; and it is a very salient one.”

“And on that note, can we end this conversation for the night?” I asked, sounding hopeful. “I think I’ve been more than patient with you, Bram.”

He nodded. “That you have, my dear, that you have.”

“Then do I have your consent to shelve this conversation for the time being?”

“You do.”

“And are you willing to answer my questions now?” I asked, praying for his affirmative reply.

“Yes,” he said quietly before taking a seat in the chair he was occupying earlier. “But please, I request that you make haste. I must admit that my mind is elsewhere. You have planted a seed in my head that I find utterly fascinating, and now, I would like nothing more than to seek an answer.”

“Then, I won’t keep you waiting,” I replied before taking a seat across from him on the couch. As soon as my butt landed on the rich brocade upholstery, I began my interrogation. “Why did you order Jax to abduct me from Headquarters?”

“Because I needed you.”

“You needed me for what?”

He eyed me for a couple of seconds and then glanced up at the portrait of me. He studied the painting for a good while before facing me again. Without a word, he stood up and seemed to be totally out of his element, somehow. He seemed like he was uncomfortable. I’d never seen him like this before, so naturally, it gave me cause for pause.

“As you are already aware, the Netherworld is in a state of flux,” he said while knitting his fingers together behind his back. He started pacing forward and reminded me of Sherlock Holmes. All that was missing were the funny hat and a pipe.

“Yes, I know.”

“The ANC prefers one of their own to take the position as leader, of course,” he went on, crossing his arms over his chest. “But the potions rings have other ambitions.”

“I know all of that,” I interrupted, eager for him to cut to the chase and get to the parts I didn’t know.

“Jax?” he asked, and I just nodded. Bram smiled and shook his head. Staring at the floor, he continued, “Jax has the unfortunate problem of talking too much.”

“Anyway,” I prodded, anxious to get back to the point, “where do you stand in all of this?” A split second later, I guessed the answer to my question. “You, yourself, prefer to assume my father’s role as Head of the Netherworld, don’t you?”

“No, I do not,” he protested immediately.

I narrowed my eyes and studied him. “Do I have ‘idiot’ stamped on my forehead?” I asked, shaking my head as my irritation turned to anger. “I thought we had enough respect for each other to tell the truth, Bram.”

“I am telling you the truth,” he insisted. “I have no interest in becoming the new Head of the Netherworld. I dwell in the shadows, far from the limelight.”

“Then why are you doing this?” I asked, shaking my head because his reply didn’t make sense. Well, only insofar as he liked to stay away from prying eyes. Bram was always a loner. And an ultimate mystery. It seemed his hand was in everything, but never obviously or specifically. And he always covered his tracks. It wasn’t so much that he preferred to remain in the shadows as he was the shadows.

TWELVE

“I have never aspired to be in the public eye,” Bram admitted. “I have always enjoyed positions of supreme power, but they were primarily behind the scenes, and never before an audience.” He paused and took a deep breath, which was all for show. Then he smiled at me in that way of his that made me feel like the mouse to his cat. “I choose to be the puppeteer, never the puppet.”

“That’s all fine and good, Bram, but it doesn’t explain anything,” I argued with him, shaking my head. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but suddenly the temperature seemed to be increasing in Bram’s drawing room. No fire burned in the hearth and I imagined the central heat wasn’t turned on, seeing how little it mattered to Bram. I guessed it was just me. Maybe my conversation with Bram was causing my blood to boil …

“What does it fail to explain, my pet?”

“It doesn’t explain why you want to take over all the portals connecting the Earth to the Netherworld. If you truly had no interest in assuming my father’s role as Head of the Netherworld, what purpose could you possibly have in trying to secure all the portals? It doesn’t make any sense.” I paused for a second or two, but when Bram didn’t respond, I continued. I already had a pretty good idea what his answer was. “On the face of it, it looks like the purpose would be to ensure that Caressa never gets to take her rightful place as Head of the Netherworld.”

“I fear I have no alternative,” Bram answered with a sigh, indicating he was bored with the conversation.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” I railed at him, angry that he had the gall to give me such a lame response. I’d thought he and I were beyond this by now. “Bram, the day you have ‘no other choices’ will be the day I find ogres attractive.”

“Now who is being dramatic?” he said, a smirk on his lips. “And I trust at present you do not find ogres attractive. May I ask your opinion of vampires?”

“Vampires are fine and good, as long as they’re telling me the truth,” I snapped, spearing him with a determined expression. “And when they aren’t being honest with me, they’re better off dead.”

Throwing his head back, he chuckled while I continued to eye him impatiently. Lucky for him that he was finding this conversation so amusing, because I couldn’t say I was. Frustrating and infuriating, maybe, but hardly amusing.

“I do love it when you tease me with your sharp tongue,” he answered after he stopped laughing. Then he took a few steps toward me, narrowing his eyes and his fangs lengthened.

“It’s all completely unintentional,” I replied in a bored tone.

“All the better,” he responded with his eyes glued onto mine. “There is nothing more enticing than prey who never realizes she is being watched, stalked and hunted.”

“I hardly consider myself your prey, Bram,” I said with a frown before inspecting my fingernails.

“You are fae,” he retorted with a shrug, “and I am vampire.”

“So what?”

“You are the deer to my wolf.”

I glanced at him, knitting my eyebrows together with skepticism to let him know I wasn’t amused and, furthermore, that I also didn’t agree with his comparison of me to a deer. “I am not now, nor will I ever be, anyone’s prey.”

“Perhaps you could prove your theory,” he replied, his eyes dancing with excitement. “How do you suppose you would fare against me in hand-to-hand combat, my pet?”

I shrugged. “Pretty well. I have magic.”

“And I possess extreme speed, tremendous strength, and the magic inherent in my eyes,” he answered loftily. “Were our skills put to the test, I believe you would be outdone, captured and, ultimately, at my mercy.”

“Well, here’s to hoping we never find ourselves in that situation,” I replied glumly.

“There is nothing more tantalizing than a chase,” Bram replied, ignoring my previous comment. “And I can think of nothing more rousing than the thrill of chasing you.”

“Speaking of the chase,” I started, as I stood up, feeling exasperated. “Why don’t we cut right to it?” His scowl was his only response, so I continued. “You and I have always been honest with one another—and that’s the only part of our … bizarre friendship that I’ve always appreciated.”

“I appreciate many more aspects, it seems, than you do,” he ground out, frowning at me all the while as if my comment rubbed him the wrong way.

“Regardless, the only way this rocky … relationship can work is by both of us maintaining trust,” I said. I walked around the couch and gripped the back of it, stretching my arms out as I pulled against it. Just dealing with Bram had put a kink between my shoulders.

“Do we have a relationship, Sweet?” The source of my neck pain asked, his serpentine smile especially flirtatious and, as such, especially irritating. “I admit, I appreciate hearing you refer to it as such.”

“Relationship, friendship, alliance or a hostage situation … call it what you will,” I replied with a shrug. Standing up straight, I didn’t miss the jolt of tension still cramping my neck and shoulders. “But whatever you decide to term it is irrelevant, the only way we can continue working together is if you’re honest and straight with me,” I insisted. “That’s how I am with you. We both have certain expectations and obligations for each other that we must continue to meet. Otherwise, whatever connection we share will fall apart. We’re skating on extremely thin ice as it is.”

“I have cast away all of my expectations of you. You constantly disappoint me,” he replied. Arching his eyebrows dramatically, he walked closer until he was only a few paces from me. He clasped his hands in front of him, as though he were preparing to take a casual stroll. With the backdrop of his drawing room, and the way he was dressed, he looked like some brooding, romantic hero. I had half a mind to start calling him as Heathcliff. Bramcliff …

“That conversation has nothing to do with this one,” I replied. The last thing I wanted to do was open up another discussion on his unrequited feelings for me. I doubted I could survive it.

Bram nodded after gazing at me for a few seconds. He thrust his hands into his pants pockets and took a few steps closer, but paused when he was less than three feet away. “I need your help, Sweet,” he said in a soft voice, one that seemed more natural in a way, less guarded and more candid. Or maybe it was his expression … Whatever it was lacked the artifice I was so accustomed to hearing from him.

“You need my help?” I repeated, eyeing him skeptically. “That’s why you ordered Jax to kidnap me?”

“Yes,” he admitted with a single nod before cocking his head to the side. He added, almost as an afterthought, “And I was worried about your safety.”

“Why?” I asked while shaking my head. I wanted him to know I wasn’t following him. I still wasn’t sure I even bought the whole “keeping me safe” thing. It seemed a little too convenient, especially if he wanted something from me. “If you’re the one behind the takeover of Splendor Headquarters, why be worried about me at all? There’s no reason since you’re the one calling the shots.”

“Ah … that it were so easy,” he admitted, dropping his attention to the dark wood floors, which were mostly covered by expensive rugs. Sighing theatrically, his shoulders sagged slightly, like he had to support the weight of the world.

“What’s going on, Bram?” I asked, not accustomed to seeing him like this. What was worse, I didn’t like it. I was used to the self-centered, egomaniac who was self-assured to the point of cockiness. Then the thought occurred to me that maybe his woe-is-me act was just that, an act. Maybe Bram was just trying to manipulate me into feeling sorry for him just so I’d agree to help him. Yep, that was probably closer to the truth.

Rat bastard …

“Bram, you need to explain everything to me—all of it in detail,” I said after another few seconds, during which time he continued to stare, as if he were zoned out on the floor.

He brought his attention back to my face and nodded as though he realized the truth had to come out sooner rather than later. “It is not my preference that Caressa be outed as Head of the Netherworld,” he started. “I believe the ANC must maintain a foothold in the Netherworld government in order to secure and enforce the natural balance of things.”

“Then why are you doing this?” I demanded angrily. It didn’t add up. I also sincerely wished he’d stop feeding me information piece by piece and just spit all of it out at once. But, of course, that wasn’t Bram’s way.

“Because I was backed into a corner, I had no other alternative,” he said, sounding strangely tired, as if this nasty business was really putting him through the wringer.

“Explain.”

“Those in the potions rings are very nervous about Caressa replacing your father,” he finally divulged. “As you may recall, your father had a name and a particular affinity for running illegal organizations.”

“My father was a backhanded, double-faced, son of a bitch,” I interjected. My hands began fisting at my sides and my lips tightened whenever I thought about my father. My physical reaction was always the same. I hated the man when he lived, and I hated his memory now. “He was probably as crooked as they come.”

“We both agree your father was what he was,” Bram concurred, “and we both saw the reasons he had to be removed from office. Let us, for the moment, abandon our perspectives, my dear, and try to adopt those of the leaders of the potions rings.”

“They probably loved my father,” I admitted with a scowl before walking over to the couch and taking a seat. I folded one of my legs underneath me and focused on Bram, hoping this conversation would pick up its pace.

“Love, perhaps, is not the right word,” Bram corrected me, as he nodded all the same. “Your father was very much feared, and I can say without any equivocation, he was a most respected man.”

“Anyone who respected my father was a complete fool.”

“The point, my dear, beautiful fairy, is this: your father was a man in their court. His own personal interests were well aligned and tied to theirs.”

“Right, because he was profiting from the illegal potions market!” I railed angrily. My knee started to hurt so I stood up, only to sit down again, planting both of my feet firmly on the floor. “Yes, he was a hypocrite and a traitor since he also sat behind an ANC desk.”

“Caressa, as you are well aware, is not one of them,” Bram said, nodding his agreement. “To the exporters, as I affectionately refer to them,” he started before I interrupted him.

“You mean as you affectionately refer to yourself?” I crossed my arms over my chest because I was growing even angrier when I reminded myself of how deep Bram’s betrayal really ran.

“I am not them,” he replied curtly with a simple smile that suggested he really believed his words.

“You’re the head of the largest street potions organization,” I argued, my eyebrows furrowed in irritation. There was no way he could ever convince me he was innocent in all of this. “How can you deny being one of them? You’re their freaking ring leader!”

“That may be true,” he admitted while shaking his head. “But I am not cut from the same cloth. As I told you earlier, I am the puppeteer; and they are all mere puppets. None of them see the larger picture. They only see the things I allow them to view.”

“You’re one and the same, Bram,” I interrupted and considered him with a frown that said his overinflated ego wasn’t exactly charming. “You say ta-may-to and I say tah-mah-to,” I quipped.

“I do not view it the same way you do,” he argued.

“Regardless, I’d rather you got back to the point.”

“As you wish,” he answered with another frown. As he approached the far end of the room, I suddenly noticed a white statue. I wasn’t sure how I’d missed it before, considering how tall it was—probably the same height as I was. Romanesque in style, it was in the shape of a naked woman. Her hair was done in a chignon, piled on top of her head, although quite a few tendrils framed her face. Carrying a jug over one of her shapely shoulders, she didn’t wear any clothes and her feet were bare.

Bram just stood there as if transfixed by the sight of her, his eyes following the contours of her body.

“Bram!” I yelled, clapping my hands a few times to get his attention. “What is it with you and naked artifacts?”

“I cannot deny my appreciation for the human female body,” he answered, but then thought better of it when he added: “or the female fae body,” and offered me a wink. “The female is the essence of pure beauty,” he remarked. Shifting his head, he followed the curvaceous lines of the exquisite statue. “Every curve, every junction, every valley and every peak are the epitome of pristine perfection.”

“Well, excuse me, but we were having a conversation, you know?” I was becoming increasingly convinced that Bram must be suffering from ADHD.

Sparing a glance over his shoulder at me, and showing little interest, he curtly nodded with a sigh. “As I was saying, the exporters do not consider Caressa their friend,” he said, turning to fully face me and looking slightly despondent over that fact.

“Because she will insist that the laws be upheld,” I deduced. Jutting my chin into the air, like I usually did when I felt self-righteous, I added, “Just like I would.”

“Yes, my little warrior, just like you would,” he iterated with a hearty chuckle. He studied me for a few more seconds before returning his attention exclusively to the statue beside him. “I must say, her body quite resembles yours,” he said as he glanced from me to the statue and back again.

“Not interested.”

“Unfortunate. The only conversation you seem intent on pursuing is the one we were just having,” he replied with deliberate ennui as he shook his head.

Nodding, I launched right back into it. “I’m not stupid, Bram. Of course, I understand the reasons why the potions rings don’t want Caressa replacing my father,” I began, shaking my head. “But I still don’t understand why you don’t.”

He nodded and said nothing for a few seconds as he apparently considered my question. Or maybe he was just buying more time to ogle the bare nipples of the statue. Actually, the latter scenario was probably closer to the truth … I often wondered if maybe Bram had sexual problems, or could have been a sex addict. Shrugging, I figured I’d probably never know the answer, although the thought of it was a bit comical.

So this vampire who’s also a sex addict, walks into a bar …

“I support Caressa’s right to replace your father because I believe there needs to exist a balance in all things, a yin to the yang,” he announced as he lifted his index finger and ran it down the statue’s cheek. “The Romans certainly had a talent for capturing magnificence in a piece of stone.”

“But Caressa being in charge would only hurt your bottom line,” I argued. I shook my head and watched his index finger, hoping it wouldn’t travel any lower than the statue’s face. “It certainly couldn’t help it.”

He shrugged and didn’t seem overly concerned. “Be that as it may, I care not,” he said while glancing over his shoulder at me again. His attention fell onto the statue once more, and he withdrew his finger from her cheek before holding it in the air. His gaze dropped to her large breasts. “Yes, it will be more challenging to ensure that our … products are distributed, but where there is a will, I trust we will find a way.”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re taking over the portals,” I announced, albeit solemnly because his previous comment didn’t exactly thrill me. But then again, most of what came out of Bram’s mouth didn’t exactly thrill me. And I also couldn’t say I was ecstatic with the way he was staring at the statue’s breasts, as if he were hoping they would magically morph into warm flesh right in front of him.

He faced me with his straight-lipped expression. “First, you must understand the panic that my and other organizations are suffering from at this most recent change of hands. All of the exporters consider Caressa an imminent threat. None of them can comprehend their futures, or the potential difficulties in exportation, once the ANC has complete control of the government.”

“So what does this have to do with you?”

“May I quote someone we both know? ‘Stop interrupting me’!” he emphasized with a wide grin. That only irritated me further.

“Ugh,” I grumbled as I ate a generous slice of humble pie and waited for him to continue.

“Due to this perceived threat …” He paused as if he were baiting me and expecting me to interject. Frowning, I made a point of grinding my teeth together, which only made him laugh. “The other organizations have been discussing the notion of joining our forces, and uniting together, thereby actually threatening the power and administration of the ANC. Perhaps Jax already informed you that we must rely on strength in numbers?”

“He did,” I answered with a brief nod.

“Bloody blabbermouth,” Bram muttered underneath his breath.

“The point, Bram,” I reminded him. “Could we please get back to it?”

“Yes,” he said with another theatrical sigh. Returning his gaze to the statue, he apparently remembered where his train of thought derailed. “Many of the progressive leaders claimed if ever there was a time to see one of their own in power, now would be it.” He took a deep breath as if he needed one and then continued, his eyes still glued to the statue’s very alert nipples. “Upon my discovery that these organizations were hedging their bets, and soon planned to see one of their own in power, I realized it had to be nipped in the bud.”

“And you expect to accomplish that by taking control of our portals?” I spat out, now nearly unable to restrain myself. “How does that make any freaking sense at all?!” I demanded.

He shook his head, looking at me as if I were a lost cause because I wasn’t following him, but the smile on his lips revealed his unbridled amusement. “No, that is not why, Sweet. Please try to control your Tourette Syndrome so I may continue.”

“Ha-ha, Bram, that’s really funny,” I grumbled. “Go on.”

“I refused to allow myself to be relegated to the mercy of another leader, or another Melchior O’Neil,” he explained, although his eyes never left the statue. Despite my most earnest wishes to the contrary, Bram started tracing the statue’s breast with one finger. He drew an imaginary line down to her nipple. Once he reached the erect nub, his finger began circling it.

“As if you could ever be at anyone’s mercy,” I replied sarcastically before turning away. I definitely didn’t want to witness him molesting the statue.

“Yes, you are quite right,” he agreed, and his tone of voice sounded like he was literally beaming. “The king of the jungle is the apex predator, and subjugated to nobody!”

“I have no words,” I said with a frown as I faced him again, pleased to see he was no longer fondling the statue. Now, his hands hung at his sides and his attention, ostensibly, was mine once again.

“You have no words … for once!” Bram’s quip made him smile wider, like he was proud of himself. Taking a few steps toward me, he put his hands back inside his pockets. “The point, my dear, little Regulator, is that I prefer to avoid any situation that is out of my control. I did the only thing I could do. I took matters into my own hands.”

“Which means what, exactly?” I prodded. Trying to keep him on topic at the same time I wanted him to hurry the hell up and spit it out was a tricky trail to follow.

“I had to prove where my loyalty lay,” he answered. One of his eyebrows arched up in visible frustration. The whole situation seemed to aggravate Bram to no end, but I still didn’t know exactly why. “I had to prove to the exporters that I was willing to work with them, and become the leader they so desperately needed.” He was quiet for a few seconds and we just stared at one another. “I had to hoodwink them. I persuaded them to believe I wanted only the best for them.”

“But you don’t want what is best for them?” I asked, eyeing him narrowly as I tried to fully understand his meaning and once understanding it, decide if he was telling me the truth or not.

“I only want what is best for you, my dear,” he replied. Walking right up to me, he jabbed me with his index finger straight in the center of my chest. “At the same time, I also want what is best for me.”

“Uh-huh … So your idea was to seize control of the portals just to prove to those organizations that you were assuming the role as their worthy leader?” I finished before taking a step back. I crossed my arms over my chest, just in case he got any other ideas about touching me at breast level.

As far as our conversation was concerned, I was pleased to find that I was starting to piece the puzzle together.

“Yes,” he answered immediately. “I had to prove my loyalty to their cause, and it was a way to firmly cement my superiority at the top of the pecking order.”

“So where and why do I come into this?”

“I now require your assistance, Sweet,” he answered plainly.

I couldn’t respond right away because I was so taken aback. I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea what kind of assistance I could offer him. Especially when he was well aware how I wanted nothing to do with the illegal potions trade at all. It was just as abhorrent in my eyes as my dead father. As soon as that thought crossed my mind, though, I realized exactly what Bram really wanted.

“You want me to help you take control of every ANC portal, don’t you?” I asked before my jaw dropped in disbelief.

He merely nodded like it wasn’t a big deal.

I immediately shot to my feet and shook my head vehemently. When I finally met his eyes, my anger nearly blinded me. “You’ve completely lost your fucking mind!”

“Stand down, my pet,” he crooned with a laugh. Raising his hand, he attempted to get me to calm down, but it didn’t work.

“Why do you think I would ever help you to take control of the portals?” I asked, continuing to shake my head all the while because his gall amazed me.

“Because it will be one step in the right direction to repress this rebellion,” he answered, straight-lipped.

“You want to repress their rebellion?” I repeated, my tone of voice revealing my doubt. “After earning their trust? After becoming their leader? After facing a position in which you’ll be more powerful than you ever have been before? You’re going to just throw that all away?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “I fear it is the only way. This rebellion cannot be allowed to flourish. It must be repressed. But in order to do that, I must first earn their loyalty. Then I will squash them.”

I was quiet for a few seconds as I studied him, wondering if he were still being honest with me. Trying to read Bram’s true motives was like trying to read hieroglyphics. His poker face was flawless. ’Course, he’d had over three hundred years to perfect it.

“So, my job would be helping you take control of the portals; and then what?” I asked, assuming the role of Devil’s Advocate again. Not that I was swayed by his argument, because I wasn’t. Not in the least bit. But it was better to understand the full scope of the situation before I made any quick judgements.

“The ANC would be fully aware of our moves,” Bram announced, his eyes now riveted to mine. “They would authorize every step before we could take it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. After you control the portals, then what?”

“Patience, my Sweet,” he answered with a fangy smile that caused a shiver of unease to shutter through me. “Once we seize the portals, we would pretend to begin infiltrating the Netherworld. To those not in the know, it would appear as if we were assuming control of the government by going through the back door.”

“And then what?”

“And that would be precisely when the ANC would step in to ensure that would never happen. There would be enough exporters involved in this heist that the ANC could arrest all of them and take them into custody. That would naturally deplete the numbers in the potions organizations and, thus, debilitate and annihilate them,” he finished.

“Which would mean the balance between the ANC and the potions rings would be back to how it was before my father ever took office,” I summarized after I considered everything Bram said.

“Yes, the balance would be again restored.” He eyed me with another winning smile and offered me his hand. I wasn’t sure why I allowed him to take mine, but once he did, he pulled me against him and held me tightly.

“What?” I started to protest, but he interrupted me.

“You must ensure that we prevail in our attack for the portals, Sweet. I need you to guarantee our victory.”

“And why should I trust you?” I asked. My eyes narrowed as I brought both of my palms against his chest and pushed away from him.

“You should trust me because that is what our relationship has always relied on, or am I mistaken?” He gripped both of my upper arms, ostensibly to keep me in place, and I couldn’t help noticing his fangs were now completely elongated and … sharp.

“I don’t know,” I said with obvious uncertainty. “You tell me.”

He didn’t respond as he stared at me, and his eyes appeared bluer than usual. Suddenly, I remembered to immediately close my eyes. I was afraid he would try to bewitch me again. I heard the sound of his deep, resonant chuckling and felt the pad of his thumb touching my left cheek.

“Sweet, please open your lovely emerald eyes,” he whispered.

“Why? So you can magick me into doing whatever evil plans you have up your sleeve?” I answered, keeping my eyes sealed tightly.

“You should know me better than that,” he said while exhaling deeply, and his cold breath chilled my face.

“I refuse to take any chances where you’re concerned, Bram,” I admitted. “The day I fully trust the serpent is the day it sinks its fangs into me.”

“Were we not just having this conversation, except in reverse? You said, and I quote, ‘the only way this rocky relationship will work is by maintaining trust,’” he finished. I eventually opened my eyes, figuring I could close them again if he tried to overpower me. I didn’t have a comment because he’d caught me between a rock and a very hard place. Having someone using your own words against you was beyond irksome.

“I give you my word, as a gentleman, that I will not make any attempt to overpower you,” he said in a soft voice.

I hoped my gut instincts weren’t off, but his expression seemed earnest. I studied him for another few seconds, poised to slam my eyelids shut if I received even the slightest inkling that he was bluffing. But I didn’t.

“You have my word,” he repeated, slightly easing his hold on my upper arms. My palms were still flattened against his chest, and I was standing way too close to him, so I cleared my throat and stepped back.

“Everything I have told you is the truth,” he stated solemnly. “You were correct; you and I must be honest and straightforward with one another. A truer sentiment was never spoken, especially now. You and I need each other now more than we ever did before.”

Neither one of us said anything for a few seconds. We just stared at each other, as if we were trying to assess the truth from each other. For my own part, I wasn’t sure how far I could trust Bram. He’d mostly done the right thing in the past, but I still wondered if all of it was just a farce. Maybe he’d been warming me up just to earn my trust. Maybe all of that had just been leading up to this very moment.

The bummer of the whole situation was that there was no way I could know for sure whether Bram was genuine or whether this was all an amazingly well-conceived sham.

“I would never subject you to any precarious situation,” he promised, his eyes boring into mine. I had yet to feel his power behind them, though. “Your health and well-being take priority over my own,” he claimed.

“Such a heartwarming scene!”

The sound of Jax’s voice coincided with him clapping. My heartbeat started to race and I felt light-headed. Looking in the direction of Jax’s voice, I saw him standing in the doorway. His enormous physique nearly obscured the entire space. He was glaring at us, his large arms crossed over his substantially broad chest.

Time seemed to stand still as my attention shifted from Jax to Bram. I watched the vampire’s entire expression change. His eyes narrowed and his fangs grew longer while his jaw tightened. I could almost feel the sudden rigidity of his body. And then I felt him twitch.

“I wouldn’t think about materializing anywhere if I were you, boss,” Jax warned him, shaking his head as three more large men suddenly appeared behind him. One of them handed Jax a gun, which I supposed was probably loaded with dragon blood bullets.

At the sound of a door opening, I glanced behind me and saw four men standing at the far end of the room. They were in front of a door I hadn’t noticed earlier. The sweat started to bead along my forehead as I strove to catch my breath. Bram took a step in front of me and reached around me, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer to him. He seemed to be shielding me with his own body.

“I’m sure it will please the others when they learn that you consider us nothing more than your puppets,” Jax hissed as he walked into the room with the three thugs trailing him.

“Whatever grievances you have with me,” Bram started, although his tone of voice was surprisingly unconcerned, “leave Dulcie out of it.”

Jax chuckled. “Wow, boss, you really must have it bad, don’t you?”

Being protected by Bram’s body, I couldn’t see what was going on. But I heard the sound of heavy footsteps, which were coming closer. Seconds later, Jax stood right in front of me. He held the barrel of what looked like an Op 9 to Bram’s temple. Reaching out, he gripped my upper arm, and none-too-gently. Then he yanked me forward, closer to him, holding me in place by draping his heavy arm across me.

“I mean,” Jax continued as he glanced down at me and smirked. “I get it. She’s hot. I had a hell of a time persuading myself not to touch her.”

“I would sooner die a thousand deaths,” I ground out, glaring up at him.

He shrugged. “And it might very well come to that.”

“I prefer not to repeat myself,” Bram said. His eyes looked icy and his jaw was so tight, I half wondered if he might snap his fangs in half. “Leave her alone!”

“Then save your voice,” Jax answered, his jaw just as determined. “Because I need her.” Glancing back down at me, he narrowed his eyes. “This little prized possession is going to come in very handy.”

The End

GRAVE NEW WORLD

Dulcie O’Neil #8

by

H.P. Mallory

Grave New World

Copyright © 2018 by H.P Mallory

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements:

To the apple of my eye, Finn: I love you more than words can ever say.

To Len: This book would never have been as strong without your input. I love you, my moon and stars.

To my editor, Teri: Thank you for a job well done, as always.

To Jessica Catalano: Thank you for your creativity in coming up with this title! I love it!

Grave New World

ONE

Bram

I despise surprises.

And may I add that it is not a common occurrence when I find myself surprised. After “living” century after century and experiencing all the history that I have, it can most assuredly be assumed that situations in which I have been genuinely shocked are few and far between. Truthfully, very little could evoke such a primitive response from me. Indeed, I have always prided myself on remaining one step ahead and planning for any possible outcomes. Yes, surprises are just as rare to me as eating food.

At least, that was true until now.

Most unfortunately for me, surprised I certainly was. As well as astonished. Flabbergasted. Dumbfounded. And stunned at being taken captive in my own home. To add insult to injury, I was taken prisoner by those who were once subservient to me and under my direct command. Most regrettably, however, I was not their only prisoner. My confidante, Dulcie O’Neil, was also subjugated to the undeserved authority of Jax, the same bastard who had, until very recently, served as my right-hand-man.

“Is this necessary?” I asked incredulously. My vision was suddenly darkened when one of Jax’s brutes, a pathetic lad whose name escapes me, blindfolded me. Of course, I knew the reason for the precaution and fully expected it. As a centuries-old vampire, I am powerful. My powers have evolved highly enough that I could bewitch any one of them if they so much as glimpsed my eyes.

“All this time, you’ve been allowed to believe that you were fooling us,” Jax answered, his voice gruff and angry. As a Loki, Jax possessed immense stature and strength. Up until now, I thought him ultimately inane and basically useless, except, of course, for his brawn. Physically, he is as tall as I am, which is well over six feet, but where I possess the sleek, chiseled physique of an Olympian swimmer, Jax is built like a lumbering ox. Large and dumb are usually the attributes of a valuable henchman, but apparently, not so in this case. My initial reaction of disbelief was already fading away and a new emotion emerging. Anger. Mostly with myself. I gravely underestimated Jax after having grown complacent in my own superiority and his obvious inferiority. How much I actually underestimated him, though, still remained to be seen.

As if the blindfold weren’t insulting enough, I was also shackled from head to foot; my hands bound behind me with cuffs. Despite every endeavor, I could not budge them. They were most certainly forged from Netherworld iron. Ordinarily, I could snap through any earthly handcuffs or chains as if they were no more than brittle rubber bands. Not so, however, with the iron manacles crafted from the ore of the Netherworld. Consequently, my super enhanced strength, just like the power inherent in my eyes, was quite rudely confiscated from me. I was now rendered helpless. Not only to myself but also to Dulcie. The odd sensation of vulnerability was not one I was accustomed to and, as such, I felt strangely out of sorts. After all, it has been many lifetimes since I lived as a human and, thus, strangely peculiar for me to now feel anything similar to this.

“What the hell is going on?” Dulcie demanded. She, too, was restrained by the same Netherworldly iron shackles. Likewise, she too was prevented from using the magic inherent to her own species. Such a pity! Dulcie is truly a bewitching sight to behold when she begins summoning her fae magic. Actually, she is quite bewitching and a sight to behold in general: a small yet very curvaceous body with long, blond hair and emerald eyes that have been known to spit fire. And the way she manages to fill out her police-issued trousers with that body of hers is enough to warm any cold-blooded creature …

“You’d be a whole lot better off if you just kept your mouth shut,” Jax fired back at her.

“Don’t you work for Bram?” Dulcie persisted, never one to back down from a challenge. “And doesn’t he work for you?” she repeated, addressing me. Clearly, Dulcie was confused, and judging by the tone of her voice, I would venture to guess she was also annoyed. I could not say I blamed her as the situation was becoming quite perplexing, even to a superior thinker like me.

“The truth is,” Jax started, and his tone swiftly changed from brusque and heated to self-impressed and conversational. “Your vampire friend, here, has been playing all of us for fools. Or so he thought.” I could hear his footsteps coming closer. “But the tables have turned. Maybe now, it’s more fitting to say he’s the only fool in this room.”

I had to admit I bristled at hearing I was playing the part of the uninformed idiot. I did not appreciate being referred to as such in the least. Most of the time, I am not a man who allows himself to be ridiculed. In fact, I fail to recall the last instance when anyone dared to meddle with me, much less behave as Jax was. Admitting I was ashamed was an understatement, to say the least.

“Explain,” Dulcie commanded, still just as fiery and rebellious as ever, even though it was certainly obvious who now held the reins. Dulcie’s courage and fearlessness have always impressed me, and they are two of the characteristics I find most intriguing about her. A plethora of unending spirit contained in such a dainty and petite little nymph …

“You know me,” Jax said with a gruff laugh. “I’m happy to explain anything to you! Just ’cause I like looking at you,” he finished as the other thugs in the room chuckled. My superior hearing alerted me to realize he had taken the few steps that separated him from Dulcie. That meant he was now only five or less inches away from her. Their close proximity bothered me even more than Jax’s self-impressed boasts. As far as Dulcie was concerned, I considered her still under my protection. It was my fault that she was now in this predicament, and I fully intended to orchestrate her exit from it.

“Back off,” Dulcie barked. “I could hear you fine right where you were standing.”

Jax snickered, and I could suddenly sense the heat radiating off his body, suggesting that he was sexually attracted to Dulcie. This did not come as any surprise to me. I believe most, if not all, male creatures, human or otherwise, cannot help wondering and fantasizing over what it would be like to bed the little tempest. I, myself, have imagined that same situation so many times now, I have lost count.

“You know it’s nearly impossible for any man to resist your pheromones,” Jax explained, his tone flirtatious and wrath inspiring. Dulcie is a fairy, which means males are irresistibly and immediately drawn to her sexually. This invariably occurs on the earthly plane but is heightened substantially whilst in the Netherworld. Sadly, I cannot count myself as a resistor of her charms either. It is quite a pity, and I can only imagine that our friendly liaison would be significantly improved and easier for both parties were I not so physically attracted to her.

“I don’t give a shit,” she started. “You better back the fuck away from me now!”

I could hear the hand of Jax rapidly moving through the air, so I closed my eyes to better attune my hearing with more precision. Jax touched her face, but he did not intend to slap her. No, it sounded as though he were gripping her harshly, probably squeezing her cheeks in his brutish attempt to force her to look him in the eyes.

“Seeing as how you are my prisoner, it would behoove you to mind your manners and keep your mouth shut, sweet cheeks!” he warned her as I leaned in more closely. I imagined he must have been whispering in her ear.

“Get back to your story,” she responded, her tone ice cold. Dulcie was the type of woman who never backed down, despite being shackled and clearly under the control of an enemy.

“What’s the magic word?” Jax taunted.

“Please,” Dulcie managed to grind out, but I could hear her jaw tightening. I also heard the rush of blood in her veins as it fed her growing anger.

Jax chuckled again as if he enjoyed watching her play the part of a servile prisoner. “I’ve been working for Bram all this time, at least, that’s the way it appeared,” he started. “But all along, I’ve actually been taking orders from someone else. A different person entirely!” Judging by the sound of his voice, I imagined he must have turned to face me. “We,” he started.

“Who’s we?” Dulcie interrupted.

“We are all of the street gangs, collected together.”

“So you’ve been in touch with the other factions?” Dulcie inquired, lacing her voice with genuine surprise.

“Of course,” Jax laughed, suggesting she should have already figured it out for herself. “I’ve been the uniting force between all of the potions rings,” he bragged. “Collectively, we like to call ourselves the Rebellion.”

“And does this Rebellion know that you’ve been following the orders of Bram the whole time?” Dulcie asked.

“I’ve never answered to Bram,” Jax responded.

“Well, on the face of it, maybe not …” she corrected herself. “Were the rest of the potions operations also aware that your reporting to Bram was just for show?”

Sighing, because I did not like the words I heard coming from her mouth, I was disappointed. Dulcie had always looked up to me and respected me. Even though we existed on different sides of the tracks, so to speak, there was always an unspoken trust and mutual respect between the two of us. I hesitate to refer to her as my friend because a man like me makes it his business to avoid friendships, but if I believed in friends, she would be the closest to one.

“And besides, we wanted Bram to believe we were weak and not worth bothering about when, in fact, we’re anything but,” Jax continued, his bravado growing increasingly boring by the minute.

“So why the horse and pony show all this time?” Dulcie demanded.

“All in the name of deception, sweet cheeks! It helped us give Bram the impression that we were just a bunch of morons who are incapable of doing anything on our own,” Jax snapped at her.

“Why on earth would that help you?” she inquired.

“Enough with the questions!” Jax railed angrily, his patience clearly at an end. He did have a short temper. I had conveniently forgotten this little tidbit up until now. “You’re forgetting your place.”

“Fuck my place!” Dulcie yelled back at him. Stomping her feet, she strained against the shackles that held her immobilized.

The sound of Jax’s palm when it made contact with Dulcie’s cheek grasped my attention. My hands instantly became fists as I fought to control my first impulse. Losing my temper was infrequent at most and would have only further aggravated the situation. Furthermore, Dulcie needed to remember her place. If she lost control of herself, she was no good to either of us.

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” she seethed.

“You’re my prisoner,” Jax stated proudly. “And I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to do to you!”

The other men in the room snickered, and I could immediately detect the rushing of their blood into their loins. No doubt, they must have hoped that what Jax insisted upon was also fair game for them.

“Dulcie, you must not act out of turn,” I warned her. She did not respond.

“Listen to the old man over there,” Jax said. “’Cause for once, he’s right.”

“You’re a loud-mouthed braggart, Jax,” Dulcie started, her outwardly calm voice masquerading the tempest inside of her. “I’m betting that the reason you didn’t want to answer my question is because you don’t know what the answer is.”

“You don’t give up,” Jax chuckled. “The answer is that we duped the vampire! We deliberately let Bram think we were disorganized because it kept him away from the truth,” he audaciously admitted. “We intended for him to believe nothing was going on behind closed doors.”

“Why was Bram’s alliance so important to you?” she continued.

“Why?” Jax nearly roared with laughter as if the answer should have been obvious. “Bram controls Crossbones! It’s only one of the largest, if not the largest, of the potions circles.”

“So what?”

“So that was bad news for the Rebellion, because we needed Crossbones. We needed Bram’s numbers as well as his revenue.” I could hear him turning toward me. “At least now, the bastard’s no longer a problem.”

“You discount me so easily,” I said with a laugh, even though I had to admit, at least to myself, that I had no tricks up my sleeves at the moment. Pity.

I heard Jax stepping away from Dulcie and approaching me. I could quite easily envision that ugly sneer on his face, with which he usually greeted us. “We just acted the part of weaklings, letting you take up the role as our benefactor. But by playing things our way, we also enabled you to secure the portals for us.” He turned back to face Dulcie. “Portals that will soon prove very valuable to us in the struggle to come.”

“Bram doesn’t secure the portals,” Dulcie interjected, a slight tinge of humor in her voice. “And if you thought he does, then you really are just as stupid as he originally assessed.”

Jax chuckled and shook his head. The current in the air allowed me to hear as much. “No, Bram doesn’t secure the portals,” he agreed. “But he knows someone who does … you.”

“I don’t secure anything,” Dulcie argued, shaking her head. “You’re banking on the wrong person.”

“No. I’m banking on exactly the right person, the very one I should have,” he argued. “You’re the key. Finding you was the next step in our plan, and it was a huge hurdle! It just so happened that your friend here also wanted to control you, so our timing couldn’t have been better.” He took a deep breath. “And now that we’ve got you exactly where we want you, we can start phase two. That involves securing the other half of all the portals, those which we don’t already have control of.”

“Good luck with that,” Dulcie mumbled, but the fear in her voice was audible.

“Luck?” Jax repeated before shaking his head. “Luck has nothing to do with it.” He inhaled deeply as though we were again trying his patience. “You’re the factor that has all the significance. So tell me, Dulcie, how does it feel to be such a valuable asset to our cause?”

“Valuable asset to your cause?” Dulcie snickered. “Why? Because you think I’ll willingly help you take over all the portals from Earth to the Netherworld? Those which are currently under the authority of the ANC?” Of course, it was a rhetorical question. “Because we both know there’s no way in hell that will ever happen.”

The ANC was the abbreviation for the Association of Netherworld Creatures. It was ultimately a law enforcement agency that regulated the creatures from the Netherworld, both those in the Netherworld as well as those here on Earth. In order to defeat the ANC and take control of the Netherworld, it was imperative that control and ownership of all the portals be established first.

At the time of this writing, a battle was raging between the ANC and the potions rings. Both organizations sought to take control of the Netherworld. Ever since Dulcie killed her father, a man who was once the head of the ANC, a struggle for power had ensued. You see, Dulcie’s father was also very much in cahoots with the illegal potions smugglers.

As for my part, I had my hands in both pies. I was inextricably involved with the potions rings in as much as I commanded one of the largest, but I also supported the ANC’s attempts to enforce control, but only because I believe in the balance of power between all things. If the potions rings were allowed to take over, the result would be complete anarchy. Having lived three centuries, I was no supporter of anarchy. Not to mention that the US government would do everything in their power to ensure all the portals were completely cut off and obliterated. Even though Netherworld creatures were no longer in the closet but out in the open, we were still regarded by some with suspicion and contempt, especially by humans. The potions rings had to be prevented from taking control of the Netherworldly government or it would result in negative relations with humans in general.

These and some of the other finer aspects of the situation had not been taken into consideration by Jax Rochefort and the crew of idiots and fools he enlisted in their quest for ultimate power.

“Whom do you report to?” I asked, even though I did not imagine he would part with the information quite so easily. I had fallen right into a trap; the workings of which I could not help but admire. It was cunning, but on a level that greatly exceeded the mind of the moron standing in front of me. I would discover who the true orchestrator was, even if I had to endure Jax’s insufferable conversation to achieve it.

“You really think I’m going to tell you anything?” he retorted, trying to sound affronted that I would even ask. “All you need to know, you piece of traitor shit, is that I’ve been watching you and reporting all your comings and goings to my boss. You think you’re so slick all this time.”

I heard him pulling away from Dulcie and standing up. Moments later, he was walking toward me. “I must congratulate you on your unparalleled skills when it comes to backhanded activities,” I said with a grin. “I have to confess I did not foresee it, and I am quite intrigued over that unfortunate fact.”

“You can wipe your smug ass smile right off your face,” Jax spat back at me. A moment later, I felt his fist slamming into my cheek. My head was hurled to the side with the power of his thrust, and I instantly saw stars dancing before my eyes. Then, I felt my head bouncing against the hardwood floors of my chateau, where we were currently holed up, in my drawing room, to be precise.

“Striking a bound and defenseless man,” I started, once the delirium in my head subsided. Due to my trussed up hands, I was unable to right myself, so I remained quite lifeless on the floor. The pain was fleeting and very momentary. My body was already busy healing whatever damage he tried to inflict.

“You always acted so high and mighty, like you were better than everyone else. How do you feel now? Now that you realize you’ve been the only fool all along?” Jax ranted.

“I will admit being unaccustomed to the sensations I am currently experiencing,” I responded. “But once I have registered and processed them, I should be delighted to give you a full run-down.”

“You’re a fucking asshole! Even to the last second,” Jax snarled at me. “Well, how about I tell you how I feel? I feel fantastic! I feel fan-fucking-tastic! I’ve been looking forward to this moment seems like forever! The moment I slap that smile right off your fucking smug face.”

“Well, congratulations are in order then, my good man,” I mocked him.

“Don’t think this is it, Bram,” he nearly interrupted me. “’Cause it’s not it. We have other plans for you, plans that’ll bring you right back down to size again,” he finished. I could hear him turning around to face the beautiful fairy again. “And you! My little dragonfly! You’re the catalyst to bring all of our plans to happy fruition,” he finished, making the words sound dirty.

“This is strictly about you and me,” I interrupted. My fondest wish was to emancipate Dulcie from any more of this nonsense. “Dulcie does not need to be involved at all. You know as well as I do that you do not need her.”

“Bullshit,” Jax responded. “I need her more than I need you. In fact, you’re lucky you’re still even sitting there and talking.”

“I know everything she does,” I persisted, using all of my bravado. “There are even agents in the ANC that trust me. They always have.”

Jax laughed again, but the sound was humorless and hollow. “No one trusts you, and you would do well to keep your goddamned mouth shut from now on,” he nearly yelled at me. “Because I’m about five minutes away from cutting your fucking tongue out just so I don’t have to listen to your drivel anymore.”

“There’s one crucial flaw in that plan, Jax,” Dulcie intervened.

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“The part about me helping you,” she replied.

“I have no doubt that you’ll help us,” Jax fired back at her. “In fact, I’m betting you’ll do everything I tell you to and real soon.”

“Like fucking hell I will.”

“Of course, your indignation doesn’t come as any surprise to me,” he quipped. “I figured you couldn’t be persuaded so easily,” he added, and I could imagine him shaking his head. There was still some humor in his voice. “But unluckily for you, I also am very familiar with your type of character.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Dulcie demanded.

“You, my sexy, little bitch, care more about the welfare of your friends than you do for yourself,” Jax said. “And that’s a fatal mistake that you will learn to regret. Trust no one! You have nobody but yourself, is what I always say,” he finished.

He was so correct. Dulcie would have sacrificed herself for those she cared about. While I failed to understand this side of her personality and considered myself the most important person in my life, I still had to admire her for that unselfish trait. Unfortunately, though, I expected Jax would use her unflagging loyalty against her.

“What’s your point?” Dulcie asked, her voice an octave lower. I had to infer that she was suddenly getting nervous, even anxious.

“You will either do as I tell you,” Jax started before hesitating in what seemed like dramatic effect. The bastard! “Or it will be your friends that suffer, not you.” He was quiet for another few seconds. “And we will start with a certain undead friend of yours, one I’ve harbored a personal vendetta against for far too long to mention.”

Since I recognized the subject to whom Jax was referring, I was not certain how well I might fare after all. I had no false illusions that Dulcie was very fond of me …

TWO

Dulcie

I paced the perimeter of the room for the nth time. My hands, like Bram’s, were bound by Netherworld iron handcuffs, but unlike Bram, whose feet were also chained, mine were not. I wasn’t sure if that were an oversight by Jax, or maybe he wanted to allow me the use of my feet. Maybe he just didn’t consider me as serious a threat as Bram? If so, big mistake for him …

Each time I passed the door, I could not pry my eyes from the handle. On my fifth pass, I turned around and grasped the handle between my bound hands. I had to give it a half-hearted pull, just to prove to myself that it really was locked. Of course, I never expected it to be open. Yes, a small part of me hoped Jax might have overlooked locking it, but my expectations weren’t too realistic. Based on my original assessment of Jax, that is, a loud-mouthed simpleton, it made perfect sense to suspect he might actually have forgotten to lock the door. But apparently, in light of the latest events leading up to our imprisonment, my original assessment of Jax couldn’t have been more wrong! The Jax I thought I knew was an act, a deliberate fabrication to lull Bram and me into a false sense of security. Turns out, the real Jax was something far more sinister and, unfortunately, far more intelligent. I cursed myself and my own short-sightedness in falling for his act. The only thing that gave me comfort, if that’s what you could call it, was learning that Bram also swallowed Jax’s façade, hook, line, and sinker. A lot of good that actually did for us now.

“Before you inquire, there are no hidden doors in the walls, nor any trapdoors in the floor that might assist our cause,” Bram suddenly piped up. His voice came from where he was sitting in the corner of the furniture-free room. His bound legs were pointing straight out in front of him, and he was leaning against the wall. I’d already managed to remove his blindfold despite having my hands tied behind my back, a small feat but a feat, nonetheless!

“Well, that was stupid of you,” I replied as I turned to face him. “Why build a castle with no means of escape from it?”

Bram chuckled and shook his head like he thought my question was cute. That only further irritated me. “My dear,” he began in his patronizing, signature way, “allow me to remind you that I did not erect this structure. If I had, I must assure you I would have stipulated that every room be equipped with a means of escape, as you refer to it. Furthermore, I would hardly call this a castle, but rather, a chateau.”

“Castle, chateau, estate, or big ol’ useless house! Whatever you call it, that’s not the point. The problem right now is that we’re stuck with no way out, and it totally sucks.”

Bram nodded briefly before beaming and offering me that unconcerned smile of his that, I had to admit, was infuriatingly handsome. That was Bram’s dichotomy and my biggest gripe with him—he could be so exasperating but look so good doing it.

“Yes, little bumblebee, you are quite right. We are stuck and, yes, it does suck.” Then he smiled smugly, like he was impressed with himself. “Did you notice my small rhyme?”

I frowned at him. “Yes, I did notice it, but it wasn’t your small rhyme, by the way. It was mine.” Bram arched his eyebrows, indicating he wished for me to explain, so I did. “I said it first.”

“You must excuse my feeble attempt at levity, my dear.”

“I don’t have to excuse you for anything!” I railed back impatiently.

He frowned. “You are quite out of sorts, and it is affecting your attitude in negative ways.”

“Well, maybe that’s because I don’t particularly enjoy being held captive, especially by someone who, as it turns out, totally bamboozled you!” I shouted before frowning at him in disapproval and pacing again. “Jax? Really, Bram? You got outwitted by the biggest dumbass dickhead in the universe.”

“Bamboozled?” Bram repeated while bringing his long index finger to his lower lip, and tapping it as if he were deep in thought. He looked ridiculous with his wrists manacled together. “I quite like that word, actually.”

“Bram!” I yelled at him in exasperation. My vexation with the obstinate vampire could no longer be subdued. “How could you let this happen? How could Jax pull one over on you? You! Of all people! You who always claim to be one step ahead of everyone else!”

“Well, apparently I am not, as this case has no doubt proven,” he answered with a shrug like it was no skin off his fangs. “Although I do appreciate your enduring vote of confidence.”

“How did you fail to realize that the cults were coalescing?” I inquired, feeling as baffled as I probably looked. Upon reaching the wall, I turned around and started pacing in the other direction. “I mean, they were openly merging right underneath your nose!”

Bram frowned. “Yes, of that I am now well aware. There is no use in rubbing it in.”

“I’m not rubbing it in,” I argued before turning to face him. “I’m just trying to understand how you managed to miss it.”

“History will give us the answer, I trust, but for now, let us attribute my deception to the excellent performance everyone demonstrated in their respective roles. It was very effective,” Bram replied in a stoic, matter-of-fact tone. “And I do wish you would cease that pacing. You are beginning to make me uncomfortable.”

“Whom do you mean by everyone?” I demanded. Since he was talking, I needed to collect as much information as I could. It didn’t matter that Bram had failed to see what was happening right in front of him, that didn’t preclude him from having useful information that would benefit the ANC, if not now, possibly at some point in the future. Well, that’s assuming that I would make it out of this alive!

“The leaders of each cult,” Bram answered tersely. “Clearly, they were all in cahoots.”

“Do you know who the leaders of each cult are? And how many cults there are altogether?”

“There are five potions organizations altogether,” Bram started. “I commanded the largest, Crossbones.”

I remembered Jax telling me something about Crossbones that I still needed to cross-reference. (No pun intended). “Are there really three hundred people in your employ, Bram, or was that just bullshit? Do three hundred people actually work in Crossbones?”

“That number or thereabouts,” Bram answered with a dismissive shrug. Even now, while we were both being held captive, Bram showed little concern or worry. Maybe it came with his advanced age or wisdom, I didn’t know. But it was more than just annoying, to say the least.

“And Mayhem? Was that the second largest of the potions organizations?” I asked, trying to remember all the information spilled by Jax. I wasn’t sure when, but I’d stopped pacing and now stood directly in front of Bram.

“Rochefort does have a big mouth, does he not?” Bram replied, looking perturbed as he shook his head. “Yes, Mayhem is the second largest in the potions rings and has roughly the same number of members as Crossbones does.”

“Who is the leader of Mayhem?”

“Shade,” Bram instantly replied before raising his brows to convey his disapproval.

“Shade?” I repeated, sounding dumbfounded.

“Yes, that is correct. One-word name. Shade. He, along with Cher, the late Prince, and Madonna, prefer no surname in their identities.”

“Moving on,” I interrupted before pacing back and forth again. Somehow, and I had no idea why, I always seemed to think better on my feet while I was moving. I abruptly came to a halt and turned to face Bram when something unexpectedly occurred to me. “Could this Shade person be the one who’s ultimately in charge now? I mean, it’s obviously not Jax! He already admitted that he took orders from someone above him.”

“Of course Jax is not in charge!” Bram laughed at me with scorn, like I was stupid. “That behemoth could not determine his left foot from his right …”

“Oh, really? And yet look what he managed, to pull one over on you!” I would have gone on, but I chose to swallow the rest of my words after Bram’s unhappy expression conveyed his lack of appreciation for my sarcasm.

“Shade could not be in charge,” Bram announced, his jaw firmly set.

“Okay, then who do you think it could be?”

“You surprise me, my dear,” Bram said as he turned to face me with a frown.

“I do?”

“You failed to do your homework this time,” he responded. “You should already have discovered and known all of this information.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Bram,” I replied, my aggravation snaking up my spine and tainting my tone of voice. “But no one in the ANC knows anything about the commerce of the potions organizations or their inner hierarchy. Do you know why that is? It’s because they are basically a secret society that survives totally underground.”

Bram frowned again at me like he wasn’t impressed with my analysis. “Anarchy is another ring, and it’s basically run by a thug called Jimmy Brant.”

“How many people are there in Anarchy?”

“Perhaps two hundred.”

“Okay, go on.”

“Credo is the smallest of the rings. They only have perhaps one hundred members. It is operated by someone named Dirty Shelly.”

“A woman?”

“Perhaps you could call her that. However, she is the roughest fragment of any woman I have ever had the distinct misfortune of having any contact with.” He sighed. “Yes, sweet, she is much worse than ugly.”

“Anyway …” I said as I rolled my eyes. It figured that any woman who wasn’t at least somewhat attractive could not be classified a woman in Bram’s eyes.

“232 is the final ring, and that contains perhaps two hundred fifty members. It is run by The Overlord.”

“The Overlord?” I repeated, shaking my head with curiosity. “Where do they come up with these corny names?”

“Yes, The Overlord. He is an ogre, and I hesitate to warn you, quite territorial. I imagine the Rebellion probably had the most difficult time in their attempts to persuade him to join their cause.”

“And his organization is named 232 after the potion, right?” I asked. Bram simply nodded. 232 was a dangerously illegal street potion that was highly addictive. It affected the users by flooding them with feelings of euphoria that would last for days on end. “So, in your opinion, would any of the leaders of any of those organizations possibly be the one giving orders to Jax?”

“Possibly, yes, but I find that highly improbable.”

“Why?” I demanded. “Clearly Jax has to be taking his orders from someone.”

“Yes, of course he does,” Bram agreed, before he resumed shaking his head. “But not from any of those inept creatures.”

“Well, who then?”

“That, my dear, is the million-dollar question, and I must apologize that I do not currently have an answer for you.” All of a sudden, Bram began to leisurely inspect his fingernails, as if he had all the time in the world. “I, for one, remain suspicious of that one. I cannot say I believe anything Jax has told us.”

“What?” I exclaimed as I faced him in annoyance. “How could it not be true?”

“I have no reason to believe it is true.”

“You mean, besides the fact that you and I are stuck in here while he’s out there! What part are you missing? Because clearly you’re missing something.”

Bram shrugged and shook his head before he glanced up at me. “Rochefort is a pretentious blowhard. He could not possibly rank as highly as he professes to, at least not in this lifetime.”

“He said he was taking direct orders from someone he obviously feared and respected. And it looked to me like he was in charge back there. Those thugs took all their orders from him,” I argued.

“So Jax is the commander of a couple of thugs,” Bram responded with a pssshing sound, inferring he wasn’t impressed. “That means absolutely nothing.”

“Okay, well, whoever is in charge of the Rebellion trusted Jax enough to let him procure you, so what do you have to say to that?”

“Nothing whatsoever. All I am saying,” Bram started in a low tone as he glared at me, “is that I do not believe the Rebellion is what Jax would like us to imagine it is.”

“Explain.”

“Rochefort wants us to think he has all the backing of the gang units, because he thinks it will intimidate us. But I doubt seriously if such is truly the case.”

“And why don’t you believe that?”

“Primarily, because Jimmy Brant and The Overlord are sworn archenemies.”

“Why?”

“The Overlord murdered Brant’s entire family. In his attempt at revenge, Brant tried to assassinate The Overlord, but it was not successful. All he managed to remove from office were The Overlord’s eyes, which he now has permanently mounted on his den wall. Needless to say, my dear, naïve fairy, I strongly suspect those two would never play in the same sandbox willingly.”

I had to consider it. “Maybe they buried the hatchet and figured bygones were bygones if only in order to face the bigger threat of the ANC?”

“Perhaps, but not very likely,” Bram disagreed. “There is more,” he continued as he glanced up at me. “Dirty Shelly has a sordid history of fornication with both Shade and Brant. Consequently, neither one likes the other. According to rumor, Shelly told Brant that Shade’s todger was exceptionally smaller than Brant’s. Naturally, Brant went directly to Shade, touting that fascinating information. Not much later, there was a hit out on Shelly for a while.” Bram shrugged with a long sigh. “I find it utterly incomprehensible how or why either of them would ever consent to lie with that smelly, old goat …”

“Oh, my God, Bram, enough!” I snapped wearily. Shutting my eyes tightly, I shook my head. “Your gossip is giving me a splitting headache.”

“You, on the other hand, my fair damsel,” he started, and I eyed him with daggers. “Now that would be a romp between the sheets that I would most certainly show up for.”

“Next subject,” I answered with a yawn. I was growing very tired of pacing the small room. I decided to sit down across from Bram while I examined the predicament we were currently in. Unfortunately, no answers came to my mind, and I was also fresh out of pertinent questions that might have shed some light on the subject. For lack of anything better to do, I closed my eyes and tried to reach out to Knight, my boyfriend. He also happened to rank very high up in the ANC.

“I fear it will do no good,” Bram interrupted me. “There are wards in place; they will prevent you from reaching him.”

“Was I that obvious?” I asked with a sad, disappointed smile.

“It would appear that way.”

Without any chance to respond, the door suddenly swung open, nearly nailing me behind it as it did so. In my effort to launch myself out of the way, I rammed my face directly into the floor. Moments later, I felt a strong pair of hands wrapping around my arms that lifted me up and placed me back on my feet. I glanced up and saw the face of one of Jax’s thugs. He smiled down at me, revealing a gap-toothed mouth and eyebrows that met in the middle to form a unibrow. He was definitely a goblin. Even though I’d never laid eyes on him before, I knew that was true. As a fairy, my abilities allow me to detect the genus and other traits of the Netherworld creatures just by setting my eyes on them.

I watched helplessly as Jax’s other two men entered the room, both of them eyeing Bram. They were on him in less than a blink of an eye. One of them lifted Bram up and held him while the other began pummeling his massive fists into Bram’s stomach relentlessly.

“Stop it!” I screamed at them, and the goblin behind me chuckled. I pulled my attention from him and looked back at Bram, only to find him hunched over. The thug holding Bram as a target raised him up again, and the other thug resumed his attack. I thrashed violently against the goblin who was restraining me and tried repeatedly to kick him with my foot, but he simply slammed my legs together, clasping them between his before pawing both of my breasts.

“Unless you want me ta feel sum more o’ that pretty, little body o’ yers, you better behave,” he warned me, although his breath was a much more offensive assault than his roving hands.

“I’ll behave,” I grumbled, throwing my shoulder into him sharply when he didn’t drop his hands right away. He laughed and squeezed each of my breasts before gripping my arms roughly again.

“I’ve received new orders from the powers that be,” Jax announced as he entered the room. He offered me a smile before honing his attention in on Bram. “And the use of reasonable force has been duly authorized.”

The two thugs who were beating up Bram chuckled before punching him in the face and head mercilessly. Bram was helpless with his hands and feet bound and could do nothing but grunt and take it.

“Jax!” I yelled at the bastard, finding it unbearable to witness anymore.

“Ah, my little troublemaker,” Jax replied as he turned around to face me. He was still wearing that puerile, boyish smile, and it suddenly made me sick to my stomach.

“Tell them to stop hurting Bram!” I screamed at Jax. “Right now!”

Jax merely shook his head and tsked me. “As you may or may not recall, I don’t take my orders from you! That should be painfully obvious by now,” he shouted. “And I have been formally authorized to use force. Extreme force, even.”

“You’ve made your point!” I yelled at him, but the two men continued to beat Bram until he was a bloody, bruised mess. “He can’t even defend himself!” I glared at Jax as I shook my head for emphasis. “And what does that say about you? What kind of a man would allow that? Only a cowardly worm would let someone be beaten while they’re chained up and totally defenseless!”

“What does that say about me?” Jax repeated. “It’s says that I’m the kind of man that you shouldn’t try to fuck over,” Jax replied, his sinister smile fading right off his face. He scowled at me for a few seconds before facing Bram again. “That’s enough,” he said to the two brutes with little interest. “Pick him up and carry him out of here.”

“What?” I exclaimed as my heart dropped. “What do you mean by out of here? Where are you taking him?”

Jax approached me, pulling his arm back before smacking me with his open palm. My head jerked to the right, and my cheek stung like a son of a bitch. I immediately aimed my eyes toward his and glowered at him, defying him to try and hit me again. “Third time’s a charm,” I said, spitting a mouthful of blood at his feet.

“You ask too many questions. Let that be a lesson to you, and from now on, you may only speak when you’re spoken to,” he announced. Then he turned on his heels and started for the door. The two thugs were already carrying Bram out of the room. From what I could tell, Bram didn’t appear conscious. The goblin that was holding me finally released me, but he did it with a shove and I went careening against the far wall, eventually collapsing onto the floor like a pile of bricks. He laughed before closing and locking the door behind him, leaving me to my precious solitude.

THREE

Bram

Ache. Pain.

Those were the only two words I could think of. A dull, throbbing pulse that began in my head and eventually penetrated my entire body was sending currents of agony that reached all the way down to my fingers and toes. Those two words were all I could comprehend. The darkness surrounded me. When I realized it was owing to my closed eyelids, I attempted to open them. But my eyelids seemed extra heavy, as if lead weights were attached to my eyelashes.

A balmy wave of exhaustion suddenly overcame me. I seemed to be filling up to the brim with a hypnotic pounding and fatigue. I rode the crest of the wave, but eventually had to allow myself to become fully submerged. The pain barely began to subside as the wave took me inside it, tossing me carelessly every direction, this way and that.

But suddenly, it seemed that I was being lifted up, and when I glanced down, I found the wave growing larger, mushrooming in power and height with every passing second. It still pinned me in its wet and icy embrace, but it was an embrace that was fleeting. I knew it was merely a matter of moments before it became a tsunami and would come crashing down on me again, thrusting me into the depths of the dark abyss of watery nothingness.

I rose up with the wave, clinging to its crest before the inevitable happened. The wave broke and plunged me downward, sucking me into the raging current and dragging me deeper, to a place beneath that was ruled entirely by darkness.

Opening my eyes, I immediately wished I had not. The sunlight was so piercing, it felt as if the sun’s rays were impaling me. I blinked a few times before I could finally concentrate on my whereabouts.

A cobbled lane, betwixt tall and dark buildings made of knotty timber and crumbling bricks. Heavy, pendulous shop signs projecting from storefronts on large, iron bars, whipped to and fro in the cold wind. The sun continually obstructed by dark and billowing clouds. The sun …

It took me a moment or two to realize the billowing clouds were not clouds at all but a thick, belching plume of black soot coming from the tenements, shops, and residences on either side of me. Coal, of course.

I shook my head and tried to make sense of my surroundings. How could I be standing in the street in the … daylight? I glanced around when I caught the smell of wet horses and human excrement. To my right was an open drain of raw sewage that ran the entire length of the street. As soon as the hideous stench hit my nostrils, I recoiled in disgust. As if on cue, the sky suddenly opened and huge drops of rain began to fall. The torrent of rain flooded the cobblestones, mixing with the animal manure and human waste until myriad cesspools of putrescence puddled everywhere. I stumbled forward, nearly tripping over a dog that was long dead and left to decompose in the street. Half of its carcass was being consumed by maggots. Meanwhile, a horse-drawn carriage with heavy, metal wheels careened down the narrow passageway, splashing through the filthy puddles, and nearly slopping the street’s muck all over me.

I looked up at the second story of a building just as the maidservant opened the window and emptied a chamber pot into the street below. A few pedestrians stepped aside, and one glanced up and cursed the young woman, after presumably being struck by the reeking excrement.

“Ah, the poor sot got some shit on him!”

Hearing the voice, I glanced to my left and saw a smiling face that I recognized but had not seen in what felt like centuries. At the sound of another laugh, I looked to my right, nearly suffering from an apoplexy when I recognized myself. Only I was not myself. I was wearing a full-skirted, knee-length coat, knee breeches, and a waistcoat atop a linen shirt, with ruffles and frills. My lower legs were clad in silk stockings, and I wore leather shoes with stacked heels on my feet. As if that were not strange enough, I also wore a shoulder-length, full-bottomed wig and a tricorne hat with an upturned brim on my head.

“What do ye say to a dram of gin, old man?” my acquaintance asked, elbowing me encouragingly in the arm.

“I thought you would never ask!” the me with the ridiculous getup responded.

Somehow, and I was uncertain as to how, I was caught in a time that had long since passed. I felt like a ghost, watching and witnessing my own life. Like Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol when he begins reliving snippets of his life in full detail. That particular snippet existed in my memory bank and was somehow replaying itself with unbelievable clarity and freshness. It was a time in my youth—I could not have been more than nineteen years of age. If that were the case, I was witnessing a memory that must have taken place during the eighteenth century in London. And my friend, what was his name? Ah, yes! Graham Fielding! Yes, Fielding. The two of us were inseparable.

Fielding sidled up to a gin vendor who had just set up shop on the street corner.

“Aye, ye nearly got covered in that stinkin’ mess,” the man said in greeting. Fielding motioned for two cups of gin. Apparently, the man was referring to the vile contents of the chamber pot that nearly landed on top of us. “The night soil men can’t come soon enough, eh?”

I remembered the night soil men, too. They had the unenviable task of clearing out the accumulated raw sewage that stagnated in the cesspools all day long.

“Aye,” Fielding responded with a quick nod. He paid the man and handed me my cup of gin. I watched myself accept it with a large grin. “Ye missed the ruckus yesterday,” Fielding said, his wide, brown eyes twinkling as his lips parted into a smile, revealing his yellow, crooked teeth. “The water main burst an’ started ah spring. Ye ought ta have seen the likes o’ it, shootin’ up into the street. All the water mixed together with the foul sewage an’ it seemed like ah bloody fetid soup everyone had to slosh through to get to their destinations.”

“I’ll wager the smell was enough to kill ye!” I responded with a hearty chuckle.

Fielding nodded before downing his gin in three gulps. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Aye, but not as bad as the stench of Fleet Street or the ‘poors’ holes.’”

“Poors’ holes” was a term that referred to the communal graves where the poorest dead were buried. They had to be constructed deep enough to contain multiple tiers of coffins. The pits were left uncovered until they were completely filled with bodies of the dead. That sometimes went on for weeks or months, and the resulting odor was repulsively pungent. Between the continuous smoke from burning coal, the garbage, the raw sewage, the decaying bodies, and the stench emanating from the Thames River, people often joked that London could be smelled from several miles away.

“What trouble should we find for ourselves this day?” I asked.

The mischievous twinkle in Fielding’s eyes returned just as a dirty child approached us, hawking milk and fruit. Fielding sent him away with a little smack on the child’s head, and the child responded by calling him a name.

“It seems we may have already found it,” he replied. We ventured upon a crowd that was collecting around a dwarf who was performing with his acrobatic monkey. After he finished a few unimpressive stunts, the crowd booed and hissed, visibly becoming quite irate.

“Ye moost improve yer show, little man!” someone from the crowd yelled out in a Scottish accent. “Jist oop the way there’s ah conjurer castin’ spells an’ oop ah bit further, t’is ah learned pig that can perform arithmetic, play cards an’ read ye yer fortune!”

“Aye,” Fielding concurred with a nod. “Mrs. Salmon’s wax exhibition on Fleet Street rivals this silly fool’s.” His eyes grew wider. “Or we could always pay a visit to Bedlam?”

Bedlam was otherwise known as the Bethlehem Royal Hospital. It was a palatial asylum for lunatics located in Finsbury Square and open to the public, as if it were a human zoo. Visitors could pay a few pence to enter and gawk at the inmates. Many of the onlookers engaged in poor behavior in order to incite the residents into reacting to them.

“I was thinking of something a bit more … carnal,” I responded with an insidious smile. I pulled a pamphlet from my breast pocket and handed it to Fielding. It was Harris’s “List of Covent Garden Ladies,” a guidebook to London’s prostitutes in the Covent Garden area. The entries detailed each woman’s age, her physical appearance, including the size of her breasts, her sexual specialties, and sometimes, even a description of her genitals. Additional information included the women’s addresses and prices.

“Well done, sir, well done,” Fielding said with a genuine smile as he accepted the book from my hand and eagerly pored through the pages. “Mmm, Kitty Fisher,” Fielding started.

“You can ill afford,” I said with a laugh.

“Says here ‘the symmetry of its parts, its borders enriched with wavering tendrils, its ruby portals, and the tufted grove that crowns the summit of the mount, all join to invite the guest to enter.” He glanced up with a boyish grin that spanned from ear to ear. “Number Six Hind Court,” he added as he closed the book, handing it back.

After a few seconds, we were on our way.

By the time we reached Kitty Fisher’s home, the sun had already disappeared from the sky and night was well upon us. Fielding took the last steps to the front door, rapped on it, and then waited.

“I suppose I will be paying the bill?” I asked, although I already knew the answer. Fielding responded with a quick smile, and I shook my head. “Perhaps I should demand to go first then?” His smile fell at the same moment that the door opened. We were pleased to see an attractive woman with breasts that overflowed her bodice.

Fielding immediately took a few steps closer to her and, at the same moment, a well-appointed carriage drew up. As I was closest to the street, I approached the carriage first, curious as to who might be interrupting. The two pitch-black horses pulling the carriage clattered on the cobblestones with their hooves, seemingly impatient to be on their way.

“Excuse me, sir,” a stunning woman said as she opened the carriage window and leaned out before she eyed me boldly.

“Madam,” I responded, unable to hide my surprise. “How may I be of service to you?”

Beautiful was too innocent a word for this stunning creature. With her jet black hair piled high atop her head, her almond-shaped, green eyes, red, rosebud mouth and high cheekbones, she was easily the most tantalizing woman I had ever seen. Cooling herself with an alabaster Chinese fan, I assumed it was also to keep the odors outside from penetrating her nostrils.

“You were about to enter that … very humble abode, I daresay?” she asked, regarding the lavish building with obvious distaste. Kitty Fisher was one of the more renowned, popular prostitutes, which also made her one of the most expensive, so it went without saying that her home would be just as expensive as she was.

“I was,” I answered. I could not stop myself from studying this beautiful yet strange woman.

“That would be quite a mistake,” she started.

I immediately shook my head and replied, “If you have come to enlighten me as to the moral depravity of one of my favorite pastimes, I am afraid you are wasting your time.”

The woman laughed. “I have no intention of doing anything of the sort. On the contrary, I was about to extend an invitation to spend the evening with me and thereby avoid making a grand mistake,” she finished. With a wave of her hand, she motioned to Kitty Fisher who was now glaring at her.

“Is that so?” I asked with unrestrained amusement.

“It is.”

“A grand mistake?” I repeated as I shook my head. “Madame Fisher is certainly a member of the upper echelon …”

The woman laughed in a patronizing way. “She cannot compete on a stage where there is but one actor, sir.”

“Fielding, I bid you a restless evening,” I said as I waved to my bewildered friend. I opened the carriage door and seated myself inside the extravagant vehicle. When I faced the lovely woman sitting in front of me, I noticed her body was just as appealing as her face. Her lush, round breasts were practically spilling out of her silk gown. “Your name, madam?”

“The Dowager Countess of Loamshire,” she answered with confidence. “But you may call me Lady Meg.”

“Lady Meg,” I repeated, reaching for her gloved hand and bringing it to my lips. “It is my fondest pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

FOUR

Bram

1726 London

I found it perplexing, to say the least, that the Countess of Loamshire should approach me, a stranger, with an invitation to spend the evening with her. While she was certainly coy with regard to her intentions, I thought it quite apparent that she wished to indulge my baser and more carnal desires.

“I must admit,” I began as soon as the carriage started its bumpy journey over the cobbled road. “I am quite surprised by the change in this evening’s course of events.”

“I daresay this evening will alter the course of your life’s events for good,” she said with a languid smile. Her smile intrigued me because I could not read it. And that surprised me. Ordinarily, I found most women to be trifling, predictable, petty, and silly creatures whose sole existence remained exclusively to soothe and nurture my … let us say, ignoble needs. I had never found myself enraptured with one in particular, which is not to insinuate that the Lady Meg was any exception; however ...

“What business should a high-born dowager have in the mean streets of London at this hour, madam?” I continued as I eyed her narrowly. “It is fortunate that your path crossed mine and not the path of some scallywag who might wish to do you harm.”

At hearing this, she threw her head back and laughed heartily, revealing a full set of teeth that were pearly white. As to the lady’s age, I must admit, I was uncertain. The sheen of her hair, the sparkle in her eyes and the rosy hue of her cheeks would all combine to suggest she was not quite twenty years of age, and yet, the air in which she carried herself made me wonder if she were far older.

“I believe it is you who are the lucky one,” she remarked as her cat eyes rested on mine and she smiled mischievously. “Otherwise, you could have spent your evening lying with a woman whom I imagine was probably infested with lice.”

I chuckled heartily. “Lice would be the least of my concerns.”

Although it was a sensitive topic of discussion and not one I was accustomed to discoursing with a lady, there was something about the dowager that struck me as ultimately masculine. As a dowager, she was also a widow, a title I imagined ultimately responsible for her maturity in understanding and situation. I also believed it must have been the reason for why she was now combing the streets of London in the wee hours, when most of the elite were tucked safely away in their beds, dreaming of the finer things in life. Having most probably lost her husband to disease, she could no longer afford the lavish lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. Thus, she had no choice but to earn a shilling by selling her body.

As the creaky carriage began slowing, I glanced outside only to find we were now arrived in front of a palatial estate. I was surprised at the hastiness of our trip and would have guessed it could not have been any longer than thirty minutes. Regardless, the front of the monstrous edifice boasted eighteen windows, evenly distributed among the three stories. In the low light provided by the burning lamps that hugged the entryway, I perceived the verdant, lush grounds, which were meticulously manicured. The dowager’s home certainly did not look in disrepair, although I daresay such was not the case with her pocketbook.

“I will have Ernest draw you a bath,” she said before the carriage door opened. The driver assisted her to the ground below.

“Whatever for?” I asked, feeling as dumbfounded as I must have sounded.

“To wash the day’s dirt and grime from your body,” she responded coolly. She started walking toward the entrance of her grand estate, an elegant sway to her hips. Naturally, I followed as I pictured the carnal activities in which I would soon find myself.

“I prefer not to partake in bathing as a rule,” I started as soon as I caught up to her. I watched her doorman open the colossal, dark wooden door before she entered with a solemn nod in his direction. I followed her, jumping only slightly when I heard the sound of the heavy door closing behind me. “There are rumors that bathing is very harmful to one’s body.”

She turned around to face me and frowned. “Yes, so I am aware. I imagine such rumors were started by those same imbeciles who are so gravely afraid of fresh air, they insist that it causes consumption, and thus, they seal all of their windows tightly shut.”

“I see … Then you do not believe that bathing is harmful to one’s health?” I asked, feeling rather confounded. She led me to the base of an extremely wide and long staircase. Grasping the banister with her tiny, pale hand, she turned around and laughed at me.

“Of course I do not believe it! I am a civilized and cultured person!” The laugh faded as she studied me. “As are you, my dear guest, and yet you choose to frolic with people so far beneath you.” She started up the stairs, and I followed directly behind her. I was more than surprised by her acerbic candor.

“Fielding?” I asked rhetorically. As we reached the top of the stairs, she instructed another of her servants, whom I supposed was Ernest, to draw a bath. I found his mode of attire quite unusual—he was dressed as an Ottoman Turk, in a long, flowing tunic that appeared to be constructed from some kind of exotic Eastern silk. On his head, he wore a turban, even though I was fairly certain he was by birth an Englishman.

I was not allowed more time to further ponder Ernest’s bizarre attire when the lady started to traverse the long, narrow hallway until she reached a door. Turning the key in the lock, she opened it and entered before holding the door wider for me. I studied her, but felt unexpectedly taken off guard. She had mesmerizing eyes that seemed to look right through me.

“Yes, Fielding is a good example,” she answered with a brief nod. Bringing her index finger to her lips, she examined me with undeniable intrigue. “You are a gentleman and yet you do not associate with those of your own ilk, never mind your own class. Why is that, pray tell?”

Ernest entered the dark room with a very large pitcher of water, which he summarily poured into a copper bathtub that was lined with linen and sitting right in the center of the room. He was followed by a second manservant carrying another large jug of water. Like Ernest, this servant was dressed in the same outmoded costume. I had no notion what possessed the men to wear such fashions, so I could only hypothesize that their peculiar apparel was owing to the lady’s eccentric inclinations.

I watched the second man empty his jug into the bathtub, which was so immense, I believe it could have easily accommodated two grown men. Lady Meg strolled the entire perimeter of the room, lighting the torches that hung from the wall. The yellow flickering of the firelight imbued the room with a jaundiced warmth. As I glanced around the capacious chamber, I noticed the only other objects were an oversized bed, generously adorned with numerous pillows and exotic silks of many colors, and a small table at the side of the bed.

The lady cleared her throat. Caught daydreaming, I instantly realized I had not answered her question as to why I preferred the company of Fielding to that of the men in my own class. “There is not a single day that goes by when I do not find myself confronted with some form of trouble whilst I am cavorting with Fielding,” I answered. “Sadly, I have found the companionship of my peers sorely lacking in that department.”

“You fancy yourself a mischief-maker then?” she asked with renewed interest. Ernest and the second manservant left the room, only to return a few minutes later with two more large jugs of water which they promptly emptied into the copper bathtub.

“I enjoy many amusements and diversions, certainly,” I answered with a quick nod.

“Speaking of diversions, I presume you attended the entertainment earlier this afternoon at Tyburn Tree?” she asked. Her left eyebrow rose and the expression on her face resembled what a mother might show to her naughty child.

“I must admit I have grown very tired of hangings,” I answered. Shaking my head, I silently wondered when we could turn our conversation to something more … pleasurable and gratifying.

“Is not the public punishment of criminals everyone’s favorite distraction?” she inquired. “Whippings, floggings, the pillory,” she listed on her fingers with a long sigh, and an undeniable expression of ennui. “Is there nothing better than witnessing the last words of a doomed man? Whether they be a dramatic declaration of innocence, a request for a reprieve, or even a courageous farewell? Do they not bring a tear to the eye of even those with the coldest of hearts?” she replied with a slight laugh.

“I do not care for such events. I find the distractions of the flesh and other carnal delights much more intriguing,” I answered before dropping my gaze onto her ample breasts.

“All in good time, monsieur,” she said with a seductive smile. “I find myself growing more curious about you …”

“And I fear I only grow bored when the subject of discussion is myself,” I replied succinctly. When her servants vacated the room again, I approached her. She remained standing beside the bathtub, so I hesitantly dipped my fingers into the water and was pleasantly surprised by the comfortably warm temperature.

“What subjects in particular do you find most interesting,” she started to say, but I interrupted her.

“I realize I have not properly introduced myself,” I interjected before she instantly took a step forward while bringing her index finger to my lips, thus silencing me.

“I do not care to know your name,” she explained. “Names are useless labels. They do nothing to portray the character or personality of anyone, and hence, are impersonal and, in my mind, obsolete.”

I chuckled at her peculiar view of the world. She was quite amusing, to say the least, but also intoxicating. “Very well, my anonymity is assured and you will have no inkling of my identity. Besides, I would rather learn more about you anyway.”

“What would you like to know about me?” she asked with an enchanting smile. The second manservant reentered the room and poured another pitcher of water into the hot bath. When he started to leave, she stopped him.

“Antoine,” she began while motioning to her gown, “assist me with my garment, please.”

The Frenchman, which I naturally assumed from his name, nodded briefly but said nothing in reply. Carefully setting his empty jug on the floor beside her, he silently walked behind her and slowly began untying the bodice of her gown. She watched me like a spider observes a fly and smiled at my unmasked astonishment.

“Does it surprise you to see my manservant undressing me?” she asked with a cruel smile that conveyed her enjoyment in perplexing me.

I shrugged. “Yes, I believe most ladies employ a maidservant to do such tasks.”

She shook her head. “As a rule, I do not employ female servants,” she tersely replied. Antoine gently removed the bodice of her gown, revealing a linen and whale-bone corset, which she wore beneath. He methodically started untying the taut ribbons of the corset as I cleared my throat, clearly becoming uncomfortable. “May I inquire if Antoine makes you ill at ease?” she asked with a strange smile that I could only describe as coquettish.

“I must confess that it does. I cannot deny it.”

She shook her head as if it were an inevitable pity. “I am so sorry to hear that. I was hoping he could join us?”

“Certainly not!” I snapped, affronted by the very thought.

She held her hand up ostensibly to silence me and calm my unveiled anger. “I jest,” she said with a snicker. Antoine removed the corset and freed her voluptuous breasts, which dropped into a most comely teardrop shape. Her rosy nipples stood out proudly beneath her white chemise.

“I fear we have not yet discussed your compensation,” I suddenly remembered. Clearing my throat, I glared at Antoine, hoping to convey unambiguously that I did not appreciate his presence in the room any longer. “Shall I assume your fee exceeds that of Kitty Fischer?”

“The bedroom is no place to negotiate financial intricacies,” she responded in a clipped tone. I worried that I might have annoyed her with such materialistic concerns.

“I understand, madam, but I do not wish for our engagement to become a source of ill will if I am too poor to afford your fee,” I started with a slow smile, for my pockets were deep.

“I am not interested in your money,” she replied tersely. Her eyes settled on the crotch of my trousers, and I felt myself stiffening involuntarily. “Tell me this, do you consider a woman who lies with a man merely for sport a prostitute?”

My eyes widened with wonder. “No,” I answered as soon as I considered it.

“Then, must a prostitute, by definition, always accept a fee for her services?”

I nodded. “Yes, I believe that is so.”

“And do you imagine that a prostitute could also be a proper lady?” she inquired as Antoine continued his task of undressing her. He was busily untying the pannier from around her waist, and pulled the wretched device, which I can only compare to a cage, down her legs before she gracefully stepped out of the apparatus. She was now wearing nothing more than her gossamer chemise, which fell to her waist, and a pair of pantalets that ended at her shins. My eyes nearly popped out of my skull when I realized the pantalets she wore were absent a crotch, and the dark strands of her lady hair were fully displayed.

“She most certainly cannot,” I answered defiantly. My jaw was growing tighter as I forced my gaze back to her eyes.

“It is such a fascinating subject, do you not agree? Prostitutes have stimulated the economical well-being of the cities in which they work, and many have become leaders of London fashion,” she announced authoritatively. Meanwhile, Antoine bent down in front of her and began to unlace the ties of her shoes. I could not argue with her statement, although I had never considered the subject before.

“I contend that a prostitute is the closest a woman can come to adopting the habits, urges and nature of a man. Would you agree with that?” she persisted.

“That sounds utterly absurd,” I replied, my breathing coming in spurts. I was very much distracted and little of my attention was still focused on the conversation. Instead, I found I could not tear my gaze from the shiny darkness of the hair between her legs.

She allowed Antoine to remove one shoe and then the other before she replied, “A prostitute must assume the very masculine position of self-ownership in order to market herself, am I not correct?” She daintily approached the table beside the bed and made me very much aware that the back of her pantalets were also absent, revealing two milky, round buttocks.

I nodded before shaking my head, and finding it well beyond difficult to unfasten my eyes from the glorious vision of her backside. “No woman can be forced into selling her body. There are plenty of other ways for a female to sustain herself. She could, perhaps, find a lucrative career in sewing, for example.”

“Sewing?” she repeated incredulously. She turned to face me and laughed indelicately as she shook her head in disagreement.

“I fail to understand the reason why we are discussing prostitutes when you have quite clearly proven you are not one,” I replied impatiently. She was beginning to leave me with a frustrated sensation, because the conversation she chose was less than enthralling.

She reached for a decanter that was placed on a tray upon the side table along with two crystal glasses. Lifting one of them, she filled the glass with a rosy liquid and turned around, handing the libation to me.

“What is it?”

“Vermouth,” she replied, and I wondered if there was anything about her that would not astound me.

“I know not of it,” I remarked as I swirled the unfamiliar beverage around the sides of the glass before bringing it to my nostrils and sniffing it. It certainly smelled of alcohol, though sweet.

“The Italians produce it,” she informed me as she motioned for me to sample it. “I do not believe it has yet found much popularity in Great Britain.”

Lifting the strange drink to my lips, I opened them only slightly before tipping the glass upward, lest my senses determine the fluid to be offensive. While mildly bitter, the Italian concoction was also remarkably sweet, and I quite liked it.

“Well?” she asked, barely concealing an expectant smile.

“It is rather appealing; and I approve without compromise,” I answered quickly. Swallowing the remainder of the lovely libation, I remembered that Antoine still remained in the room. “However, I must object and do not approve of manservants eavesdropping,” I added icily, while frowning in the general direction of Antoine. It certainly did not help things that he was also French …

The lady tittered, although it was not a feminine sound at all, but a sultry plea for my undivided attention. She turned to face her manservant and nodded dismissively. “Please leave us now, Antoine; your services are no longer required or desired this evening.”

The Frenchman said nothing, although he nodded rather sullenly as he walked to the door. His padded feet made no sound whatsoever. He opened and closed the door behind him, as silent as a spook.

“We find ourselves alone at last,” I said as I approached her. My only intention now should have been quite obvious to her; I was veritably itching to bury myself deeply inside her.

“Yes,” she said as a mischievous smile contorted her mouth. “Now begins our game of cat and mouse.”

FIVE

Bram

1726 London

I reached for her, but she immediately pulled away, and I could only frown in frustration. I was growing increasingly impatient at her coyness, which I determined was no more than a flimsy façade intended to drive me to carnal madness. She could sense my need for her was all-encompassing, yet she showed me no mercy. Indeed, I could not remember a moment when I desired a single woman more than I lusted for this one.

“You must bathe first,” she instructed while taking a step backwards and pointing to the bathtub with a wide smile.

I grumbled my reply, briefly explaining my disaffection for the bathtub; however, I concluded it was ultimately better not to argue with her. I could tell she was not the type of woman who was accustomed to losing. Hers would be a Pyrrhic victory, however. I fully intended to take all I could from her, and satiate my basest urges with her before taking my leave, never to look back again.

“Do not make haste when removing your wardrobe,” she commanded me. She was leaning against one of the four bedposts of her canopy bed and wrapping herself around it as if she were a cat. “I wish to savor the anticipation of your nudity.”

“Very well,” I said with a dramatic sigh. Shrugging off my velvet coat, I carefully laid it across her bed. Then I removed my shoes, which I tossed effortlessly onto the hardwood floor. The wooden stacked heels and brass buckles clanked, creating something of a racket. The cacophony could have been a metaphor for my own internal upset due to my anxiousness and eagerness to just get on with it. Next, I began unbuttoning the myriad buttons on my waistcoat before gently placing it on top of my coat.

“Your wig next, please,” Lady Meg demanded. She eyed the object with visible disdain and contempt. “I must confess to you how much I detest the uncomely things.”

I reached up and dislodged the white, powdery and “uncomely thing,” freeing my own hair and allowing it to fall around my face in unruly locks.

“Your hair is black,” she exclaimed with approval. Her eyes appeared to be smoldering as she gazed at me. “Yes, of course it is,” she prattled on, addressing herself more than me. She nodded before saying, “The thick, black tresses you were endowed with at birth suit you much more than those effeminate, silly curls that comprise your wig.”

“You act as if you have never seen one before,” I said with a nervous laugh.

“Of course I have!” she replied with a dismissive wave, as if to say my comment was ludicrous. “I am quite familiar with London’s incompetent attempt at timeless trends.”

“I am certain of that,” I answered honestly. “But why do you turn your nose up at the modern styles, which others consider the latest fashion?”

“When you travel to exotic regions of the world, such as I have, you are inevitably exposed to the truly finer things in life.” She paused to study me, and I could only wonder what “exotic regions of the world” she was referring to. Traversing the English countryside by horse and carriage was not an easy, much less enjoyable, enterprise. Perhaps she was merely fabricating a story in her efforts to impress me? Regardless, I lacked any interest in continuing the conversation and failed to suggest that she clarify the dubious nature of her assertions.

“Fascinating,” she began again as she eyed me in that alluring way of hers. “You are a rogue, and black is the color the rogue prefers to wear; thus, your black hair, your crowning glory, suits you precisely.”

I smiled at her analogy, but assigned very little importance to whatever end she was determined to pursue. The sooner I could remove my clothing, bathe myself and then bury myself inside her feminine folds of pink flesh, the happier I would be. Not to mention the story I would have for Fielding!

I stripped off my shirt, pulling it over my head as I watched her eyeing my chest with an expression that strangely resembled hunger. Cautiously, I reached down and removed my stockings before I began unbuttoning my breeches. Dropping them to the ground, I was completely naked. I stepped out of them as she approached me, with that same eerie, predator look in her eyes.

“Turn around,” she demanded, and I shook my head, smiling at the absurdity of it all. I was the man and should have, by the rights of my sex, been calling the orders. However, I graciously allowed her that moment without comment or offense; I would be dominating her soon enough. I obeyed her command and turned my backside toward her.

“Are your eyes sated from feasting on my arse at last?” I asked with a hesitant chuckle.

“Yours is very shapely and finely toned,” she responded. “And, yes, my eyes are replete. I would like to divert them now from observing your back end. I would like to view your front again.”

I faced her, but suddenly felt disconcertingly uncomfortable. Somewhat uncertain as to whether I should pose while she admired me, I concluded that striking a pose constituted the action of a dandy, which I am not. Hence, I stood there in my bare nudity, unable to ignore the comparison between myself and a horse at auction.

“I insist that your cock be hard,” she announced before sitting back upon the bed. A devilish, enigmatic smile appeared on her mouth. Glancing down at my favorite appendage, I was slightly dismayed to discover it was hanging in pseudo alertness, quite visibly uninterested. I had to agree with her, because she was correct. My manhood was less than impressive in its somewhat flaccid, unengorged state. When I looked back toward her, she gradually spread her legs. Even though she was still wearing her scanty pantaloons, the purposeful hole cut down the middle allowed me a wondrous view of her most intimate part. I instantly began swelling, as any healthy man.

“Very good,” she purred. Sitting up, she closed her thighs, never mind my unmasked disappointment. I started to take a step toward her, but she firmly ordered me back into the bathtub, as if I were no more to her than a lowly mongrel, in need of punishment. “As comely as your exterior might be, your smell is not so,” she explained.

“Bloody hell,” I grumbled. Facing the bathtub with a sigh, I stepped into it and sat down. I watched the tepid water cover my waist as I lay back and rested my head against the copper lip. I was startled to discover she was directly behind me. She reached down beside the tub and produced a small bowl, which she filled with water. Then, without any warning, she simply upturned the vessel and emptied it directly over my head! Launching myself forward, I could only splutter and splash in near shock before I turned around to face her.

“I was simply playing the role of your chambermaid,” she offered with a girlish smile that did not suit her; it was far too innocent. Then she shrugged as if my near choking episode was of no great consequence to her. In fact, it did not seem to bother her in the least.

“You are entirely too uppity. It would take much more humility for you to be convincing in the role of a maidservant,” I rebutted, rather grumpily. “Perhaps you missed your calling as a constable.”

She laughed heartily at that before producing a bar of soap. I did not respond when she began lathering my head; not even when she unceremoniously and without warning poured another bowl of water over my head. As if to add insult to my injury, she dared to repeat her ministrations.

“That scent,” I mused, unable to recall the strange fragrance of the soap.

“It is coconut oil,” she answered simply. “Imported from Asia.”

“It smells rather exotic,” I commented as she began scrubbing my neck, my arms and my chest. I lifted her wrist and held it, while fully intending to steal a kiss from her sumptuous, inviting lips, but I instantly recoiled at the coldness of her skin. “You feel as if you are frozen,” I said.

“Yes, it gets quite drafty in this old house,” she replied, as if that were the most logical reason. She continued to wash my body, this time focusing on my back. “Stand up,” she ordered.

I obeyed once again and was again startled by the coldness of her skin. Holding me in place with one hand, she systematically scrubbed me with the other. I felt almost as if I were a street urchin that she happened upon in one of the alleys. Standing up, she walked around me until we were facing one another. Then she dropped to her knees before lathering my anxious cock, which was now fully alert and eager to report for duty.

“Much better,” she said, calmly, running her hand down the length of my shaft, up and down, slowly and seductively. My breathing nearly ceased as I closed my eyes and enjoyed the soft skin of her hand. Seconds later, an unexpected shower of water rained down on my manhood, and I opened my eyes with slight alarm.

“Am I sanitary now?” I asked rhetorically. My expression indicated she had better respond in the affirmative.

She simply replied with a nod, which was all the encouragement I needed. I stepped out of the copper tub, without bothering to dry off my dripping body. Without another moment of hesitation, I reached out and lifted her into my arms, immediately carrying her over to deposit her on the bed. I discarded her pantaloons in a fraction of a second and gripped the top of her chemise with both of my hands before ripping it in two.

Now the tables were turned! Now she would meet the commander of this ship! Every one of her bold comments would receive a deep, hard thrust until she accepted and realized her true place. She was about to learn what it meant to be a real woman. I had every intention of making this an evening she would never forget.

“Take me inside your mouth,” I ordered before I climbed on top of her, positioning myself accordingly.

The lustful wench did not object, which confounded me, after hearing some of her headstrong notions. Saying nothing, she dutifully opened her mouth wide, which was all the encouragement I required. Impaling her beautiful mouth, I closed my eyes and rammed my weapon down her throat. I was slightly repelled by the icy coldness of her lips as well as the interior of her mouth and tongue, but I did not lose sight of my mission. Pumping my sword deep inside her mouth, I barely allowed her to breathe as I thrust deeper with each successive stroke. Her hands grasped onto my thighs, and I opened my eyes to watch her swallowing my relentless cock. Smiling up at me, I briefly thought I could see two small fangs protruding from either side of her lips.

“Your teeth,” I began to remark, but she only responded by smiling even more broadly, and revealing her eyeteeth, which were rapidly lengthening right before my gaze! Suddenly under a wave of revulsion, I attempted to pull away from her, but the viselike grip which she maintained on my thighs prevented me from any sort of movement. I pulled against her again, but it was impossible to release myself! She was too strong, superhumanly so. And those teeth …

“You are a demon!” I screamed in an abrupt frightened rage. I suddenly recalled the whispers and rumors that were recently circulating regarding reanimated corpses that fed on the living. Having discounted all of them as myths and folklore perpetuated by the idiotic and the poor, here I was! A victim of the undead at this very moment!

“I am not a demon,” she replied coolly with a patronizing laugh.

“I know what you are, foul temptress!” I railed back at her as I attempted to make the sign of the cross using my fingers. I could not banish the sense of dread preoccupying my thoughts as I feared this night could be my last. “You must have been very sinful in your previous life, before you died. Or else you were buried in unconsecrated ground, which precludes your soul from entering heaven!” I stopped to take a breath because I was growing increasingly dizzy. “The Heavenly Father forbids you! You have been castigated and doomed to walk the earth forever, without rest or respite, gaining your sustenance exclusively by feeding off the living!”

She laughed as she watched me struggle, trying to free myself from her manacle hold, but I was miserably unsuccessful. Condemned to sit on her upper chest with my cock still buried deep inside her mouth, I watched her lick me from the base to the head. I did not fail to notice her pearly fangs that glistened in the low light.

“Do you intend to kill me?” I asked, my voice shaking with trepidation.

She temporarily stopped licking my shaft and those green, demonic eyes of hers studied me intently. Her face was contrastingly too beautiful to belong to a corpse. “That depends on you,” she replied, which only further puzzled me.

“I … I do not understand,” I admitted, ashamed and downright stunned to see that my rigid cock was still fully erect. The disloyal traitor!

“If you continue to whine and fret like a child, I will dispatch you as soon as I finish draining all the blood from you,” she announced. Any former sense of compassion or warmth was now absent in her tone. She started licking my cock again with exaggerated interest as I struggled to restrain my tears.

“And if I do not carry on as a child?” I inquired, suddenly a bit more hopeful. “What are my options then?”

“Why, you become as I am, of course!”

“I become dead!” I exclaimed as I shook my head in disbelief. “I become a rotting corpse! A thief of life? A roaming specter that only brings death and misfortune to the living?” Tears overflowed from my eyelids whilst I bemoaned the bad luck I suddenly found at my door. Oh, why had I failed to heed the whispers and rumors that warned me of the undead gathering victims from the streets of London? Why had I foolishly accepted this demon’s offer to join her for a ride in her carriage? If only I had chosen to remain at my home this evening, I would have been safe! Why had I insisted upon meeting Fielding? Fielding … Damn that Fielding to hell! This was all his fault! I should never have begun keeping company with someone of such ignoble heritage!

“You will not die,” the sinister creature corrected me. “You simply become vampire.”

“Vampire!” I repeated, sounding nowhere near as pitiful as I felt.

“I grow tired of these histrionics,” the demon stated as she wrapped her ice cold, iron grip around my cock again. I immediately stopped my puerile sniffling and gasped as she opened her mouth to swallow it again.

“Please! Please! I beg you, do not bite it off!” I pled in distress.

Glaring at me, she began stroking my erection which grew just as hard as it was seconds earlier. I was convinced that my eagerness for more carnal stimulation was owing entirely to the demon’s witchcraft and black magic. Shifting her mouth suddenly to the inside of my thigh, she held me immobile before sinking her pair of fangs into my flesh as I screamed out in pain and protest. She began to suck from me, extracting my life force from the wound with great pressure. Watching my blood as it filled her mouth, I noticed the stain it left on her lips. The burning pain I initially felt began to subside, leaving in its wake a total lack of sensation. Without realizing what was happening, I found my pelvis rocking back and forth as she stroked my erection.

“You have a decision to make,” she breathed against me. “Will you live or do you die?”

I did not know if I were still under her spell, or if this delirium of pleasure was brought on by my own need. I wondered if she had simply ensnared me with her web of deceit and treachery and decided it must be so.

Withdrawing her fangs, she pulled away. I felt sick watching my blood emptying from the two bite marks on my thighs. The vast amount of blood I was losing was saturating the bed beneath us. I felt light-headed and dizzy, and my heartbeat seemed to be pounding right through my chest. The creature pushed away from me and stood up. With both of her hands on my shoulders, she began forcing me down onto the bed. She thrust her palms against my chest until I willingly reclined on the numerous pillows arranged there. Then she climbed right on top of me and my duplicitous cock virtually sought out her dark opening. Before I could take another breath, I found her sliding her hot slickness down over my shaft. Closing her eyes, she moaned loudly as she gripped my shoulders and rode me like a wild steed, grinding her flower against my stomach with a fierceness I have never seen any other woman possess.

However, this was no woman, but an emissary from the devil. Her only purpose to drag me beside her through the fiery levels of hell for all eternity. And yet I must confess, I could not stop myself from enjoying the sensation of her tight slickness. My cock was harder than ever now, if such a thing were possible. As she ground her devil’s blossom against my aching staff, she made infernal noises of uninhibited delight, and I was overcome with increased desire. Desire that was, no doubt, brought on by her dark arts.

Seeking her waist with my hands, I held her in place as she bounced energetically on top of me. When she next came down, I pulled her right against me, burying my entire length so deeply inside her, I was certain she tasted it. Oh, how it pleased me to be driving my wanton stick within this she-devil, as I schooled her on the art of swordplay!

She leaned down until I could feel the icy coldness of her breath against my neck. “What is your decision, mortal?” she asked, her fangs poised above my tender skin. “Will you become my consort? Or shall I dispatch you forthwith to an untimely death?”

SIX

Bram

“No!” I yelled as I thrashed from side-to-side, desperately trying to extricate myself from the Lady Meg’s iron embrace. I could feel myself trembling as the adrenalin from fear coursed through my entire body, showering me in a cold sweat. “Keep away from me, you hellcat!”

Her teeth … her fangs! It was the only thought pouring through my head. She’s a monster! A demon! If only I possessed a stake, with which I could end her life and save mine!

Wincing under the sting of her fangs as they sunk into the side of my neck, my eyes snapped open as I bolted upright. But I was also overcome by an indescribable fragility, and I plummeted back down again. The back of my head hit something hard, but I could not feel pain. My only sense and awareness were of the darkness I saw behind my eyelids.

“I do not choose this!” I screamed as I continued to thrash, trying to push Lady Meg away from me, but her unbelievable strength was unparalleled. I amounted to no more than a pawn in her unfair game of chess, a doomed, sacrificial lamb. At the grim realization that I could no longer combat her, I succumbed to her superiority and stopped fighting. I simply lay still, awaiting the inevitable.

Hearing the sound of a deep laugh coming from my right side, I turned, but it sounded a bit muddled and far off, as if it were occurring under water. I could not make any sense of it. Or anything else right then, in truth. My mind seemed scrambled and the foggy delirium to which I was not accustomed refused to evaporate. An inordinate force, like a vast amount of pressure, seemed to be pushing against my chest. I felt as if I were being pressed into the very floor on which I lay.

“Meg!” I called out, trying to swim through all of this confusion. I had to find her again and tell her my final choice. That I preferred to die rather than become that which I so wholly detested. I squeezed my eyes shut even more tightly and searched for her face in the resulting pitch darkness.

“He ain’t got no idea where he’s at right now,” a deep voice said, hinting at humor. “He muss be havin’ an out o’ body experience or somepin’.”

“Nah, it ain’t that,” another male voice replied. “He’s jist stuck in old memories.”

Being unable to identify the parties to whom the voices belonged, I chose to ignore them. They were of no consequence to me. All that mattered now was finding the Lady Meg so I could tell her not to transform me into her kind: vampire.

“I choose death,” I muttered, my voice sounding whispery soft.

“Won’t be much longer now,” the gruff voice responded.

“Nah, more like he’s only halfway through,” the other one argued.

“Ya think?”

“Yep, gonna take a while more.”

Opening my eyes, I tried to turn my head to inquire with whom I was sharing my dormitory, but I could not move. My head remained in a forward facing direction as if it were buffered on either side. I could only stare at an ivory ceiling. In the center of it was an acanthus leaf, circular medallion. I assumed the purpose of the elaborate decoration was to draw attention to the enormous chandelier which hung above me. Holding fifty or more lightbulbs if it held one, the reflection derived from countless crystal beads and drops highlighted the entire room.

For reasons far beyond my understanding, a sense of familiarity embraced me, as if I had beheld this very chandelier hundreds of times before. Closing my eyes, the projector of images and memories began rolling behind my eyelids. I could see the same chandelier hanging from the very same ceiling; however, this time there were no lightbulbs for illumination, but white tapers that were as long as my fingers, each of them burning bright. Beneath the chandelier, a roomful of people all clad in their best attire swayed this way and that as an orchestra played behind them. The dancers were separated into groups of four couples, all performing the Quadrille.

“He’s twitchin’,” the same deep voice announced. His crass words seemed to echo through the entire room, loud enough to overcome even the music. The music …

What was the song that kept playing? I heard my own voice in my head. I remember the song so well. It was one of my favorites. “Le Pantalon!” I called out as soon as the title resurfaced. Opening my eyes triumphantly, I found myself staring at the chandelier again. But the dancers and the music were absent.

The dancers are all dead and long gone, I thought. Buried deep in the ground for hundreds of years. Forever dead to the world.

“He’s losin’ it,” someone said.

Finally succumbing to a deep sense of fatigue, I closed my eyes. Almost as quickly as my eyelashes, which currently felt more like lead weights, grazed the tops of my cheeks, a voice from inside me insisted that I open them again. Something was wrong! Something was very much out of order. I did not know what it could be, but almost as a reflex to that very thought, my eyes flew open, as if doing so on their own accord.

I tried to turn my head to the side again, intending to take stock of the room and who might be found in it, but a sharp jabbing pain in my neck prevented me from turning it. Stung by the instantaneous pricking sensation, I attempted to sit up. However, my depleted body lacked the energy required to do so. The pain continued to throb at the side of my neck, so I tried to rub it but soon found I could not move my hands. Glancing down at them, I saw they were tethered to the floor by what appeared to be iron manacles.

The manacles did not cause my alarm. No, my horror was reserved for the clear plastic tubes I saw that arose from each of my wrists. Clear plastic tubes carrying a red, viscous liquid. I followed the tubes from my wrists before they disappeared into a dark gray, square machine, which made a happy, purring sound.

“Bleeding me,” I screamed, but my words were no more than a whisper. “You’re bleeding me.”

“You’re awake.” A different voice. I turned in the direction from where it came and instantly flinched at the sharp pain emanating from my neck. Tugging against the shackles that held me in place, I soon became so winded that my hands merely collapsed back against the hardwood floor.

“Where am I?” I screamed in despair. I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of fury and outrage that I was being held in a place without knowing where I was, nor those who confined me. Then I remembered the lady … “It is not safe here!”

“He’s been sayin’ all sorts o’ weird shit,” one of the others in the room remarked.

The face that suddenly appeared in my line of sight turned out to be one I recognized. I was not certain how or why I recognized his face, but I did all the same. It was quite a handsome one—large brown eyes, a chiseled nose and good teeth; but it failed to provide me with any sort of comfort. On the contrary, a deep sense of foreboding continued to grow in my stomach.

“We cannot remain here, lest she return,” I said as I studied the man looming above me. I was trying to understand why he was creating such a rumbling, undeniable sense of unease inside me.

“Do you remember me?” he asked with a smirk. “Huh, boss?” he prodded with a chuckle.

Yes, I did remember. Like a tsunami washing over me, a sudden series of images appeared that replayed over and over until I could not take anymore.

“You hear me in there?” he persisted while leaning forward and rapping his hard knuckles on my forehead as if he were knocking on a door. “You remember my name?”

Jax.

“Yes,” I answered simply, almost feebly.

“Good, it’s no fun to break you if you’re already out o’ your flippin’ mind,” he said. Standing up again, he faced the purring machine which I then realized was extracting all of my blood.

But the bleeding machine was not the source of my abrupt disquietude. No, not at all. It was the memory of … her. Dulcie.

As if someone just stoked the fires of rebellion and anger inside me, a bilious, bitter drop of hatred began to bubble up in my stomach, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I struggled against my shackles again, fisting my hands beside me. Of course it did no good. My wrists burned at the sites where the needles from the tubes were inserted into me.

“Better not try to fight it anymore,” Jax told me with little concern.

“Why are you bleeding me?” I inquired. “If you intended to kill me, there are much easier, and much faster, ways.”

“I have no intention of killing you, Bram,” Jax answered before shrugging. “Well, not yet anyway.”

“Then why,” I started to ask.

“In case you’ve forgotten, old man, vampire blood packs a huge profitability punch when it comes to supplying the illegal potions market,” Jax answered. Picking at his pointy fingernails casually, he spared me a side glance with a single raised brow.

My stomach contracted and my jaw tightened at the comprehension of the extent of his deceit. I instantly felt even more light-headed than I was before. I closed my eyes, trying to calm the unbearable tide of anger and fear that was mercilessly pounding through me.

“And I’m sure you’re also quite aware that the blood from a master vampire costs triple the normal price,” Jax gloated as I opened my eyes to glare at him. He briefly stopped inspecting his fingernails long enough to endow me with a broad smile. “Hell, I’ve even considered pawning the severed wings of a fairy. I bet they’d also do pretty well.”

My heart dropped as I pictured Dulcie and the agony he could inflict upon her. Her wings ordinarily would only appear when she was in the Netherworld, but that was not to say they could not appear on the earthly plane when properly induced. With a tiny swallow or two of Shutter #1 potion, Dulcie would have to adopt her natural form, and that would mean she would be at the mercy of Jax. “You dare not touch her!” I seethed.

Jax placed his hands, palm sides down, on my shoulders as he leaned down, narrowing his eyes on mine. “And what do you intend to do about it? Huh, Bram?” His two mindless henchmen chuckled in the background. “You’re, let’s see …” he started with a quick glance up at the gray machine that was gradually killing me. “Well, look at that! You’re halfway gone already. I bet you couldn’t even stand up if I offered you the opportunity.”

“I would kill you in a flash if you gave me any opportunity.”

Pulling away, he laughed, shaking his head. “Your time is comin’ to an end, old man,” he said as he eyed one of the men behind him. “The new world order has already begun! You will soon be extinct, a relic, a fossil, an ancient thing of the past.”

“I care not what you might do to me,” I replied, my vision slowly beginning to blur.

“Dulcie is mine now. And I get to do whatever the fuck I want to,” Jax answered evenly. “Whether I want to screw her, torture her, kill her, or cut off her fuckin’ wings! Now, it’s all up to me.”

“As long as you share, boss,” one of his thugs chirped. But Jax did not respond to him. He preferred to eye me with daggers that conveyed his abject hatred toward me.

“Turn it up! All the way to full power,” he ordered one of his henchmen, indicating the gray machine beside me. “I’m getting sick and tired of listenin’ to him.”

I could not see the man’s reaction, but the purring of the machine grew louder, and when I looked down at the tubes that arose from both of my wrists, I could easily observe that my blood was now egressing from my body much more rapidly.

SEVEN

Dulcie

I heard someone unlocking the door.

Instantly sitting up, I’d nearly been dozing off while leaning against the wall only moments earlier. It had been a while since Bram and I were separated. Now I was incarcerated in this gloomy room by myself. Lacking any windows, my prison prevented me from determining day from night. My hands, still bound tightly behind me, ached right up to my shoulders like nobody’s business. I gritted my teeth as the pain only magnified with even the slightest movement. But then I tried hard to push the agony right out of my consciousness, mainly because it was useless to focus on it.

The door opened and Jax walked in. He was carrying a sandwich on a plate and a glass of milk. At the sight of food, my stomach immediately started to growl. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had an actual meal or even something small to eat.

“Ah, it sounds like someone might be hungry,” Jax trilled with a smile as he closed the door behind him. He came nearer to me and towered over me for a few seconds before dropping down to his haunches. He temporarily reminded me of a cowboy, stooping down to warm himself in front of a fire … but this was no John Wayne. The fleeting thought of shoving Jax into a fire flitted through my mind, and I had to squelch my own disappointment that such wasn’t possible.

“I’m good,” I answered with a frown while narrowing my eyes first at the sandwich and then at him. There was no way I would give him any satisfaction over knowing that I was dying to eat it. Even though my hunger was long beyond starving, I didn’t want to give in. Since I absolutely detested the very sight of him, I chose to stare at the wall behind him.

“Don’t play the part of the spoiled child, Dulcie,” Jax scolded me as he shook his head and shoved the sandwich right in front of my face. “Starving yourself isn’t going to get you out of here any faster.” My stomach immediately started growling again, only this time, it sounded much louder. Jax’s smile widened. “What was that?” he mocked me. “It seems your stomach agrees with me.”

“What do you want, Jax?” I asked him as directly as I could, setting my jaw out obstinately.

“Isn’t that obvious to you yet?” he asked with a shrug. Motioning to the sandwich in his hand and the glass of milk, he added, “I came to feed you, so I want you to eat.”

“If that’s the case, then why don’t you untie my hands and leave so I can eat in peace without having to look at your ugly face?” I spat back in anger. Yes, I realized I sounded like a spoiled child, but I couldn’t have cared less.

Jax exaggeratedly shook his head extremely slowly as he tsked me, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Come now, sweet cheeks, is that the way you really want to act with me?”

I gave him the coldest stare I could possibly muster. “Looks that way.”

He put half the sandwich down on the plate before strategically placing the plate on the floor and glancing back at me. “I would be happy to unbind your hands, but only if you promise to do as I expect you to and behave yourself like a proper lady,” he warned as he stood up and approached me. Then, reaching down with one hand, he gripped me by the back of my neck. I was forced to scramble to my feet, otherwise fearing he would have continue to lift me upright solely by my neck. “Or not,” he added with a quick wink. “I imagine a good wrestling session with you might be just what the doctor ordered, if only to cure my boredom.” Then he twirled me around so I was facing him. “There’s not a lot to do in this drafty old place, is there?”

“I’ll behave as properly as you deserve,” I grumbled as I glared at him. He responded by putting his hand on my chest and rudely pushing me up against the wall. “This doesn’t look like you’re untying me so I can eat.”

“All in good time,” he answered as he studied me closer. He took a step forward until only an inch or less space separated us. Then he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“What are you doing?”

He opened his eyes and gazed at me for another second or so; then a startlingly handsome smile appeared on his face. I couldn’t help thinking what a shame it was. He was so dark and evil inside while more than attractive from the outside. Not that I really was admiring his looks, however, because I couldn’t … His physical attractiveness was just another ruse designed to make me drop my guard. It was every bit as intimidating as his immense size and unparalleled strength. I didn’t and wouldn’t fail to remember that he could snap me in half without much effort. And, what was more, I was sure he’d enjoy it.

“What is this bizarre power you seem to have over some men?” he inquired as he leaned closer and his hot breath tickled my neck.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I snapped. I tried to push him away with my shoulder that was closest to his face.

“Yes, you do,” he said as he looked down at me. “You are fae.”

“Yeah, so what? It’s not like that’s any news.”

Jax smiled, and I saw a cruel expression in his eyes. “I have known a few fae women intimately, and I will admit that my sexual lust for them was much more pronounced than for any other type of women.”

“Really? How fascinating …” I started as I glared at him. “I’d really appreciate it if you could just untie me and let me eat my lunch or dinner or whatever the hell you want to call this meal by myself.” I ineptly attempted to further flatten myself into the wall, but it was impossible. I was stuck there and not going anywhere.

“But you are a different type of female altogether,” he continued, as if I hadn’t even spoken. “Maybe I find you so desirable because I enjoy the chase.”

“Yep! That’s it! I’m sure that’s probably exactly what it is,” I agreed quickly as my empty stomach started to protest again.

“Then again, I don’t know,” he stalled, and I began to suspect he might be playing some kind of game with me. Was he trying to act the part of the good cop? Or the good felon, as the case may be. “I think it’s much more than the chase though. I feel a very strong urge to take you down a peg or two.”

“And I have zero interest in this conversation,” I replied straight-lipped.

“Hah! I don’t buy that for a second,” he rebutted, suddenly closing the distance between us until his lips were only millimeters from my ear. I closed my eyes tightly so I wouldn’t have to look at him. “You know how thrilled you are by the idea of me forcing you to submit to my urges,” he finished with a sneer.

“The idea of that doesn’t thrill me in the least. In fact, to be honest, it literally makes me nauseous,” I answered dryly.

He pulled away as if to study me, like he was trying to memorize every line and feature of my face. “You sound so tough, but you could never defend yourself against me,” he gloated. “Sure, you talk a mean threat and you try to walk the walk, but when it comes right down to it, you’re just an impotent, feeble woman.”

The venom in his words nearly burned my ears. When I looked back up at him, my eyes were narrowed to mere slits and my hands were already fisting behind my back. “If you allowed me a single moment to use my magic, I could waste you in seconds.”

“I doubt that very much,” he answered with a laugh. Then he was quiet for a few seconds before clearing his throat and saying, “I have a … little proposition for you.”

“I’m not interested in anything you have to propose.”

He shook his head. “You don’t know that yet, so zip it for a few seconds while I make my offer known.”

“Great,” I replied with little interest. I could only wonder how long this would take. All I really wanted right then was for Jax to untie my hands so I could eat my sandwich and drink my milk. Then, with a full belly, I could go back to plotting my way out of the miserable situation I’d somehow found myself in.

“You must realize the bad spot you’re in,” he started.

“Um, yeah, you could say that. I’m not an idiot.”

“Even though you’re no match to my strength, much less any competition to me, I have to admit that I admire you all the same.”

“Really?” I asked with an acidic laugh. “Next, I’ll bet you’re going to tell me I’m so money, but I don’t even know it?”

Jax threw his head back as he chuckled heartily. When he faced me again, there was something new in his eyes that threw me. His expression was one I hadn’t seen him show before. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like admiration. “I don’t think I need to tell you anything of the sort,” he started as the laugh died on his lips, leaving a curious smile in its wake. “You already know exactly what you are.”

“Okay so let’s stop beating around the bush, shall we?” I prodded as my traitorous stomach growled again, and I glanced down at the uneaten sandwich. “My dinner isn’t eating itself, so whatever you came to tell me, cut to it.”

“You already know as well as I do that you aren’t going to make it out of this alive,” he started. I took a deep breath at hearing his words and dropped my gaze because he was right. Whatever I’d managed to embroil myself in was heavy duty, and there really was no way out, at least as far as I could tell. And I didn’t doubt that Jax would use any and everything against me if I didn’t cooperate with him.

“And your point is?” I asked.

“I don’t want your death on my hands,” he started. “That would be a damned shame,” he added as I faced him again.

“Don’t pretend like you care about me, Jax. Please, respect me enough to treat me like I’m not an idiot.”

“It has nothing to do with caring about you,” he responded in a clipped tone.

“Then … what is it about?”

“I could use you. The Rebellion could use you,” he answered. I shifted my attention to the knots in the hardwood floors. I just couldn’t bring myself to look at him any longer. The mere thought of what he was offering made me sick to my stomach. “It’s more than that, though. I want you too. And when I want something, I don’t stop until I get it.”

I glanced up at him, my rising anger nearly stinging my throat and coloring my mood in crimson. “Save your breath, Jax! You can’t be serious!” I said with a furious laugh. “Because there is no way in hell that you will ever have me!”

“If I only wanted you sexually, I could simply take you and there would be nothing whatsoever you could do about it.”

“You’re right,” I answered with a shrug. “You certainly could.” There was no use in arguing that.

“But that’s not what I want,” he continued. Placing both of his palms against the wall, he deliberately pinned me between them. “I don’t want to hurt you, Dulcie.”

“Then let me go.”

He shook his head, saying, “Would that I could.” Sighing long and hard, his smile still pulled at the corners of his mouth. “But I’m afraid I can’t. The only other option I can do is to ask you to help me and have you do it willingly.”

“Really?” I asked with a sarcastic laugh. “You want me to help you willingly and of my own accord?” I repeated, intrigued but completely baffled. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all.”

“Then explain to me why I, a seasoned Regulator in the ANC, would willingly have anything to do with helping you, an importer of dangerous potions?” I demanded. “What benefit could I possibly expect to gain from that situation?”

“If you stopped butting heads with me and simply joined me, I would treat you very well,” he replied. “I wouldn’t lay a hand on you.”

“Something you’ve already failed at miserably,” I interrupted with a frown. I turned my head to the side so he could see the nasty bruise that was already coloring my cheek from the last time I had a run-in with him.

“You and I are enemies, not allies, unfortunately,” he explained with a knowing smile. “If you would only swear your allegiance to me, things like that would never happen again.” He took a deep breath. “Furthermore, I could offer you plenty of protection. When the rest of the Rebellion learns that you are my woman, no one will ever speak a mean word to you, let alone touch you. You would be respected and honored.”

“The idea of having you touch me is bad enough!” I seethed with a scowl while trying to extricate myself from his tenacious arms. Of course, I knew it was no good—he wouldn’t let me go until he said everything he intended to say.

“I will only make you this offer once,” he warned solemnly. “If you decline it, you are dead to me.”

“And your glowing offer is so hard to refuse!” I replied abrasively. “Why shouldn’t I rush to join you so I can rat out everyone I genuinely care about and watch you either kill them or do much worse? And all so I could … what?”

“All so you can avoid death and live out the rest of your days being well taken care of and having all your wishes granted.”

“You’re suddenly a genie?” I asked with a disdainful laugh.

“I would make it my sole focus to take care of you.”

“Until you get bored or sick of me and renege the offer so you can devote all your attention to the next shiny, new, sexy thing that happens to cross your path.”

Jax chuckled deeply. “If and when that time comes …” he started.

“When that time comes,” I interrupted as I glared up at him with unmasked hatred. “Let’s not sugarcoat anything.”

“When that time comes,” he repeated with a knowing smile, “I would promise you that I would continue to take care of you in the manner to which you have become accustomed. I have never and would never turn out a mistress or snub her with a cold shoulder.”

“A mistress?” I echoed as I shook my head and laughed at his unparalleled nerve. “A mistress is the last vocation I would ever strive to become! I will never be yours nor anyone’s mistress,” I seethed while my eyes flashed sparks. “So whatever offer you came to extend, consider it declined, now and forever!”

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t consent to my generous proposal,” he growled, and his lips were a tight line. “I meant it when I said I don’t want to hurt you. But orders are orders, which means I have to obey them.” He took a deep breath and continued, “I tried to offer you my help to get out of this, but you’re too damned stubborn or just plain stupid to save yourself. Now, I won’t allow myself to feel bad about what happens to you next,” he replied with a poker face. “But I must admit that yours wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.”

“It should have been the one you expected,” I replied defiantly.

Pulling away from me, he nodded as he reached inside his pants pocket and produced a key. “Turn around,” he ordered. I obeyed his instruction and listened as he unlocked the iron handcuffs. He pulled them off me before I immediately brought my arms forward. I couldn’t wait to stretch them out and massage the pain between my shoulders.

“You will come to regret your decision,” Jax finished as he approached the door. He glanced back at me one more time before opening it and locking it behind him.

EIGHT

Bram

Chicago, 1922

“Torrio’s trying to broker a deal with us,” Meg said as she threw a copy of the Chicago Tribune on top of the coffee table in front of me. She huffed, resting her hands on her hips.

“Go in there and make yourself useful, Goldie,” I said to the scantily clad blond who was previously occupying my lap. Goldie was a “bug-eyed Betty” and not very intelligent, to boot. Her one and only saving grace was her body. It could not have been more precisely modeled after the Greek sculpture of Aphrodite of Knidos.

“I thought I was already, boss,” she answered with a well-practiced pout. “Butt me?” she asked as she eyed the stray pack of cigarettes someone left on the coffee table.

“Beat it! Our patrons are lining up for your … particular skills,” I insisted as she stood up. I smacked her on her round, little arse, to which she responded by giving me a flirtatious smile. But she continued walking through the heavy damask curtain, which separated the back room from the main room, where the raucous sounds of drunken merriment could be heard over the jazz.

I let out a pent-up yet faux breath as I reached for the newspaper. It felt good to stretch my long legs out again on the red velvet couch, so I made myself even more comfortable.

Meg glanced at me and laughed as she shook her head. “You look as if you’re one of those dandies in a men’s fashion advertisement.”

“Do not chastise me because I possess only the most fashionable taste and style, doll.”

As far as fashions came and went, I had to admit that I preferred the styles of the 1920s to any other period I had experienced. The clothes reflected the era, as it was far less regimented and formal. Knickers were short, as were jackets. Long tailcoats were out, and pinstriped suits were very much in. And who could complain about the fedora, the bowler or the straw boater? As far as hats were concerned, the Roaring Twenties had them in spades.

Glancing down at the paper, the headline announced another murder by way of the Thompson machine gun. The Thompson machine gun, or “Tommy Gun” as it was commonly called, also went by the alias of the “Chicago Typewriter,” which is how it was best known. And death by a Chicago Typewriter meant it was a mob murder. Most probably over the bootlegging and selling of booze and the territories therein.

“A deal for what?” I asked as I looked back up at Meg. At the exact same time, a knock rapped on the back door. The doorman, George, slid the peephole open, and I heard the woman on the other side of the door whisper, “Joe sent me.”

Joe could not have sent her, because there was nobody named Joe in our employ. That was simply our code phrase, which all of our working girls knew and had to mention in order to get inside. George opened the door, his eyes first landing on the girl’s breasts before she passed him and his eyes resettled on her arse. I could only infer that he considered her a choice bit of calico. As I took her in from head to toe, I had to concur with George.

The tall and leggy brunette started to approach us. She was on her way to the main hall, where she would soon be after her next trick, but Meg intercepted her.

“Are you the new moll?” she asked as she eyed the young woman suspiciously. In general, Meg was always wary of any and everyone. It was a good way to be and a contributing factor to the success and expansion of our enterprise.

“Yes, sir, er, I mean, ma’am,” the girl corrected herself with a little, nervous giggle. Her mistake came as no surprise, given Meg’s proclivity toward dressing as masculine as she did. She preferred trousers and loose blouses to dresses and skirts. And her short, bobbed hair led many to misidentify her as a man. It happened more often than not.

“What’s your name?” Meg demanded.

“Jane,” the girl responded with an anxious smile. The dear lass could not have been a day older than twenty.

Meg nodded as she looked up at the comely girl who towered over her by at least a full head. I noticed that Jane refused to look at Meg directly in the eyes. I imagined her reason was owing more to juvenile anxiety rather than the certainty or knowledge that Meg was vampire. Although a few members of our staff were well aware of our appetite for the sanguine, it was not widely known.

In general, we found it best to keep our true nature as clandestine as the speakeasies themselves. In that pursuit, we boarded up the windows of most of our saloons, thereby giving them the outward appearance of abandonment. And each of them was especially located at the most remote, back alley as it was not good practice for any bootlegging operation to be visible from the street. The largest of our juice joints, and the one we were currently obliging, was aptly named “Anonymous.” From the street, the building façade was simply a soda and candy shop. But in the rear, the soda and candy we chose to sell was of a whole different sort.

“Welcome, Jane,” Meg said in a deep voice as she continued to evaluate the girl. As soon as their eyes locked, it took less than three seconds for the girl to fall underneath her spell.

“Thank you,” Jane responded, her eyes now as wide as her pupils.

“You may refresh me by providing my supper this evening,” Meg said with a brief nod. Then she turned and started for one of the Louis XIV armchairs beside the couch on which I was still sprawled. Meg took a seat on the plush, black velvet chair and impatiently tapped her right thigh as the dutiful girl nodded before sitting down on her lap as if she were Meg’s faithful dog.

“Has our shipment arrived yet?” I asked Meg, as soon as the thought occurred to me.

“Yes,” she answered immediately, her eyes still riveted on Jane’s.

“Tony just dropped it off about an hour or so ago, boss,” George added before returning his vacant stare to the door in front of him. In general, Meg did not approve of an audience; especially, when it happened to be the help.

“Very good,” I answered with a quick nod.

The shipment I was referring to was a relatively recent delivery of beer and whiskey that was imported from Canada. Unlike most other speakeasies, ours were all connected by a subterranean network known as the Chicago sewer. As unpleasant as it may sound, the sewer system remained the best way to distribute booze to each of our saloons. It allowed us to drop-off the cargo at any time of the day or night without the police or any other authorities becoming the wiser.

“You are quite the skirt, aren’t you?” Meg flirted as she eyed Jane and a smirk appeared on her lips.

“What about this deal with Torrio?” I remembered. I idly watched Meg pull Jane’s strap down over her shoulder until her small yet perky breast popped forth. She immediately took Jane’s nipple into her mouth as Jane stared forward unblinkingly. “You certainly did a good job of rendering her catatonic,” I added as I motioned to Jane.

“He calls it ‘sharing the wealth,’” Meg answered after detaching her mouth from Jane’s breast. She faced me with a frown as she shook her head. “He’s talking about dividing the city into territories and giving each gang a piece of the pie!”

“And you think he is secretly attempting to take us for a ride?” I asked with a shrug.

“Yes! I think he’s attempting to take us for a ride!” she railed as she shook her head. Her ample breasts strained the gossamer fabric of her chemise. Although her breasts were not allowed to display their femininity, owing to the amorphous, boyish cut of her blouse, her legs and rear certainly benefited from her tailored trousers. “He’s planning to put us out of business. I just know it,” she fretted as she tucked a loose lock of her shortly clipped hair beneath her close-fitting, cloche hat.

“Put us out of business? Horsefeathers!” I exclaimed with a big smile as I shook my head. I eagerly watched Meg return her attention to Jane. She ran her index finger down the line of Jane’s neck as the latter continued to sit there, absently staring straight ahead, saying and doing nothing.

“I could have gotten more of a reaction from a corpse,” Meg said with a frown.

“Perhaps you merely over-sedated her,” I answered. “You might not realize the amplitude of your own power.”

“Perhaps,” she responded, pausing for barely an instant before she buried her fangs into Jane’s carotid artery. Jane responded by flinching only slightly, and then she blinked a few times.

“How does she taste?” I asked.

Meg pulled away from Jane’s neck and licked the blood from her prominent fangs. “Very good,” she answered with a quick nod. “Young and fresh.” Then she brought her hand to Jane’s thigh and pushed Jane’s dress up to her waist.

“Mmm, no undergarments,” I announced with a smirk. “Must be eager.”

“Eager harlots are good for business,” Meg replied as she pushed Jane’s legs apart, ostensibly to give me a worthy show. I felt myself growing heavy inside my knickers as I watched Meg running her finger up and down Jane’s sex. Still, Jane did not respond.

“You will have to try harder,” I started. “Oh, wait, perhaps … I believe she just blinked!”

“Very funny,” Meg retorted with a frown. Sinking her fangs into Jane’s neck again, she began lapping up her blood hungrily. Then she pushed her index finger into Jane, who again did not react at all. I, on the other hand, had grown fully erect and hungry, speaking for both my stomach and my cock.

“No one will put us out of business, kid,” I reassured her. I watched Meg pull away from Jane’s throat, a single bead of blood dripping from her lower lip.

“Says you,” Meg replied with narrowed eyes. She briefly studied Jane and then ostensibly seemed to decide she had dined long enough. She pushed Jane away and stood up, wiping her mouth with her arm which, naturally, stained her blouse. Jane stood beside the chair, still staring forward as if she could see into the very near future.

“No, that is what I know,” I responded stonily.

“Are you hungry?” Meg asked as she motioned to Jane with an unconcerned hand. “Perhaps you can get her to respond in some way.”

I merely reached out to grip Jane’s hand. Then I pulled her toward me and stared into her eyes. She glanced down at me and suddenly smiled a huge grin.

“There’s a good girl,” I crooned.

“She’s just a cheap quiff,” Meg responded as she glared at us both. “I don’t care whether you go ahead and drain her. Do your best.”

“Drain her?” I asked as I shook my head and winked at Jane who smiled back at me. “I will do nothing of the sort!”

“Boss?” Jane started.

“Come,” I answered as I reached down and unbuckled my belt. Jane giggled, unaware that blood was leaking freely from the bite marks on her neck. I unbuttoned my trousers and freed my already straining cock. “Sit on it,” I ordered, and she nodded, while a blush filled her cheeks with a rosy hue. She climbed atop my straining member, straddling me as I held my cock in place and allowed her to slowly press herself down on top of it. “Mmm, very tight,” I breathed as she began grinding herself against me. Clenching her eyes shut tightly, she moaned. I reached up and gripped the back of her neck, forcing her to bend down toward me. Then I sunk my teeth into the other side of her neck.

“The Irish are congregating under O’Banion and have already taken control of all the breweries in the North Side, which means they’ll soon have a monopoly. And Torrio has officially allied himself with the Gennas in Little Italy, which means he basically now has control of the city center. That just leaves us,” Meg continued as she paced the room more earnestly, looking as if she were ready to murder someone.

“This could be good for us, baby,” I said after pulling away from Jane’s throat. I glanced back at Meg and smiled. Then my attention was drawn back to Jane who was bouncing up and down on me with delicious regularity. I gripped her waist momentarily and forced her to stop. Then I pulled her down on top of me, much harder. “Back and forth, doll, not up and down,” I instructed her before I buried my fangs deeply into her neck again.

“How could that be good for us?” Meg inquired, throwing her hands up into the air in obvious frustration and annoyance. “What’s better for us is that we continue to do what we’re already doing without the competition!”

I could not argue with her on that subject. With myriad shipments of moonshine and liquor coming from Canada and the multitude of juice joints already under our control, we’d realized huge profits in the one year since Prohibition started.

“We might not have any choice,” Meg whined as she stared at the newspaper below her. “O’Banion has police protection and insulation. And after that banquet he just threw for the politicians and law enforcement officials, their continued support and protection can only increase. That means he’s basically immune to prosecution.”

“Immune?” I asked as I palmed one of Jane’s breasts and she continued grinding her orchid against me, her gasps growing heavier and faster.

“It’s no secret that he intimidates any witnesses and bribes all the city officials,” Meg explained. “And we both know he’s paid off many of the police officers so they won’t arrest his men.”

“We are guilty of doing the same, Meg,” I pointed out as I gripped Jane’s waist and she shuddered with an orgasm. I smiled at her with renewed pleasure as I held her above me and began thrusting my organ of steel up inside her.

“I’m not talking about us!” Meg snapped as she shook her head violently. “With the North and Little Italy under his belt, Torrio’s sure to come for us.” She sighed long and hard before facing me again. “It’s no coincidence that we’ve been raided already four times in just the last week.”

I could not reply as I gripped Jane even more tightly and positioned her above me, pushing myself deep inside her. I was always more comfortable when I was in control. I pumped inside of her a few more times before the power of an orgasm overcame me.

“Bram?” Meg asked, clearly irritated that I was not responding to her last comment.

I did not spare Meg a glance as I unloaded into Jane. After a second or two, I pushed her away and stood up, buttoning my knickers. “Go now and eat a large supper,” I said as soon as my gaze settled on the bites in her neck. “And do not fail to cover your neck.” I reached inside my pocket and handed her a few bills.

“Leave,” Meg commanded her.

Jane nodded and dropped her attention to her disheveled appearance. Wrapping her arms across her chest, she started for the main room.

“What do you expect us to do about O’Banion and Torrio?” I asked Meg as I shook my head.

There was no slack in her jaw. “I want you to send them both a message.”

“A message?” I repeated, my eyebrows furrowing in my forehead.

“Yes,” she insisted. “I want Torrio to know that we are not interested in joining his ranks.”

“What sort of message is that?” I asked as I eyed her narrowly.

“A bloody one,” she answered. “I want you to take out O’Banion.”

NINE

Bram

Chicago, 1922

“The car will drop you off at the rear of O’Banion’s home,” Meg informed me. We were standing in the back room of Anonymous, one week after she first introduced the idea to me. “Your mission is to go in and eliminate him and anyone else you come across as quickly and as silently as possible.”

“And how are you so certain he will be at his home?” I asked, since I was fully aware that mobsters did not keep the same hours as their law-abiding counterparts.

“Because it’s Sunday and my informants assure me he never does business on the Sabbath because that’s his ‘family time,’ as he calls it,” Meg answered with a quick nod. Her eyes were as cold and as hard as steel. Yet she acted as though she were telling me to take out the trash. In a manner of speaking, I suppose I was. “I want you in and out. No lollygagging or putting on a variety show. The car will be waiting for you in the back alley.”

“No putting on a variety show?” I repeated with a shake of my head as I laughed. “Come now, baby, how shall I find any fun in that?”

“I am serious, Bram,” she insisted, her jaw tightening. “This needs to be a swift, silent knock-off with no questions asked. I don’t want anything coming back to us.”

“Coming back to us?” I repeated facetiously. “Of course it will come straight back to us!”

“No, it won’t,” she argued as her eyes narrowed. In general, she did not indulge debates. “The blame will, most likely, fall on our rival gangs or the police themselves.”

“The police?” I repeated. “You know as well as I do that the police are just as crooked and involved in this as we are.”

“Yes, that’s so, but it doesn’t mean the police commissioner wants the public to know that. There’s only so much crime Torrio and O’Banion can get away with before the police have to get involved, even if it’s just to keep up appearances. No one’s finger will ever point directly at us.”

“In and out,” I said with a wide grin. “Easy-peasy.”

***

There were no lamps to illuminate the street in front of O’Banion’s home. It was dark, and the darkness suited me as we were one and the same. I sidled along the back wall of the massive, two-story home, replaying the plan in my head. When I reached the window, I glanced around myself in all directions just to make sure I was indeed quite alone. As far as I could tell, I was. There were no sounds of breathing, or hearts beating, or hot blood rushing through human arteries and veins. At least not for a mile radius. Inside the house might have been another story, but I would not be able to detect any signs of life until I was actually inside. My superhuman vampiric powers of perception could not pervade or penetrate the thickness of a brick wall.

I approached the window and aimed my index finger toward the lowest, outermost point of the glass pane, just below my left hip bone. Centering my fingernail on that point and using my other hand, I slammed my palm into the ball of my other fist. Owing to my veritable strength and the keen sharpness of my nail, the glass pane shattered beneath it almost instantly, smashing shards of glass inward onto the carpet, as well as outward onto the grass. I instantly heard the sound of a dog barking and bemoaned my bad fortune. Meg failed to warn me about a dog.

I reached inside the broken window to unlock the door beside it, wholly unconcerned over the possibility of cutting myself. Almost as soon as any injury is inflicted upon me, my body instantly heals itself, so such trivial incidentals matter very little to me. I unlocked the back door and stepped inside at exactly the same time as the barking dog entered the room, baring his fangs as he growled menacingly at me.

“Come now, my canine friend,” I began in a very soft voice. “There is no need for any unpleasantness,” I explained as I stared him in the eyes, pacifying him instantly with my powers of persuasion.

The dog soon began wagging his tail before sitting down and looking at me eagerly, as though he expected me to throw a ball for him. “There’s a good boy,” I whispered as I patted him on the head and started for the hallway. Using my uncanny night vision, I managed to deduce that the room into which I had intruded appeared to be an empty guest quarters. The hallway leading into the main house was quite short—and after barely ten steps, I found myself in the living room.

The interior was ostentatiously appointed with gilded furniture, huge marble columns and heavy, brocaded chairs and settees. I paused at the base of the stairwell to listen for the sounds of breathing and heartbeats. I had to discern the precise location where O’Banion would be. From what my super-sensitive hearing could perceive, there were four people in an upstairs bedroom. I could not hear any voices, and the circadian rhythms of their breathing as well as the depressed blood flow led me to believe they were all asleep.

And if any of them are children? I suddenly asked myself. What then? Will you murder them as well?

The thought of killing innocents turned my stomach. Never mind how many lives I had taken during my long centuries on this earth, I had never and would never kill a youngster. Not now, and not ever. In this, my current scenario, I would be silent and swift, simply stealing into O’Banion’s bedroom, breaking his neck as quietly as possible and fleeing the premises soundlessly again. There was no reason to kill anyone else.

I started up the stairwell, secure in the knowledge that my footfalls made no noise whatsoever. I was as quiet and imperceptible as the very night air. When I reached the top of the stairs, I relied on the moonlight to find my way. From the sound of multiple heartbeats, I narrowed my search to the bedroom that was located at the end of the hall.

I continued down the hall, passing two more bedrooms on my way. When I reached the final door, I turned the knob slowly and opened the door wide. I immediately saw the form of a man, who appeared to be sound asleep in his bed. O’Banion, I presumed.

In and out, I reminded myself of Meg’s specifications.

As soon as I lifted one foot over the threshold, I was promptly flooded by bright light. I instinctively brought up my arm in order to shield my eyes while realizing someone had to have flipped the light switch on.

“Very good of you to join us,” the man’s voice said congenially. Slowly lowering my arm, I had to blink a few times to allow my night vision to adjust to the brightness of the room. I could only stare at the man on the bed in front of me. He was heavyset and calmly pointing a pistol at me. At the sound of the door closing behind me, I turned my head and caught a glimpse of the two thugs behind me. But where was the third? I was certain I detected four distinct heartbeats. As soon as I glanced back at O’Banion, I noticed another stockily built man with a bulldog face. He walked into the room, and I realized he was just returning from the en suite toilet.

“How did you know I was coming?” I asked politely, trying to sound as nonchalant as I could. These men were merely humans, which meant I had nothing to fear. At least, not from them. I was willing to play their game in the meantime, if only to obtain more information, and then I planned to destroy each and every one of them.

“I hate to be the messenger o’ bad news, my boy,” O’Banion started as he stood up and approached me. “But your ol’ lady set you up tonight.”

O’Banion was short and round. Although he was undoubtedly human, he more resembled a chicken. His eyes were smallish, and his nose looked very much like a beak. His narrow lips and birdlike mouth were only exaggerated by his multiple chins. Still sporting a full head of hair and lacking any facial wrinkles, I imagined he could not have been much older than thirty or thirty-five, at the most.

“Meg set me up?” I repeated, absent any doubt in my voice. “And why, I wonder, would she do that?” I was not certain how O’Banion discovered our plan, but I was convinced Meg had nothing to do with it. There must have been an informant posing inside our ranks. I fully intended to sniff him out too—just as soon as I freed myself from my current situation.

“She did it because she was under orders and had to do it,” O’Banion replied with a smirk as he motioned to one of the goons behind me. He approached me with what appeared to be a set of handcuffs. I could only scoff at him inside my mind because the silly fool had no idea how easily I could snap the handcuffs. About as easily as I could break his neck.

“Cuff him, Liam,” O’Banion said to the underling.

“Git yer ’ands behind yer back,” the oversized, brutish, slovenly creature demanded. I chuckled as I shook my head but obeyed the order. I was eager to let them think they were fully in charge of me while I unraveled the nature of this latest mystery. As soon as I had it figured out, I intended to kill them all.

I felt the weight of the handcuffs as soon as Liam wrapped them around my wrists and locked them. That struck me as odd; ordinarily, human handcuffs were about as heavy and hard to break as a paper-chain bracelet.

“I want to know who the rat is,” I stated as I faced O’Banion, who was now standing directly in front of me. Having his pistol reholstered, apparently he no longer considered me a threat; as long as my hands stayed bound behind my back.

“I already told you,” O’Banion retorted.

“I do not believe Meg would do that. Not for a second,” I replied.

“Well, ya better start believin’ it, ’cause it’s the honest truth,” the man behind me, Liam, announced.

“Explain,” I demanded as I glared at O’Banion.

“We’re breakin’ Chicago up into smaller territories,” he started. “And Meg intends to keep the South Side all to herself.”

“I am well aware of that,” I interrupted.

“I was perfectly willin’ to give her what she wanted, just as long as she showed me that she was still serious about joinin’ up with me. It’s on account o’ what good ol’ Abe Lincoln said. You know, ‘a house divided against itself can’t stand,’ right?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “I can’t afford to have my house fall apart, which means I have to find trustworthy partners to ally myself with.”

“So … I am the collateral?” I interrupted. I was growing impatient with his explanation, and my anger refused to be ignored. Was it possible that Meg had actually set me up? She certainly failed to mention this part of our plan. Had I trusted her blindly?

“You were the collateral,” O’Banion finished with a quick nod. “But now you’re the sacrificial lamb, the victim. Meg had to prove to me that she would stand with us, and not turn against us. The only way I could trust her was if she sacrificed something dear to her.”

I nodded, but that did not mean I was persuaded by his explanation. Although from all appearances, it appeared Meg set me up for an ambush, I was utterly convinced she had an ace up her sleeve. She knew something they did not know: that I was a vampire. It would not be an easy task to eliminate someone of my ilk. I began to chuckle. “She did not set me up,” I started as the laugh died on my lips. “She set you up.”

O’Banion did not react or respond. I took a step closer to dispatch him, satisfied that I now had all the information I sought. Consequently, my show was about to begin. I attempted to twist the handcuffs that bound my wrists apart and was astonished when I discovered I could not. I pulled against them much harder the second time, but only managed to strain my left shoulder.

“Meg provided me with those cuffs,” O’Banion explained with little interest. “She told me of your … unique abilities and assured me that police-issued handcuffs were not sufficient to restrain you.”

I was astounded. My jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Then what you said was true?” I asked, now completely deflated. I simply could not understand or comprehend what could have induced Meg to do such a thing as this to me.

“I may be many things,” O’Banion started with a smile. “But I am foremost a man of my word.”

“What will you do with me?” I inquired dejectedly.

His only response was to aim his pistol at me. He fired the weapon, and I watched the bullet lodge into my upper right thigh. The pain he inflicted was no more than a mere blip on my radar, although I must admit he surprised me by choosing to take that shot. “Shooting me in my leg will not kill me,” I said with a smile as my fangs began to lengthen. Although I might not have been able to free myself from the handcuffs, I still had supernatural strength and speed …

Except I was starting not to feel quite as strong or powerful as usual. There was a burning, fiery sensation where the bullet entered my flesh, and the discomfort was radiating outward, as if it were poisoning the rest of my body. Unable to tolerate the increasing pain, I collapsed onto my knees.

“That should keep you detained for quite a while,” O’Banion said smugly. He motioned to the wound in my thigh which was now streaming blood that was gathering into a puddle on the carpet below me. “Or at least until the sun comes up at dawn and disposes of you without further effort on my part.”

“What was that bullet comprised of?” I demanded as the stabbing pain began to throb throughout my entire being, and rippling waves of agony pervaded every part of my body.

“Dragon’s blood,” O’Banion answered with a quick laugh. “Or at least, that’s what Meg called it.” He started for the door, his thugs following in line behind him. “I hope the toxic bullet kills you before the sun gets the opportunity.” Then they all walked out of the room. I collapsed onto my stomach, but any position I took failed to alleviate the persistent pain. Having never heard of dragon’s blood bullets, they certainly sounded foreboding.

“Oh, and one last thing,” O’Banion said as he reappeared in the doorway again. “If it eases the situation you now find yourself in, you might like to know that even though Meg is fully responsible for setting you up to take the fall, I also set her up.”

“What … do you mean?” I inquired.

O’Banion shrugged. “I did a little bit of research, myself, and I found out you bloodsuckers don’t fare very well in encounters with fire,” he explained, his self-impressed smile returning to his arrogant face. “Let’s just say that Meg is just about to meet her own … hot demise.” He took a long, dramatic breath and added, “I prefer not to do my business with the undead.” Saying that, he turned on his heel and walked out, closing the door behind him.

TEN

Dulcie

Unfortunately, my respite from Jax did not last long enough. Even worse, however, he wasn’t alone. He came equipped with two of his hulking thugs. As soon as he walked into my confined space, he eyed the empty plate and glass in front of me and smiled triumphantly. I figured he deemed it a small victory.

“I’m happy to see that your stubbornness didn’t outlast your hunger,” he declared upon entering. I instantly wished I had been strong enough to have resisted my hunger pangs. I knew better, though. Despite not wanting to give him even a fraction of an inch of satisfaction, there was no sense in me starving. It would have been like cutting off my nose to spite my face.

“Don’t rest on your laurels yet,” I rebutted icily as I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him with a lethal stare. “It’s not like I’ve suddenly reversed my position with regard to joining your ranks.”

Jax chuckled as he shook his head, and the goblin with the missing teeth shut the door. The other henchman Jax brought with him was a werewolf—I could easily detect as much by his dank, earthy odor. Both sidekicks were burly, unkempt and ugly—the usual qualities, I suppose, for thugs. They stood behind Jax with their broad backs to the wall, both of them watching me as closely as a hawk watches a field mouse before it swoops down and snatches it.

Jax, meanwhile, walked right up to me. “I didn’t expect you to change your mind,” he announced with a slight shrug. “And it doesn’t matter anyway; that ship has sailed.”

“Then why did you come here?” I inquired as I eyed him suspiciously. “If you know I’m not going to join you?”

“No need to remind me unless you’re a glutton for punishment and trying to sentence yourself to an untimely death,” Jax responded with a sarcastic, almost amused laugh.

“No, I’m not. However, I thought maybe you’d care to divulge what kind of a plan you have in mind for Bram and me.”

Jax inhaled deeply, and the cruel smile on his mouth vanished, replaced with a self-righteous one. “Patience, sweet cheeks. You’ll find out what my plan is for that traitor soon enough,” he answered, his grin broad. “And as for you, my pretty, little fairy, you’ve been summarily demoted. Your position has been relegated to that of collateral.”

“Collateral?” I repeated. “What do you mean? Am I being held for ransom now?”

“The ANC has something I want and need,” he started to explain.

“The portals to and from the Netherworld,” I interrupted.

“Yes,” he answered with a quick nod. “But I have something they want and need as well. In particular, I have something your boyfriend, Mr. Vander, wants very much, although I’m not sure how much he needs you. In fact,” he shrugged. “I’d probably be doing him a big favor if I did away with you.” Then he shook his head. “Women are the bane of all men’s existences.”

“I’m not touching that comment with a ten-foot pole,” I ground as I shook my head and rage wound up inside me. “But what I can tell you is that you’re wrong about Knight. He won’t make the choice you think he will.”

“Really?” Jax answered facetiously. “I’m not convinced.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I snapped at him. “I’m not worried; I know Knight will make the right choice. He’d sacrifice my life for the greater good, and that includes both the ANC and the Netherworld,” I continued, the heat of my anger tainting my voice. “Knight won’t cooperate with you, much less make the choice you think he will.”

“Again, I beg to differ, but I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Jax answered. His vision narrowed as he studied me closer, and a hint of curiosity shone in his eyes. “Maybe you might be right, but I will still take that bet. And regardless, I doubt you’d be so foolish as to believe we didn’t allow for that outcome as well.”

“So I have to ask to whom are you referring when you say ‘we’?” I started as he began to shake his head, like I wasn’t going to get any further on this topic. “Come on, Jax,” I continued. “Why don’t you just tell me the name of the party that’s calling all the shots? We both know there’s no way you’re the brains behind this big of an organization,” I baited him, hoping with all my might that the loud-mouthed dolt would bite.

Sadly, he did not. “Careful now, you’re out on a sheet of very thin ice. You don’t want to make me angry, do you? Wouldn’t want to tell Prince Charming that his girlfriend fell out of the equation because she didn’t know when to stop running her stupid mouth.”

I ignored his lame attempts to stoke a reaction from me. “Like I told you before, Knight won’t negotiate, or even consider making any kind of deal for my freedom with you, so you can clean that useless thought right out of your head!” I repeated, once again.

“Is that so? I have to wonder if that will be the case in the end.”

“You can stop wondering right now. It will be,” I said with a clipped nod. Then, taking a deep breath, I tried to keep my thoughts away from Knight and what choices he would or wouldn’t make. Every time I pictured his handsome face, it only resulted in making my heart ache. I was starting to wonder if I’d ever see him again. And that thought was such a painful one, I refused to dwell on it. Instead, I faced Jax again, and exhaling my sadness, I demanded: “Why are you here?”

“How much do you know about torture, sweet cheeks?” Jax nearly interrupted me in his eagerness to reply. His tone was cheerful, even upbeat. And a happy smile brightened his face, making him look downright elated.

At the very sound of the word “torture,” my stomach flopped. “Not a lot, but I have a feeling you’re going to enlighten me,” I answered. Naturally, I had to wonder where this conversation was headed. A dark, ugly place, no doubt.

“Ah! Then allow me to enlighten you,” Jax replied. “I have always been intrigued and fascinated by the concept of how to successfully break another person’s will in order that they obey mine.”

“That comes as no surprise,” I grumbled as I took a deep breath and wondered what he had in store for me. Of course, it wasn’t by coincidence that Jax and his men had come here to discuss torture with me …

“I’ve been studying up on modes of torture throughout the ages,” he pedantically droned on as if he were lecturing a university class. “I’ll share with you a few of my favorites.” I started to reply, but he silenced me with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The Sicilian Bull is definitely one to satisfy your curiosity and interest,” he continued. “Have you ever heard of it?” I shook my head. “No?” he asked with a broad grin. “Well, it originally comes from ancient Greece.”

Jax was so unpredictable, and his unpredictability paired with his volatility and capriciousness combined to become his worst characteristic. It was also the one that frightened me the most. “No,” I said. “And I’m not interested in hearing one of your tedious history lessons, Jax. Whatever you’re planning to do to me, just get on with it!”

Jax appeared taken aback, although I couldn’t explain why my reaction surprised him. “Come now, who said I was planning to do anything to you?” he asked, as if that were the last thought occupying his thick skull. He glanced back at his goons, and both of them snickered in response to his cue. “Anyway,” he resumed as he turned back to face me, pasting that stupid grin on his face again. “Where was I again? Oh yeah … The Sicilian Bull. It was a solid piece of brass that was cast in the shape of a life-sized bull. However, it had a door on one side that could be opened and latched. The unfortunate victim would be placed inside the bull while a large bonfire was ignited underneath it. The victim died by slowly roasting and, no doubt, uttering desperate screams while suffering in agonizing pain.”

“Sounds charming,” I muttered with a frown. But inside my heartbeat was racing despite my attempts to remain calm. I wondered if that exact, same device might be lurking somewhere in Bram’s pretentious home. Maybe that’s why Jax was calling attention to it in the first place?

“Why was it called the Sicilian Bull, you may ask?” Jax continued. “Well, that was entirely owing to its design. The bull was purposely molded to amplify the victim’s screams in such a way that when they were heard, it sounded like the bellowing of a bull.”

“How resourceful! The original designer must have been very creative,” I said, trying my best to appear unconcerned and sedate.

“Yes, most creative,” Jax agreed with a quick bob of his head. “Another means of torture that I find particularly interesting was called the Heretic’s Fork. This was merely a piece of metal with essentially two forks sticking out of either end. One end of the device was pushed beneath the person’s chin, while the other was positioned at his sternum. A strap was used to secure the victim’s neck to the ingenious tool. Then, they would hang the victim from the ceiling and keep him or her suspended which would prevent the person from falling asleep. If the unfortunate person’s head dropped, as it eventually had to, the sharp prongs on the forks simply pierced the throat and the chest at the same time.”

I heard one of the assholes behind Jax snickering, and Jax turned to face him. “And how long do you think you’d be able to stay awake for? A few days? Maybe a week?”

“I dunno, boss,” the goblin answered, “but that’s a pretty shitty way to go!”

“Yes, it is,” Jax agreed as he turned back to me. “That is definitely a pretty shitty way to go.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I demanded, my anxiety growing nearly intolerable with every passing second.

“No reason,” Jax answered with a harsh laugh. “I figured you were getting bored and would want some company. Figured I could amuse you with some lively … conversation.”

“I’m not and I don’t.”

“The Lead Sprinkler was another party pleaser,” Jax continued as if I’d never said anything. “You start with a cylinder, or whatever implement you can fill with molten lead, tar, boiling water or, preferably, boiling oil. Then, by dripping the contents onto various body parts, usually the eyes, it proved pretty successful in obtaining information and confessions.” He paused, probably for dramatic effect. “But you had to be quick in getting your information out of the victim because molten silver, for example, in the eyes has a way of killing quickly.”

“Stop it,” I demanded as I held up one hand and exhaled deeply. “I’ve heard enough. Whatever you have in store for me, just do it! I’ve been tortured long enough by having to sit here and listen to you talk about it!”

“The concept that all of these tortures and techniques relied on,” Jax persisted without any apology or hesitation. His eyes appeared so piercing, I wondered if he could see right through me. “… was making the victim feel less than human. The pain one receives during torture is undeniable, yes, but there are also more traumatic, dehumanizing aspects that are just as important.” He briefly cleared his throat before resuming his unending oration. “For its traumatic injuries, the Judas Cradle was a good example. The victim would be stripped naked in front of an audience, a humiliation in itself, and then he or she was forced to sit on a pyramid-shaped cradle. Slowing being forced down onto this pointed structure with the use of ropes and tethers, the intent here was to stretch and rupture the victim’s anus over a long, gradual period of time, thereby slowly impaling the poor bastard until death.”

Jax glanced behind himself and nodded toward his two thugs. They immediately sprang into action, approaching me. Before I even had a chance to figure out what they intended to do next, the goblin gripped my upper arms and secured my hands behind my back. The were standing in front of me smiled with smug satisfaction.

“Dehumanizing the victim,” Jax continued as I breathed out in obvious disinterest. “I believe is one, if not the most, important factor in successful and proper torturing technique,” he said as he took a few steps closer to me. The three of them were towering over me now, making me feel very small and very helpless.

“I have an idea!” I retorted angrily. “Why don’t you make this a fair fight, Jax?”

“A fair fight?”

“Let me use my magic to defend myself. At least that way, your conscience, if you have one, can be eased. Only a piece of shit coward would shoot an unarmed man, or woman, as the case may be.”

Jax didn’t respond immediately. When he did, it was only to nod at the were, who immediately stepped closer to me. He reached forward with his clawlike, long fingernails, clasping my shirt.

“This will not be a fight,” Jax said.

The were shredded my shirt in an instant. I tried to resist and pull away from him, mostly because I was afraid he would cut me with his talons in the process, but the goblin that held me in place did a fine job of keeping me immobilized. When my bra was eventually revealed, the were simply slipped his finger under one of the straps and snapped it forward, severing it in two with his razor sharp nail.

“Why are you doing this?” I demanded. My voice trembled despite all my efforts to control it as visions of molten silver dropping into my eyes and a pyramid shoved up my ass, not to mention the bellow of a Sicilian Bull, danced through my head. “If I’m just collateral, why torture me?”

“I am not a man who is accustomed to having a generous offer, such as I gave to you, declined,” Jax explained. There was no trace of a smile in his voice or on his face any longer. The were had already severed my other bra strap and now my breasts were naked and visible for everyone to see.

Jax made no motion to conceal the fact that his attention was riveted on my breasts. He didn’t wait very long before he approached me and reached out to run one of his fingers across my nipples. They immediately responded, by growing hard and pebbly, despite my utter chagrin and mortification. “Such a shame,” he said as he tsked me, and his eyes finally lifted to mine. Cocking his head slightly to one side, he continued the monotonous lecture. “Moving on, sweet cheeks, I’m sure you’ve already heard of the Rack, so I won’t bend your ear with that one. But what about the Tongue Tearer?”

“Enough of this, Jax, you’ve made your point,” I snapped, my heart pounding through my ears. The were was already working on the waist of my yoga pants. His intrusive finger was resting on the inside of the elastic band, just beneath my belly button.

“The Tongue Tearer, and I don’t mean t-e-r-r-o-r, but t-e-a-r-e-r, looked very much like an oversized pair of scissors,” Jax driveled on. The were, obviously interpreting Jax’s words as some form of encouragement, jerked down on my pants before ripping them in two. When I realized he was attempting to strip them clean off me, I did the only thing I could: I kicked him in the crotch. The goblin stationed behind me knelt down, and still holding my wrists with one hand, he wrapped his other hand and arm around my ankles, anchoring me in place.

“Jax, there’s no reason for you to do this!” I pleaded, realizing with horror how dour my situation was fast becoming. I faced the perpetrator and found him smiling, as usual, at me. It became as clear as day that Jax enjoyed every second of my discomfort and intimidation. “You know as well as I do that you don’t fuck with collateral. If you’re going to hold me as ransom, you have to keep me alive and healthy, you sadistic fuck!”

“As I said before, I have no intention of killing you, sweet cheeks,” Jax replied. Then, he laughed and shook his head at the goblin like I was just a big idiot. They both snorted in response, the assholes. “Sheesh, Dulcie, you’re so serious! You’re almost a buzzkill,” he finished as he faced me again. “Now, where were we?” he asked while drumming his index finger against his lip and doing his best to look mindful. “Ah, yes, now I recall … the Tongue Tearer. The victim’s mouth had to first be forced opened using something called a ‘mouth opener.’ Then the iron Tongue Tearer was inserted into the open mouth and attached to the tongue. Once a firm grip was established, a large screw would be periodically tightened on the device, and eventually, the victim’s tongue would be ripped clean out.”

The were grasped the shredded fabric of my pants and pulled it away from me. Now all of my assets were bare and fully revealed. I had to flush with embarrassment as all three of the perverts stared at my female parts. Jax exaggerated how much he was eyeing me up and down, eventually resting his vision on the junction of my thighs. I had a fairly good idea what to expect next; and although I did my best to prepare myself for it, I couldn’t say anything I did managed to alleviate my unease.

“Rat torture from the medieval period might be my very favorite,” Jax trailed on in a flat tone as his eyes rose from the center of my thighs back to my face.

“If you ripped my clothes off to rape me, then just do it!” I shouted, intending to thwart him as best I could. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to listen to another second of the bullshit that’s coming out of your mouth.”

“Rape you? Who said anything about rape?” he asked as he shook his head. “We are civilized men here, sweet cheeks.” He looked at the other two men in the room with a baffled expression. “And civilized men do not attack defenseless,” he said, dropping his gaze to my breasts and then my thighs, “naked women.”

“Then leave me be!” I demanded. “If you’re truly a civilized man, act like it! Start treating me like the collateral you say I am.”

Jax inhaled and exhaled deeply as though he were on stage. “One of the most vicious and effective torture techniques of all involved the use of a cage,” he prattled on. “One side was left open and strapped against the victim’s bare stomach.” Reaching forward, he ran his finger across my abdomen. I tried to avoid him, but the goblin dutifully held me in place. “The cage would then be filled with live rats, and a heating implement, of any sort, was placed on the other side of the cage. As you can probably already imagine, the rats wanted to survive and would do anything to escape the intense heat. Consequently, they would bite and burrow their way through the victim’s body to avoid being incinerated.”

“So are you going to feed me to the rats?” I asked, feeling like this conversation would never end, and might end up being the true source of my demise. “Have you finished yet?”

“Cement shoes are always a unique and efficient form of dispatch,” he prattled on, again ignoring me. “Your dear, ol’ vampire friend clued me in on this one.” Then his eyebrows rose in unison, as if an idea just crossed his mind. “Hmm, maybe this is one I should try out on him? Talk about poetic justice!”

“What kind of punishment was that?” the were asked. Apparently, Jax’s history lesson wasn’t being presented entirely for me.

“Cement shoes were first introduced by the Mafia,” Jax explained. “It was the usual way they dealt with traitors and spies. They positioned the feet of the offender inside a cinder block which they then filled up with wet cement. Once the cement dried, the victim was thrown, still alive, into a deep river or the ocean or a lake and left to drown.”

“I’ve heard enough,” I protested.

“Oh, have you really, princess?” Jax asked, sounding suddenly more than annoyed. He unexpectedly walked right up to me and pushed the were out of the way. Then, he pulled his arm back and cold-cocked me right across the cheek. My head flew back with the force of his sucker punch, and for a second or so, all I could see were stars. I nearly fell over the goblin, but he stood up and caught me in time. At Jax’s command, however, the goblin released me. Jax grabbed me by my upper arm and pulled me unceremoniously into the center of the room. What remained of my bra fell onto the ground. He ripped the ribbons of my shirt off me too.

“What about the saw?” he exclaimed, his eyes growing wider and looking more furious than ever.

Even though my magic wasn’t there to protect me, I refused to go down without a fight to the end. I stood with my feet as wide as my shoulders, a stance that prepared me to do whatever was necessary to protect myself. A losing proposition to be sure, but there was no way I would allow the likes of Jax to take another cheap shot without inflicting some damage of my own.

“Are you serious?” Jax asked as he eyed me and shook his head with a cruel smile. “You really think you can defend yourself against me? Even though you’re half my size?”

“I’m going to try my hardest,” I answered, my lips tightening into a straight line with determination.

He feigned a punch toward my face, but when I ducked out of the way, he was instantly on me. Grasping me around my throat with one hand, he began lifting me into the air while I spluttered and choked. I repeatedly tried to pry his fingers away from my neck, but it was virtually impossible. “To use a saw for torture, the victim had to first be hung upside-down,” he said as he looked up at me with a sadistic expression. His voice sounded so nonchalant, like it was no big strain on him to continue holding me above his head, my throat nearly crushed by only one of his hands.

“The blood would naturally rush to their heads which would keep them fully conscious,” he said. Meanwhile, I struggled to inhale some air but couldn’t. “Placing a saw between the victim’s legs, the torturer would saw his way through the victim’s body until the poor asshole was completely sawed in half.”

Jax suddenly released me, letting go of my throat and bringing his hand back to his side. I dropped to the floor, landing on my stomach in an undignified heap. I couldn’t move, so I lay there, fighting to catch my breath. My throat still burned like a son of a bitch, and my vision was intermittent and clouding with the onset of dizziness. I heard the sound of Jax’s footsteps before I saw him approach me.

“How would you like to be hanged, drawn and quartered?” he asked as he glared down at me with hatred shining in his cold eyes. It was all I could do to turn my head and not look back at him.

“Please,” I whispered. My throat hurt too much to even attempt to speak.

“The common penalty for treason in England was to be hanged by the neck until nearly dead,” he told me as I watched him pulling his booted foot back.

“Jax, please don’t,” I begged, trying to crawl out of his way.

“Once the condemned person was hanged within an inch of his or her life,” he smoothly replied as he released his foot. It landed right in my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. Instinctively, I collapsed, folding in on myself as I cradled my injured stomach with both of my hands. I failed to see what Jax was doing before he recoiled and thrust his boot into my stomach again. I could hear the sound of my fingers breaking with the second impact. The pain in my stomach, however, was all encompassing. I couldn’t feel anything else.

“You would subsequently be disemboweled and have your entrails burned to ashes right in front of you. Then, if you were still awake,” he said, reaching down and gripping a handful of my hair and pulling me back up into a standing position. Despite how inordinately difficult it was for me to stand, since I couldn’t breathe or even feel my body’s lower half, I didn’t want him to rip my hair right out of my head. I tried my best to get back onto my feet.

With a good grasp on my hair, Jax pulled his other arm back and slammed his fist into my face. The vertebrae in my neck made a cracking sound as my head was thrown to the side. I could feel the sticky, viscous blood as it sprayed out of my nose and mouth. “The victim was lopped and divided into four separate parts before being decapitated,” he finished. When he released me, I crumpled onto the floor.

“Cut her,” Jax told the were as he stepped away from me. The were simply nodded as I lay there, totally unable to defend myself any longer. When the were’s fingernails slashed across my back, I screamed at the sudden, stinging agony.

“I think that’s enough of a history lesson for today,” Jax announced as he leaned over and gripped me around my waist. Hoisting me up onto his hip, he carried my ravaged body to the door with one arm. “Remember when you asked me what had become of your old friend, Bram?” he asked as he smiled down at me. The eye that was closest to him was swollen shut so I could barely see him any longer. “Let’s go find out!”

ELEVEN

Bram

Chicago, 1922

Dragon’s blood. Whatever it was, it managed to do one hell of a job. Fully incapacitated, I winced as the white hot tendrils of pain continued radiating outward from where the bullet entered my thigh. The wound surprised and dismayed me, as it was not healing itself. Ordinarily, my body would have begun the curative process of restoring my health as soon as I received any injury. In a matter of seconds, any damage or infliction would have been completely healed and no more than a fading memory.

I inspected the open wound and noticed bright red lines that appeared to be forking outward from the bullet hole. They resembled arteries or veins in their branched appearance. Whatever toxin was inside this dragon’s blood, it was spreading. Quickly. Gripping the hem of my shirt, I ripped it off effortlessly before shredding it. I began wrapping the fabric around my thigh, just slightly above the bullet hole. I secured the tattered piece of clothing with a knot as tightly as I could, hoping to cut off the poison and prevent it from accessing the remainder of my body. The dismal thought that I might possibly lose my leg altogether crossed my mind, but I decided I could “live” with one leg. Death was not a thought that caused me anything other than panic. But, I had to reason with myself that it was quite possible that the dragon’s blood was already polluting my body. Perhaps my life would be over in a matter of moments.

I was not in the least excited by the prospect of what I had to do next. Clenching my teeth with determination, I felt the tips of my fangs as they descended into my lower lip. Without further hesitation, I shoved my fingers into the open gash, palpating it to search for the lethal bullet. The agony was excruciating and contorted my face with its unrelenting pain, but I had to find the bullet, despite the urges to abandon my pursuit. No, I did not and I would not let up on the wound until I located the blasted thing. To do so would surely mean my subsequent death. It was true that I had no experience or knowledge of dragon’s blood before now, but I had to believe that O’Banion was being honest in his comment that the bullet would eventually kill me. But, I was still “alive” at the moment … and I fully intended to stay that way.

As my fingers delved deeper into the gash, the overwhelming pain affected my entire body. I tried to separate myself from the sensation and found it a most difficult task, though not insurmountable. Although I was still somewhat frightened at the prospect of my demise, there were two other emotions now rising from inside me.

Surprise. As well as disappointment.

I was surprised at how brilliantly Meg and O’Banion had managed to dupe me. My disappointment centered on my own complacency and former sense of bravado. I had practically marched into O’Banion’s as if I were expecting to attend a tea party.

I will never be made to look like a fool again! I swore to myself. From this moment forward, I vow to remain one step ahead of my enemies and those who would call themselves my friends.

Yes, I would never be caught unawares ever again. I was ashamed of myself, and I did not relish the feeling.

At last, the jagged edge of the bullet grazed my fingers. Steadying myself as best I could, I carefully wrapped my index finger and thumb around it and yanked with all my might. Happily, it came free. I could not stifle the loud yell that escaped me as the agony in doing so was indescribable. Regardless, though, the bullet was no longer inside me. I held it closer to my eyes in order to inspect it. To my amazement, it was nothing more than a clear cylinder. An empty, clear cylinder. Just as I feared, the dragon’s blood was now circulating inside of me … and rapidly spreading.

I tightened the tourniquet around my thigh, pulling it as taut as possible. I noticed that the branching red capillaries were no longer quite as red as they had been. Some of them were blanching to a bright pink even as I studied them. That was a good sign, I supposed, but it was obviously not good enough. The only thing I could think of doing was to drain and extract as much of the toxin as possible. I grasped both sides of my thigh firmly and bent forward, stretching my back as far as I could, and leaned over. Luckily, we vampires are not encumbered by many human ailments, such as muscle torpor, and we do not suffer from a limited range of motion. I was just as limber as a newly sprung sapling.

Sinking my fangs into the wound, I began sucking my own blood, drawing it out with a fierceness that only possessed me when I waited too long to feed and was well beyond hungry. However, hunger was not propelling me now, but the intense desire to survive. As soon as my mouth filled up with my blood, I spat it out, doing my best to ensure I did not swallow any of it. Then I planted my lips back onto the wound and sucked out another mouthful of blood from the hole, only to spit it out again. After the fourth mouthful, I rechecked the color of my veins that were spreading on the northern side of the tourniquet. The color was very much reduced now, to a dull pink. My efforts were working.

I returned to the task again, filling my mouth up with blood before spitting it out eight more times. Eventually, I noticed the branching veins were no longer pink at all and had become barely visible. Satisfied at my accomplishment, I concluded I had done all I could for the time being. I gripped the top of a chair beside me with my fingers and pulled myself up. I was still very weak and nearly collapsed as soon as I tried to stand up. I was not certain whether the frailty I was experiencing was owing to the blood I lost or because of the toxic strength of the poison that managed to take quite a toll on my body. Perhaps it was a little of both.

Limping so as not to put any weight on my injured leg, I hopped to the door that led out of O’Banion’s bedroom. As soon as I reached it, I took a quick glance down at my leg. I was beyond elated to see the color of my flesh above the wound had returned to normal! When I rechecked the injury, it appeared to be mending itself after all. Granted, the restorative process did not occur with lightning speed, as I was always accustomed, but I could see my flesh suturing itself together. And the branching red capillaries were now nowhere to be seen.

Thinking that perhaps my wound could benefit from increased blood flow, I nervously untied the tourniquet. I was more than aware that this small move could have proven a fatal mistake. I virtually reopened the pathway for the poison’s residue and whatever was left to infiltrate my body again. Once I untied my thigh and removed the tourniquet, I waited anxiously for a few seconds. But almost immediately, I began to feel a tingling, and the previous sensation of numbness evaporated. This feeling was familiar. It characterized my body’s ability to heal itself and overwhelmed me with relief. After another few seconds, the wound healed itself entirely.

Stepping forward, I gingerly placed my weight on my newly healed leg and found it good as new. Since time was of the essence, I could not rely on my legs to deliver me from O’Banion’s home. Instead, I chose to dematerialize and travel through the air, arriving safely outside. There was no sign of O’Banion, nor any of his minions. They obviously fled from the place just as I anticipated. In general, it is not good practice to be caught anywhere near the scene of a crime, especially when you, yourself, are the perpetrator. No matter. I would deal with O’Banion soon enough. For now, my thoughts centered only on Meg.

I continued to materialize and dematerialize, thereby covering the many miles that separated me from Anonymous. In perhaps only a minute, I reached my destination, whereas any vehicle, even the fastest, would have taken ten. When I arrived, the place was reduced to rubble. I spotted some embers still burning beneath the mounds of what was once a lucrative business. The fire must have been put out fairly recently as clouds of smoke still remained.

“Outta the way!” a man’s voice ordered from behind me. I wheeled around to see two firemen heading toward what was left of the former structure.

“Did everyone get out safely?” I called after them.

“As far as we can tell!” one of them responded, not bothering to look over his shoulder at me.

A group of gawkers were gathering along the sidewalk. They watched the firemen as they put out any remaining hot spots. Little by little, the crowd began to disperse, their interest rapidly waning as the minutes ticked by. In no time, all that remained of Anonymous were a few smoldering embers. What once must have raged like an inferno was now no longer a threat.

For perhaps two hours, I stood on the sidelines, watching the firemen putting out and eliminating any potential smoldering patches. Meanwhile, the police department arrived. They began to cordon off the premises with yellow barricade tape. They refused to allow me entrance into the building; and although I could have glamoured them into doing whatever I desired, I chose not to. I was not certain I was quite prepared for whatever I might find. Perhaps all that remained of Meg were her bones, and I was not certain what my reaction to the sight of that might be. I was in no rush to find out.

I watched the investigators talking to the firemen regarding various hypotheses about who could possibly be held responsible for the enormous conflagration. Of course, one word from me could have enlightened them, but I was not in any mood for conversation. Not at all. I quietly watched them, losing myself in my thoughts. A multitude of conflicting emotions was currently plaguing me—anger that Meg set me up, regret that our relationship could have come to this, and sorrow at the prospect of her untimely demise.

After everyone else had vacated the scene, the only people who remained were two firemen. They stayed behind to maintain the safety and integrity of what was now a crime scene. That was when I made my move. I crossed the street and approached them. Seeing me coming, they immediately banded together, blocking my path before I could even enter the building. I did not waste words by saying anything. I relied on my vampiric powers. As soon as I made eye contact with both of them, they simply stepped aside and graciously allowed me to pass.

I did not tarry long as there was not much to see. Anonymous was a relatively small speakeasy, and the relentless flames took no time at all to consume and destroy it. I uncovered a few mounds of rubble, searching for any signs of Meg, but I found nothing. When I approached what once would have been the rear of the establishment, and the place where Meg and I set up our “office,” I noticed one of the walls was completely collapsed. I could see directly into the dark alley. I stepped over a large pile of burnt wood and ashes and started down the shadowed alley, a volley of battling emotions wreaking havoc with my heart.

As I progressed down the filthy street, I was glad to move away from the firemen and the scene of the crime. I tried to decide what my next step should be. Certainly I intended to assassinate O’Banion, and Torrio too, for that matter. But other than that, I had no other plan. I did not know what more I could do, nor where I could go. I supposed I could just move away from Chicago altogether—and perhaps return to the sophistication and familiarity of Europe.

My speculative thoughts were interrupted when I heard a sound on my right side. I glanced over and noticed a few crates were piled beside the rear entrance of a grocery store. In front of the crates were overfilled bags of trash that were now being investigated by a swarm of rodents and a stray dog. I continued past the dog until I heard the strange sound again. It was almost as if someone were coughing. Turning around, I approached the messy crates as the dog instantly retreated, carrying what appeared to be a rib bone in his mouth.

“Bram?” I heard Meg’s voice in my head and it sounded hoarse and very slight. Hearing her voice in my thoughts was no surprise since we regularly communicated telepathically. Mental telepathy was one of the primary links between a vampire and his maker.

Even though Meg’s voice sounded as if it were coming from behind the crates, I could see nothing in the darkness. Taking a few steps nearer the crates, I glanced down, but could only see black shadows.

“Meg?” I said out loud as I crouched down onto my knees. Only then could I manage to make out the whites of her eyes against the darkness that concealed her. “My God,” I exclaimed as soon as my vision adjusted and I could see her more clearly.

She seemed like nothing more than charred remains. She was completely black, without any skin or hair remaining on her person. Her lips, nose and ears had been completely burned away, but her eyes were still intact, although the eyelids were missing. Her eyes appeared like white, glowing orbs. As I examined the length of her body, I could not help shuddering with shock and horror. A jolt of my former humanity raced down my spine. She was missing her right arm altogether, and her left arm was scorched to nothing more than a humerus bone. Both of her legs were also missing, and only the upper half of her pelvis remained. She reminded me of a gory, amputated Hallow’s Eve prop.

“Meg, what has become of your arms and legs?” I asked, trying to control my voice, lest it belie my shock at her appearance.

“Fire,” she answered slowly through her thoughts, and her voice sounded strained. “And foraging animals.”

My thoughts immediately recalled the image of the dog retreating into the alley, carrying the barbecued rib in its mouth … “Can you heal yourself?” I asked in thought, and my gaze traveled up to her rib cage. I noticed her spine was quite prominent because her ribs were mostly gone or broken off. She was also missing all of her vital organs—her liver, kidneys, intestine, heart—which led me to believe they were not especially vital to vampires.

“No, I am … too far gone.”

Given the deplorable condition of her current state, I could understand why I did not say anything for a few seconds as I studied her, feeling conflicted as to what I should have felt for her. I had every right to be furious and vengeful, consumed by the hatred towards her for what she did to me; and yet, I could not feel anything of the sort. All I sensed within myself was complete confusion.

“You are free now,” her voice sounded in my head again.

“Free?” I repeated out loud, shaking my head to say I did not understand her.

“I am your maker. Upon my death, you become responsible for yourself. Alone. You become your own master.”

“But you are not dead,” I argued out loud.

“No, not yet. I ask you now to deliver me to my death.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” I asked as I shook my head. From all accounts, she should have already been long dead. She no longer possessed a heart, so I could not drive a stake through it, and there was no more blood running through her veins. Meg was nothing more than charred remains and ashes. Charcoal. How she was even still communicating with me, I had no clue.

“You will find a vial beside me,” she thought.

I searched the immediate perimeter surrounding her. “What is it?” I asked as soon as I spied the object in question. I reached out and picked it up, studying the contents. The lime green liquid glowed from inside the glass vial.

“Dragon’s blood,” she answered, her tone deliberate and fading. “I managed to retrieve it before the fire ultimately consumed me. Luckily, dragon’s blood is impervious to fire.”

“Ah, the same thing with which you attempted to kill me,” I said out loud, with no endeavor to conceal my anger as I faced her and my jaw tightened with determination.

“Yes, the very same,” she answered and then she briefly paused. “But apparently, you are much more resourceful than I,” she finished with no amount of apology. I was not surprised.

“What do I do with it?”

“Empty the contents into my mouth. It will perform its job very quickly.”

I was quiet for a few seconds as I pondered her request. When next I spoke, my voice was cold, almost devoid of feeling. “I have every reason to refuse to comply with your wishes,” I said out loud as I stood up and glared at her. “You did not show me any mercy! For betraying me such as you did, I should leave you here, as you are presently, to live out eternity, reduced to nothing but the scorched ashes of your former self.”

“Yes,” she thought back. “But we both knew all along that you possess a former kindness, whereas I never did,” she said before pausing again. “I’m asking you for a small pinch of that kindness now, Bram. Please.”

My eyes fell onto the vial of dragon’s blood in my hand. I studied it for a few seconds as my mind raced, debating whether or not I should walk away and leave her to her fate. I found it difficult to reconcile my warring emotions. Another two or three seconds passed as my mind battled futilely with my emotions for an answer.

The unfortunate, crisply burnt creature at my feet peered up at me, her lidless eyes pleading to put an end to what I could only imagine was pain and suffering on a monumental level. I stared back at her coldly.

“No,” I answered before abruptly dropping the vial on the floor and watching it shatter against the hard ground.

“Nooo!” the corpse thought at me, her anger and agony reverberating through her voice. “You have no idea what you have done!!”

“Yes, actually I do. You betrayed me,” I seethed back at the skull now staring up at me without expression. “After everything we have been through. You were the only one I ever trusted, and the only one I followed blindly. I did whatever you asked of me, despite how hideous or evil the acts. But I did them in obedience to you, merely to pacify you, and ensure that we would always be together. I loved you as best I could, as best you would allow me. And, yet, you never returned an ounce of that love. You did nothing but treat me as if I were your puppet, even to the bitter end. I was never anything more than a device, an object to you.”

“Bram, do not let your present anger consume you,” the remains of the person I thought I knew responded. “You can still make this right.”

I looked down at the creature I once called master. One last time. “No,” I answered as I firmly shook my head. “My anger shall not consume me. It dies here and now. With you.”

Overwhelmed by a flood of emotions I did not want to feel, I turned on my toes and started for the deepest recesses of the alley.

I never looked back.

TWELVE

Dulcie

I could taste blood. Lots of it.

I spat out a salty mouthful as I heard Jax chuckling. He was carrying me down the hallway, presumably to wherever Bram was being kept. With one of my eyes swollen tightly shut, I had to rely on the other one. From my vantage point, which was slung underneath Jax’s arm, I couldn’t see too much, just Jax’s feet and the intermittent knots of the hardwood floor.

As far as Bram was concerned, I didn’t know what to expect. Part of me worried that he might already be dead, and forcing me to see his corpse was just a sick joke on Jax’s part. I desperately hoped that would not be the case. So what if it were Bram’s fault that I was currently in this predicament? Learning how deep his involvement in the illegal potions trade turned out to be definitely came as a surprise, but he was still my friend. Stupid on my part, maybe, but that was the truth. Bram might have made unsavory life choices but, at the end of the day, I was sure he would have done everything in his power to protect me. Unfortunately for me, however, “everything in his power” didn’t amount to much at the present moment.

Jax stopped walking as soon as we reached a door. I shuddered as bubbles of concern and worry churned my stomach. Turning the doorknob, Jax pushed the door to the side and walked in. I was fully expecting the worst, although I didn’t know how bad Bram’s situation might be. If I used myself as an example and the treatment I’d received thus far, I was more than sure that Bram wasn’t faring well; especially since it didn’t seem like Jax needed to keep Bram alive. Being relegated to collateral, thankfully, meant my life was basically guaranteed—at this moment in time, anyway. But Bram wasn’t collateral—Bram was a liability. He was a very powerful vampire who, if he managed to free himself, could paint this house with Jax’s blood in return for the offense and inconvenience Jax had inflicted on him.

Without any warning, Jax simply dropped me onto the floor. I landed on my stomach with a grunt. Although I tried to brace myself for the fall, I only ended up smashing my already broken fingers into the hard surface of the ground. I winced as the jolts of pain radiated through me, instantly bringing tears to my eyes. But my suffering only served to fortify my resistance. There was no way in this hell that I would allow such a mean bastard as Jax to see me cry. I blinked the tears back from my good eye and realized I couldn’t breathe. Landing on my stomach ejected the wind right out of my lungs. For a short time, it was a struggle just for me to inhale a shallow breath. I tried to, but the burning sensation deep inside my chest prevented me, making it nearly impossible.

“And how are we doing at this hour, my fanged friend?” Jax asked cheerfully. Leaving me in the corner of the room, he walked over to the farthest side.

Once I finally regulated my breathing, I pushed my palms against the cold floor. I had to be extra careful not to put any weight or pressure on my broken fingers. They’d already swollen up to twice their normal size, and a purple and magenta hue now colored them as well. But I wasn’t too concerned with my fingers at the moment. I had lots bigger things to worry about. Pushing myself up into a seated position, I hoped I could better take stock of my surroundings. Of course, I was fully aware that I was still completely naked, but that fact no longer bothered me. There was no room for embarrassment when you’re scared of losing your life.

As soon as I could focus with my one good eye, I spotted Bram. He was lying prostrate on the floor with his arms extended on either side of him. Facing the ceiling, he seemed to be strapped to some sort of … machine. It was huge and grey as it beeped periodically. I noticed it was also plugged into the wall. I found it quite hard to see exactly what was going on since I had to rely on only one of my eyes. Naturally, my depth perception was adversely affected. From what I managed to make out, though, there were red tubes attached to either side of Bram’s neck and also on his wrists—tubes that led straight into the machine. The machine had a low, humming sound, and I guessed that whatever it was must have been in operating mode. I looked closer at Bram’s wrists, and that’s when I realized the tubes I saw weren’t actually red in color but clear—it was Bram’s blood that gave them the red tint.

“You’re draining him?” I asked incredulously as my mouth dropped open in shock and the gravity of my words appalled me. I was so surprised to witness such monstrous sadism that I could barely register how much it hurt when I spoke.

“You’re very observant,” Jax replied with another smile for me. He was standing beside Bram, who seemed to have succumbed to death itself—his skin was so grey and lackluster.

“But why?” I demanded.

“Two reasons,” Jax answered as he looked down at Bram and then at me. “First, because I want to keep him in a weakened, fragile state. Vampires, as you know, are very powerful; and I don’t have the means, much less the interest, to constantly be bothered or contending with him.”

“And … the other … reason?”

Jax shrugged, and his casual demeanor suddenly infuriated me. I couldn’t understand how he managed to be so nonchalant about physically torturing Bram and me; but the fact remained that he was. And his obvious pleasure in hurting us so severely only added insult to injury.

If I live through this, I will kill him, I promised myself. I will wipe that fucking grin off his face permanently.

“The other reason? Come now, sweet cheeks, that should be obvious to someone like you from the ANC!” he said as he shook his head like I was slow. “The blood from a master vampire will fetch me a huge profit on the black market,” he finished. As he looked down at Bram, dropping to his haunches, he patted Bram’s chest. “You, my toothy friend, are going to make Jax piles and piles of money.”

“Don’t … you fucking touch … him,” I seethed, finding it nearly impossible to enunciate each word. The pain in my chest refused to be ignored.

“I have to admit how surprised I am,” Jax said as he eyed me with a smile and stood up. “Your loyalty to this creature floors me. Even after you must have realized this … former man,” he started as he glanced at Bram’s still form before facing me again, “is the reason that you’re stuck in this mess! Yet you still remain as loyal and true to him as a faithful dog.”

“No, Jax, you’re the reason … I’m stuck in this mess,” I argued, as I shook my head. I brought my hand to my chest when I found it more difficult to breathe.

Jax sidled up next to me. “I fear you invested all of your loyalty in the wrong person,” he started. He kicked my foot with his boot, somewhat gentler than before, and I scooted backwards to get away from him. “Maybe if I persist in beating you within an inch of your life, all of that misplaced loyalty will be transferred to me.”

“Never, you sick fuck!” I squeaked out, as even the smallest movement incapacitated me. My state of continued weakness surprised and even scared me. I was sure that I needed medical attention or, failing that, having my magic restored to me. But obviously, Jax refused to allow either possibility. I was still struggling to catch my breath, and my heart was racing with the unsuccessful effort of trying to inhale any air. Every time I sucked in the slightest bit, it felt like someone was stabbing me with a machete in the chest. A crackling noise seemed to be coming from inside my lungs that also gave me reason to worry. I suspected Jax had probably broken one of my ribs when he’d kicked me, and my broken rib, in turn, must have pierced through one of my lungs. The longer I considered that possibility, the more convinced I became that such was the case.

At the thought, my heart began to increase its painful thumping, and I had to try even harder to force myself to calm down again. There was no use in panicking—all that did was put an unnecessary strain on my respiratory system. If my lung were truly punctured, I couldn’t even manage to take in enough air anyway. Freaking out would only result in me passing out.

“And I don’t appreciate being referred to as a ‘sick fuck,’” Jax said as he shook his head and walked back toward Bram. When he reached the other side of the room, he grinned at me, but his boyish smile contrasted too much with the revolting mind behind it. “I am merely following my orders, sweet cheeks. So don’t paint me out to be something I’m not.”

“Orders … from whom?” I again demanded.

“Never you mind,” Jax answered. “It’s on a strict, need-to-know basis, and you, my naked friend, do not need to know,” he finished. Staring at me up and down, I knew he was obviously attempting to humiliate me again. It didn’t work. Only because I wouldn’t allow it to. Apparently losing interest in me, Jax returned his attention to Bram.

“My, my! But aren’t you looking pale these days!” he said. I knew he was only pretending to sound concerned as he addressed Bram; and he even shook his head, like Bram’s near-death condition was not even his fault. Like it was all a big catastrophe that couldn’t have been changed or helped. “Well … you look a bit paler than usual, I guess.”

“Is he dead?” I asked despite my difficulty in breathing, let alone speaking.

“I sincerely don’t know,” Jax answered. He narrowed his eyes on Bram and appeared to study him for a few seconds. “Let’s find out, shall we?” Then he reached forward and yanked the tubes out of Bram’s neck and his wrists. Bram didn’t respond. “Hmm,” Jax purred as he walked around Bram’s still body and approached me. Grabbing me by my hair, he forced me into a standing position. I struggled to get onto my feet and was eventually successful, even though the attempt nearly drained all of my strength. I suddenly felt light-headed and still couldn’t take a decent breath. Stars were already spinning in my vision.

I was only slightly aware of Jax securing my arms behind my back; and then I felt the heavy weight of the Netherworldly iron handcuffs as he locked them in place. My shoulders immediately began to ache again. Jax gripped me by my elbow and impelled me forward, toward Bram. Then he glanced down at me and shook his head.

“You look like something the cat dragged in,” he remarked as he reached forward and swiped his index finger over my mouth. When he pulled his hand away, his finger was covered in my blood.

“Fuck you,” I managed to peep, although my lungs burned with the effort.

His only response was to yank me forward as he approached Bram. Still grasping onto my elbow, he leaned over the vampire and held his index finger, the one with my blood on it, underneath Bram’s nose. There was no response. Jax gripped Bram’s cheeks and squeezed them until it looked like Bram was making a fish face. Then he shoved his bloody finger inside Bram’s mouth. As soon as Bram tasted my blood, his eyes immediately snapped open, and the whites were fully visible because they suddenly grew so wide. His fangs instantly began to descend before Jax snatched his finger away with a snicker.

“Still alive!” Jax exclaimed in a victorious tone. “And I’m nothing less than astounded! I took one look at you and figured you had to be dead, but apparently, it takes a lot to kill you bloodsuckers!”

Jax glanced back at me with another quick smile before he started jerking me forward. I nearly tripped over his feet as he pushed me down on top of Bram. I couldn’t stifle my scream as soon as my chest and Bram’s made contact. The burning sensation inside my lungs erupted like a volcano. I can only compare it to a dull blade being driven right through me. Still struggling with every breath, I knew the danger of passing out was very real. If I lost consciousness now, I wouldn’t be able to talk Bram down from draining me of all my blood.

As soon as I thought of Bram, I could feel his hands wrapping around my upper arms. He sat up, forcing me to move upward with him, and then he stared down at me. His face was completely colorless, as well as expressionless. Even his eyes were lifeless. As long as I’d known Bram, he’d never resembled a corpse. His incredibly handsome good looks and his easy charm always masked the fact that he was the undead. Now, however, he looked the part and then some.

“Bram?” I began. I had to talk to him, to reason with him before he was completely enslaved by his own bloodlust; meanwhile, I was currently playing the role of blood donor. “Bram? It’s me,” I said as the stabbing agony in my chest and lungs became an all-out conflagration.

But I sensed no recognition in Bram’s eyes. There was nothing there anymore. Except for the glassy stare of bloodlust. It was obvious he was starving and very nearly dead, and that meant he was in total and complete survival mode. All at once, without any warning, Bram thrust me forward. In a split second, he sank his fangs deep into my neck. A loud scream echoed through me, but the actual sound came out as feeble and breathy. I tried to pull away from him, but all my efforts were futile. I was so weak now, not to mention my hands which were tightly cuffed behind my back and, as such, useless.

There’s no way out this time! I thought suddenly. Then another fear occurred to me. Bram’s going to suck me dry right now, and there’s nothing I can do about it!

I could feel my body emptying my life into Bram’s mouth. Tightening his grip around my upper arms, he pierced his fangs even deeper into my carotid artery. My heart thundered in my chest and my poor, ragged lungs burned with the wasted effort of trying to breathe. I could hear Jax chuckling in the background, and if I had never wanted to destroy him before, I ached to do the job now.

“Well, then, I suppose I should leave you both to this sweet reunion,” he said as he headed for the door. I refused to give him any reply whatsoever. Closing my good eye shut tightly, I desperately tried to figure out a way to extricate myself from Bram. I heard Jax close the door behind him along with the even more disheartening sound of him locking it.

“Bram?” I started again despite how badly my chest burned with any attempt to talk. “Please, I know … you can … hear me,” I slowly told him, resorting to my only defense. I had no way to fend him off; and lacking the use of my hands, I was basically a sitting duck. Not only that, but as my life drained away, I could feel Bram growing stronger. His grasp on me was now more of a stranglehold. I could also see the color returning to his skin. None of this, however, surprised me. Fae blood to a vampire was like crack to a coke addict. I knew it would make him stronger and more powerful than any type of human blood. My biggest problem now was my rapidly weakening condition.

“Bram, I need you to … to hear me,” I whispered as spinning stars began to fill my line of vision. I felt myself falling forward, but Bram jerked me back upright, placing one of his hands between my breasts. Slurping with satisfaction, he continued to pull on my neck as my eyelids grew increasingly heavier.

“Bram,” I heard my voice, but it sounded so far away. Seeing only stars in the blackness before my eyes, at least I could no longer feel the stabbing pain in my chest. No, I felt nothing but warmth, and a heavy, wet sensation—as if I’d just been submerged inside a Jacuzzi. One of the swirling stars that fizzed and blipped before my eyes began to grow brighter, and then larger. As I watched it carefully, it began to swallow up all the other stars, steadily burning more brightly until it fully enveloped me.

THIRTEEN

Bram

“Bram?”

A sound.

Cocking my head to one side, I listened for it again, half wondering if the noise only existed inside my mind. Of that, however, I was not certain.

A word! Suddenly, the thought occurred to me. The sound I heard was a word.

But I could not comprehend what a word meant. It did not matter to me. The sound, whether it was a word or not, held little consequence to me. All I could realize at the moment was the unparalleled warmth that was now flowing through my empty veins. Warmth. Sustenance that brought with it nourishment, strength, and clarity. The dense fog that was previously shrouding my mind was finally beginning to dissipate. Almost as if it were being blown away by a relentless and determined wind. My thoughts were forming more clearly now, and much more rapidly. I was also becoming increasingly aware of my body—and my previous feebleness was evaporating quickly. I could now move my fingers and toes. It no longer felt as if an enormous weight were caving in on me, burying me into a pit of darkness in which I wanted no part.

“I need you to … to hear me.”

There it was again! That sound. Words. A voice.

Upon further contemplating the intrusive sound, I started to derive a better understanding. If it were truly a voice, then logically speaking, it meant it had to belong to someone. Yet, here, in this empty space and darkness, I was all alone. I could see no one else and nothing else. I was relaxing in the realm of my thoughts, a vacation of the mind, not of the eyes.

“Bram.”

Yes, it was most definitely a voice and that of a woman. The tone was soft and husky. There was something about it in particular, something that instantly flooded through me with blazing heat. It was a familiar voice that immediately sent me to a wonderful place where I felt light and good.

Bram. Bram. Bram. The voice echoed in my head, growing stronger, and louder.

My name! I concluded happily.

The image of a woman suddenly appeared behind my closed eyelids. I wanted to embrace the very projection of her, despite it residing strictly in my mind’s eye. Fantastic sensations of contentedness and radiant warmth began increasing within me exponentially. The woman was undeniably the most beautiful female I had ever beheld. Honey-colored hair framing a heart-shaped face, and skin the color of fresh cream. Judging by her round, high cheekbones, pert nose and large eyes, she almost appeared childlike. But as soon as I beheld the emerald depths of her enticing, magnificent eyes, any ideas of her possessing a childlike innocence vanished. Her eyes reflected hard-earned knowledge, gained from actual experience. Their haunting, verdant depths had been shaped by a harsh reality, inured by the life she had chosen to lead. And, yet, throughout everything she had witnessed, and all the horror she had seen, her eyes had not lost their hopeful luster, nor the goodness that once existed deep inside them.

“Dulcie,” I whispered. Hearing her name on my tongue, my eyes suddenly fluttered open. It took a moment or two for them to grow accustomed to the brightness of my surroundings. Eventually, I found myself in a room that was artificially illuminated by lamplight. My gaze was drawn to a wall that appeared to be twenty feet or so away from me. There was a painting upon the wall of an English landscape. It took me a few seconds to recognize the painting, and then the room surrounding it. But when my memory returned, I knew the painting, the room, both belonged in my chateau.

I was home.

I was gradually becoming aware of myself and my present surroundings, as if I were awakening from a deep and encompassing dream. At the feel of a delicate weight in my lap, or perhaps it was merely pressure, I glanced down. It took me less than a second to recognize the naked body lying there. Her tiny, little face was bloodied, bruised and swollen, and her arms were pinned behind her back with iron cuffs.

As soon as my realization that this trampled and abused creature was Dulcie, my Dulcie, I could not contain my shock and anger. Finding her as she was, unclothed, I naturally wondered if she had also been violated. That putrid thought besieged my entire being, and I was overcome with so much ire that I began to shake. My jaw instantly tightened and I could feel the points of my fangs jabbing into my lower lip. I did not understand how she came to be in such a terrible state, but I considered my next mission would be to find out what monster treated her with such disdain and disregard.

“Dulcie,” I said out loud, shaking her gently, while also fearing she was no longer alive. Her eyes were closed, and I could see she was not coherent. I could only hope … I dared not allow myself to finish that thought. My poor, addled brain was gradually returning from the precipice of nothingness on which it was so precariously suspended previously.

Dulcie did not respond. In my slight jostling, I caused her hair to fall away from her neck, where I observed two dark holes, each leaking fresh blood. Almost instantly, a sense of grotesque shame began to develop from deep inside me. It painstakingly climbed its way through my gut and eventually lodged in my throat. I was instantly reminded of the human sensation of vomiting, which was an act I had not done in centuries. My nausea was slowly replaced by something even worse, remorse and guilt—two emotions as thick and tenacious as tar.

“No!” I shouted as soon as I realized what must have happened. Of course, I was the perpetrator—I was the one who must have done this to her. “No!” I screamed again, consciously rejecting the thoughts that were storming through my head. I might have drunk her blood, but I was certain I could never have mistreated her in such a merciless way. And the only reason I could have allowed myself to nearly bleed her dry was if I lacked all control, and the bloodlust had completely driven me into a mindless state.

Clenching my eyes shut again, I tried to banish even the slightest possibility that I could have done this to her. As soon as my eyelashes touched the tops of my cheeks, a book of recent memories suddenly appeared and opened in my mind. I was plagued to relive one recollection after another. I remembered being strapped to a machine, which extracted all of my blood; and being pummeled and manhandled by the same thugs who were once following orders under my command; and being drained to near death and then … and then, depleting the blood of the one woman …

“Dulcie!” I shook her again, this time more violently as my guilt and panic combined until I could not tell one from the other.

If I have killed her, I started to think, but quickly banished the thought. Now was not the time for casting judgments. Dulcie needed me, and there was no time to squander. I had to take swift action.

Turning to Dulcie, I watched her chest rise and fall with the short, ragged breaths she tried to inhale. Her blood, now coursing through my veins, had saved my life. Of that much I was certain; but now I had to give it back or she would die right here, cradled in my arms on the cold, hard ground. At that moment, my only thought, my only purpose, was to save her life.

Of course, I could not return all of the blood I had taken, I cautioned myself. To do so would have put me in the same dangerous state that Dulcie suffered from originally. I could not be brought back to the threshold of the true death, or I would risk draining Dulcie permanently this time. Bloodlust was an inherently difficult thing to control and placing myself back in that battle would have been plain foolhardy.

Looking down at her frail form, I longed for more time. Time was the one ingredient that Dulcie so desperately needed, and yet, it was slipping through our fingers like sand. Lifting my wrist to my lips, I could instantly feel my fangs lengthening. I bit down hard and deep. Blood immediately emerged, bubbling up from the puncture holes. Holding my wrist at Dulcie’s mouth, I sealed her lips around the punctures and squeezed her cheeks together, thereby forcing her mouth open. My blood could heal her … and I was confident that it would.

The only problem now was Dulcie did not respond to my blood offering. She was out cold. And in no time, my own body would begin knitting my small wounds back together again. I could not wait for her to awaken eventually. I adjusted my weight, moving with the utmost care very slowly and deliberately. I did not want any of my movements to further injure her.

I kept my wrist at her lips and waited for the blood to fill up her mouth, allowing gravity to take it down into her throat. I used the two forefingers on my other hand to massage her throat in brisk strokes, coaxing the life-giving fluid down gently. It had the desired effect; I could feel her swallowing the red nectar. After her first gulp, Dulcie’s eyes popped open. She appeared to be in shock, and only seconds later, she shut them again. But her lips remained attached to my wrist and she continued to tug at the wounds with long, deep swallows. It almost seemed as though her body recognized its blood and instinctively complied.

I needed only to hold her now … while paying very close attention to my own physical state. I gritted my teeth together and closed my eyes, hell-bent on keeping my true inner nature at bay. It was a virtual balancing act, giving Dulcie the blood that could save her life, and yet not allowing myself the risk of venturing so close to the brink of true death once again.

When I looked back down at my patient, I hoped I was not imagining it, but it appeared that the color was returning to her skin. It was quite difficult to determine whether there was a true change in her pallor, since she was in such a reduced condition. I brushed her hair away from her face as a bolt of angry rage welled up inside me. I felt certain that Jax was the responsible party, and the one who set me up so that I nearly drained her. I was also sure he knew exactly what he was doing when he reunited us. He had to have been well aware of the risks involved. Naturally, I was not in the least surprised by his hatred toward me; but doing what he had to a precious fae woman, half his size, was nothing less than diabolical.

I will have his head, I thought to myself. And I shall make him suffer far greater than the suffering he so ruthlessly inflicted on Dulcie.

I began to grow weaker, and at the same time, the bloodlust I tried to control was slowly creeping in again. I had to disconnect myself from her immediately and hope that the amount of blood I gave her was enough to revive her. With every swallow Dulcie took, I had to stifle my need to bite back, and I had to forcibly avert my eyes from her tender, pale, succulent throat … No! Detaching her mouth from my wrist, it took a few moments for me to regain my composure. I felt Dulcie shifting in my arms and then—grace be to the gods!—a groan escaped her lips. She was not conscious, at least not fully conscious yet. The groan she made was just a small protest at being removed from that which was essentially her only lifeline.

“There now, my sweet,” I cooed down at her. Suddenly, it occurred to me to check her pulse. I reached for her wrist and placed my two forefingers gently on top of her tiny vein and waited. Her pulse was very faint, but I could detect it. Knowing it was there filled me with a wave of relief.

“You will come through this and be all the stronger,” I whispered into her tiny ear. I could not help noticing how her skin seemed to literally be absorbing a rosier hue as my blood filled her veins. Just as her blood brought me back from the brink of true death, mine was reciprocating for her now, nurturing her weakened body and filling her with the essence of life once more. And just as I hoped and willed, the antibodies in my blood collaborated to heal her, exactly as they healed my wounds.

Running my fingers through her hair, I was mesmerized at her recovery. Little by little, the swelling surrounding one of her eyes began to shrink, and the bluish tone of her skin started to blanch to a creamy ivory. I glanced down and wished there was something I could do to free her from the iron manacles that held her wrists together behind her back, but there was nothing I could do. My gaze shifted to her fingers as I noticed how swollen they were, especially the ones on her left hand. I held her hand up by her wrist as far as the shackles would allow and studied it. Gnashing my teeth, the cold vengeance I harbored continued its destructive path, circulating throughout my body and resonating even more dangerously as I realized the extent of harm Jax had waged on her tiny body.

He broke every one of her fingers and quite possibly her whole hand, I thought to myself, seething with rage.

But as I observed her, the fat swelling surrounding her fingers began to subside, and I could hear the sounds of her bones when they reset themselves and began to knit together. I was relieved that she had not yet regained consciousness, as the process of healing her bones would have undeniably caused her a great deal of suffering. Or so I imagined. Healing my bones and wounds did not cause me any pain, but logically, that was probably owing to the condition of my body, which was, for all intents and purposes, dead. Consequently, I no longer possessed the viable nerve endings that a live person would have.

Regardless, I could not contain my satisfaction at knowing the blending of what was left of my own blood and hers was not only resurrecting her but also healing her in the process. Were I an optimistic person, or perhaps one who searched for silver linings in the midst of trouble, I would have to say Dulcie’s spontaneous recovery was definitely a silver lining. Especially after nearly being bled to death by me!

“Bram?”

Hearing her sweet voice, I glanced down and smiled at her inquisitive expression. “Yes, sweet,” I answered as I tenderly ran my fingers down her face. There are no words that could even begin to describe the flood of relief I felt at seeing her dear, little body restored again. “You have been through quite a harrowing ordeal, my brave, little beauty.”

“You’re still alive?” she asked, and her voice sounded raw and throaty. “I’m still alive?” she added before her eyes began to inspect her body. Only then did she seem to notice that she was naked. She glanced back up at me, and the rosy hue that filled her cheeks only hinted at her embarrassment. I was so grateful to see life in her face again, that her blushing practically elated me.

I failed to respond immediately, but I quickly removed my shirt and immediately pulled it over her head to cover her as best I could in an attempt to honor her feminine sense of modesty. “If alive is what you call this, I suppose I am,” I answered as I tried to distract her from her present discomfiture.

“You saved me?” she asked, still sounding hoarse as if she were just emerging from a deep slumber.

“Yes, little sweet.”

She did not say anything more but simply nodded, satisfied with the brevity of my words. Then she dropped her head back into my lap. I began running my fingers through her hair again, while trying to devise a way to keep her safe. However, we were still ensnared in a completely unpredictable and dangerous situation.

No sooner did that thought enter my mind when the door opened. Jax and his two goons immediately walked into the room, and I felt my previous sense of optimism swiftly deflate.

“Ah, silly me, it looks like I left the little fairy in here too long,” Jax said cheerfully. He eyed Dulcie with visible joviality in his expression. Then his gaze left Dulcie and landed on me. “I see you’ve adjusted for my mistake,” he said finally.

Blazing with hatred, I could not deny the rage that coursed through me as I shifted Dulcie off my lap. I was very careful as I set her down on the hardwood floor. I noticed she was still lucid, although she did not reply. I assumed she was reserving her comments since her throat was so raw. Her gaze remained fixed on me, almost as if she refused to grant Jax the courtesy of a single glance his way. Or perhaps it was fear in her eyes, fear from being separated from the one person in the room who would keep her safe.

Filled with the magic of Dulcie’s fae blood, my former strength was not only intact again, but even more pronounced. I easily materialized from the far side of the room to the entrance in a matter of seconds. When I landed, reappearing instantly in front of Jax, he simply lifted what I recognized as a pistol. Apparently, I failed to notice it when he entered the room. He fired a shot and the bullet hit me in my shoulder, throwing me off balance for an instant. Of course, the bullet Jax used was not meant for an ordinary human—and from the instant sensation of burning that I felt, I knew for a fact that this one had to be composed of pure silver. While it could not kill me, it would and did slow me down. In a flash, Jax’s two minions pounced on me.

Immediately, my arms were restrained behind me, and the Netherworldly iron cuffs were snapped around my wrists before I could react or object. Taking a step forward and maximizing the strength inherent to his Loki ancestry, Jax shoved me hard in my chest. I was immediately propelled backwards through the air until my back ungraciously smashed against the wall and I fell straight down. I found it rather difficult to right myself without the use of my arms and hands, not to mention the silver bullet lodged inside me, which was performing quite well in its purpose of weakening me.

Jax’s two thugs overcame me before I could move or stop them. Binding my legs with Netherworldly iron chains, they wrapped me up so securely, I was no more threatening to them than a newborn kitten. Jax said nothing more to me, but I watched him nod at one of his henchmen before he obediently approached Dulcie. Jax just strolled into the room and observed everyone leisurely, as if he did not have another concern and all the time in the world.

“The way you abused Dulcie is nothing less than disgraceful,” I spat out, motioning to Dulcie by cocking my head in her direction. “It is only a matter of time, Loki, but I will have your head.”

Jax responded to my threat by laughing raucously. When his cruel attempt at humor was over, he faced me with narrowed, slitty eyes. His former glee and good cheer were no longer present. “How, pray tell, do you plan to free yourself, vampire?” he asked as he shook his head. “You just don’t get it, do you? There is no freeing yourself anymore. This is your last stop. You’re on the road to nowhere, and you’ve just arrived.”

I watched one of his men pick Dulcie up and carry her toward the door. When I noticed the way her head rolled back, I could only assume she must have lost consciousness again.

“She is not fully healed!” I exclaimed angrily. My expression should have conveyed to Jax that I was not in the mood for any more arguments. “And she has not received enough of my blood. If you move her now, you will only kill her.”

“She’s got plenty of blood,” Jax retorted as he faced his man again. “Load the little upstart into the car.”

“Where are you taking her?” I demanded.

“Far and away,” Jax answered as his sadistic gaze fell on me again. “I’ve got strict orders to remove her from this house and deliver her forthwith to my boss.” He whistled to his other brute who immediately approached me. “As for you, you’re about to undergo round two,” Jax added before the repulsive creature gripped me by my shoulder and dragged me toward the infernal machine.

“You bloody …” I started to curse.

“I’m pretty sure fae and master vampire blood will provide the users with a trip to new, soaring heights, like they could never experience before,” Jax interrupted with a sardonic chuckle.

“All four tubes, boss, or just these two?” his servant asked.

“Just the two,” Jax answered, with his wretched gaze still riveted on me. “No reason to rush this time. I’m sure our fanged friend would prefer that the precious few hours he has left on this earth will last as long as is physically possible.”

The grunt simply nodded before turning back to face me. Then he picked up the empty tubes that were lying on the floor and shoved each one into the veins of my arms. I tried to ignore the stinging pain of the dull needle as it entered me.

“You will remain here. I want you to stay with the vampire until he’s drained … completely,” Jax instructed his goon. “Then, you are to report back to me, confirming that he no longer exists and will not be any further obstacle in our plans. At which time I’ll tell you where to meet us.”

“This is not the end, Rochefort!” I screamed at Jax’s exiting back. “I will come for you, and I will find you no matter where you try to hide your miserable carcass! And, when I do, you will rue the day you chose to lay your wretched hands on her!”

The only response I received was the echo of Jax’s deep, hearty laugh. Then the door closed behind him.

FOURTEEN

Bram

“Whatever Jax is currently paying you for your services, I will triple it,” I offered the brute who was tasked to vampsit me. He would only stay until the grey box drained me of all my vitality and I was no more hazardous than an empty vessel. He appeared quite comfortable, sitting in a fold-up chair just beside the door with one leg crossed over his knee, thumbing through the pages of a tired Penthouse magazine with vigor. I wondered where he discovered the offensive rag, since I had not purchased or provided such depravity inside the walls of my chateau.

“I ain’t interested,” the simpleton replied without bothering to spare me a glance.

“You drive a hard bargain,” I continued. I was lying prostrate on the hard floor with both of my arms extended from my body, and tubes trailing from the insides of my arms into the machine behind me. Having been connected to the machine for perhaps twenty minutes by this time, I again endeavored to charm my captor. “I shall offer you the sum of eight times your current salary, but that is as much as I shall offer.”

The goon finally tore his eyes away from the filthy periodical that was doing a superior job of capturing his attention. He smiled at me, revealing a mouthful of decaying, yellow teeth. “Get this straight: there ain’t no amount of money that could persuade me to let you go.”

“I beg to differ. I believe you are simply intending to appear obstinate and unreasonable, not to mention very rude,” I responded. Surprisingly, I was still quite strong even though my clarity in thinking and my superhuman strength were fast evaporating with every passing minute that I remained attached to the machine. “Surely, you are aware that every man has his price.”

“Not this man,” the buffoon answered before returning his undivided attention to the smut. I could not resist my repulsion when I noticed the large perspiration stains beneath his armpits. The belly he carried protruded so far that it seemed to be cradled by his raised leg. To say he was quite an inelegant specimen was a vast understatement.

“May I ask, what is your name?” I persisted. I dared to hope that the two of us could cultivate some type of personal connection. Perhaps then I could penetrate his sense of resistance and allow him to warm up to me. If I could nurture his ego adequately enough, my hope was that I could also manipulate him into freeing me.

“Drajow,” he answered absentmindedly, although his attention was clearly still fastened on the images in the magazine. My worst scenario at that moment was that he would become so stimulated by the subject matter he was perusing, he would resort to fondling himself in my presence. I could not imagine a more undignified preamble to my death.

“Drajow,” I repeated, trying to determine how much time had passed since I started our conversation. I estimated the wretched machine would require perhaps two hours to drain me completely of blood, and therefore, time was a supreme priority. “Perhaps you could name your price then.”

The filthy creature glanced over at me, his bushy eyebrows conspiring in the center of his forehead until they appeared more like two black caterpillars that were mating upon his brow. “You ain’t hearin’ me,” he said flatly. “There ain’t no amount o’ money that’d make me disobey the boss’s orders.”

Sighing inwardly, I could only bemoan my bad fortune. Time was passing just as quickly as the blood was draining from my body. I had to win this oaf over sooner rather than later. “Are you are so afraid of Jax that you cannot accept a scintillating offer when it is being presented right before your nose?” Then it occurred to me that the money was not enough. “I would also ensure that your protection and safety were secured, my good fellow. You could retire from this barbaric lifestyle and spend the remainder of your days in a haven of luxury,” I continued. “You could enjoy the wealthy man’s version of the witness relocation program.”

Drajow laughed at me as he shook his head. “That all sounds fine an’ good, but it ain’t Jax I’m afraid of.”

“Whom could it be then?”

“The Darkness,” he replied before taking a deep breath. Then he crossed himself, as if he were superstitious and the very words possessed the power to bring misfortune down upon him.

“The Darkness?” I repeated as I shook my head, clearly at a loss. “What is the Darkness?”

“It ain’t a what, it’s a who.”

“Very well, then,” I corrected myself. I was growing increasingly impatient, and I did not have the luxury of time for such trivial conversations. I needed to understand exactly what I was up against in order to finagle my way out of my current debacle. I was also beginning to feel more than convinced that this half-wit, Drajow, could be very easily manipulated. I just had to devise the best way in which to influence him—a process which was, unfortunately, somewhat timely. “Who is the Darkness?”

Drajow shrugged. “Ain’t got a clue,” he answered. “No one does.”

“How is it possible to be afraid of someone whose identity is unknown to you?”

“Them be the scariest kinds o’ sons o’ bitches,” Drajow answered. I did not fail to notice his cross expression, as if he were growing irritated that I distracted his attention away from his … reading material. “The Darkness ain’t got any faces or names, but they call the shots around here all the same. You never know where they’re lurkin’ or what they’re hearin’, ya know what I’m sayin’?”

“I see, so this Darkness person is the one in charge, and the only person who calls the shots, as you say?” I asked, but a fog of confusion began to settle inside my head. I glanced at the tubes that ran from my arms as I tried to ignore the obfuscation, but I knew it was a losing proposition. Clearly, I was living on borrowed time.

“Yep,” Drajow answered. “The Darkness is like the mastermind o’ this whole rebellion—like that dude behind the curtain in the Oz movie.”

“And does Jax also obey the orders given by the Darkness?” I inquired, struggling to maintain my frail grip on my sanity. I was at the doorstep of delirium; I could feel it creeping in. But I hoped to fend off the inevitable for another few seconds—just long enough to learn the secret that would unlock this fool’s loyalty …

“Yep, the Darkness gives Jax his orders, along with everyone else,” he replied with a brief nod.

“Does Jax know the identity of the Darkness?”

“No,” Drajow repeated as he shook his head emphatically. His caterpillar eyebrows furrowed in the center of his forehead again. “You ain’t listenin’! I already told you that.”

“Well, forgive me for repeating myself,” I muttered. My eyes fell onto the tubes inserted in my arms, and I nodded my head in that direction. “But I am currently losing vast amounts of blood at a disconcerting rate, and I am afraid it is beginning to affect my ability to converse intelligently.” I paused for a few seconds before smiling with a wide grin. My only hope now was that my sense of timing would not be premature. “Perhaps you could delay the machine somehow?”

“Nope,” Drajow answered immediately, his attention fully devoted to his magazine again. “I don’t wanna hang around here any longer than I gotta.”

I refused to allow myself to accept such disappointment. Instead, I resumed my line of questioning while hoping that I might discover the chink in his armor. “I see, and has this Darkness been giving Jax his orders all along?”

“Stop yer questions,” Drajow answered as he shook his head and appeared more than just perturbed. “There ain’t never been any reward for a thug who talked too much.”

I assumed he was afraid he would get into serious trouble if he continued to answer my questions. “That is a reasonable point, certainly,” I remarked with an awkward shrug, despite my ungraceful position on the floor. “But it does not apply to your situation. My life will end in … what? Perhaps another hour or so?”

“Yeah, prolly,” Drajow answered with a swift glance at his wristwatch. Then he gave me a short nod. “I’d say you got maybe another hour an’ thirty, prolly.”

My lifetime, which spanned several centuries, was suddenly limited to just an hour and thirty minutes. I could not dwell on that, however. “Yes, so can you tell me what harm there could possibly be in answering my questions if your answers will also die with me?” I inquired. “Otherwise, I fear the silence in this room will hasten my undoing.” I continued with a dramatic sigh. “Drajow, you strike me as a person with a generous soul deep down inside you,” I persisted. I hoped the big lout possessed some kind of moral compass or conscience. “Would you so cruelly dash a doomed man’s last hours by relegating him to the angst and anxiety of quiet solitude?”

Drajow took a deep breath and exhaled a long sigh. “I guess you got a valid point.” Then he looked over at me and shrugged, saying, “So what else you wanna know before ya croak?”

I breathed an inward sigh of relief, although it was quite brief. “Well, you have not yet answered my question. The one I asked as to whether Jax was also following the orders from the Darkness all along?”

“Yeah, he was. I mean, at least as far as I know.”

“And do the other potions dealers know of the Darkness?”

“Now they do, but they didn’t before,” Drajow answered. Pulling a pack of bubble gum from his back pocket, he took out a piece and popped it into his mouth. He began chomping on it loudly, resembling a cow chewing its cud. “You wanna piece o’ gum?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Vampires and gum do not agree,” I explained. “Our fangs preclude us from enjoying it, since they seem to invariably get in the way.”

“Yeah? I guess that makes sense,” he answered with a slight laugh. “Where was I?” he asked after I faced him expectantly. “Oh, yeah, the Darkness used to operate on the down-low, but that was just until he decided it was a good time to make hisself known.”

“So, is the Darkness the responsible party for uniting all the gangs?” I repeated. In my mind, I was desperately trying to recognize who this person could possibly be. I racked my clouded mind, but I could not think of a single soul who could embody such a reputation. Eventually, I had to arrive at the conclusion that the Darkness was not someone I had ever encountered before. He could only be someone who managed to climb up the ranks while remaining concealed, in the background, under cover. The Darkness must have been prepared to wait as long as it took until a keen opportunity arose to make his existence known.

“Yeah, that’s about what happened.”

“So if no one has ever seen this person, why are you so afraid of him?” I asked. My sole purpose in this endeavor was to offer Drajow a reward so wonderful, he could not refuse it. If I could just turn his loyalty, I could save myself.

“I heard stories,” he answered.

“What type of stories?”

“Stories about how vicious the Darkness has been in the past. Stories that sound so bad, you would never consider crossin’ ’em, not if ya value yer life.”

Perhaps this would prove more difficult than I estimated. “You are aware …” I began. I closed my eyes against the impending sense of light-headedness that suddenly overcame me. “… that I still retain quite a bit of power,” I said. I opened my eyes and focused my attention on him, fearing he might deduce that I was very close to losing control of my thoughts and body. “Even though it would seem I am out of options at this point, I must assure you, I am not. I have a loyal following, and I could liberate you permanently from your obligation and duties to both Jax and the Darkness.”

Drajow immediately shook his head. “Ya seem nice enough,” he started as he sighed, “but I ain’t got no death wish.” His stomach unexpectedly started to growl, and his leg dropped from being crossed over his knee as he stood up. “I gotta go git mahself somethin’ ta grub on now,” he said as he faced me. Then he glanced down at the magazine which he promptly folded and shoved beneath his arm. “An’ I gotta go take care o’ some other stuff,” he finished with a wink that suddenly made me feel ill.

“Wait!” I started when he approached the door. I was growing very uneasy at the prospect that I was about to lose valuable time, time that I could ill afford to squander. “Could you just stay a little longer? You see, I would like to enjoy the company of another person until I am no longer here, on this earth.”

“No can do,” he answered tersely as he turned around and started for the door again. He unlocked it, but upon opening it, he glanced back and smiled at me. “I’ll tell ya what, I’ll just step out for a few seconds, an’ be back in a bit.” Then he closed the door behind him, and the sound of the lock reverberated through my head like a cannon firing.

***

I was swimming again through a familiar sea, cresting the restless waves that crashed this way and that, pulling me under and spitting me out again. The temperature of the sea was not cold, as I expected, but rather tepid and quite pleasant. Were it not for the incessant waves that pummeled me, tossing me carelessly to and fro, I might actually have enjoyed my immersion in the water.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!”

I heard the deep voice, but I could see no one. It seemed almost as if the water, itself, were addressing me.

But water can’t speak, I corrected myself, feeling suddenly confused as to where the voice could be coming from.

I pondered the enigma for what felt like eons, finally accepting the conclusion that someone had to be in the sea with me. And whoever it was tried to speak to me before being thrust beneath the tremendous waves.

“Wake the fuck up!” the voice yelled. Only this time, it sounded much closer.

Open your eyes, I heard my own voice saying inside my head. Do not allow the turbulent sea to spirit you away!

Consumed by darkness, I was no longer confined to a world of delirium. But when I attempted to raise my eyelids, I worried that my eyelashes might have been stitched to the tops of my cheeks.

“Bram!”

I heard the voice again. The cadence was familiar, and I recognized it, although I could not identify to whom it belonged.

“Open your eyes, dickhead!”

Oh, were that as easily done as said!

I fought to free my lashes, and uproot them if necessary. It seemed to take a Herculean effort, but I finally managed to pry open my heavy lids, and I stared upward at a ceiling. I had no time to ascertain my location because a face suddenly appeared right above me. Unfortunately, it was not a face that seemed pleased to see me, not in the least. In fact, the furrowed eyebrows and the nasty scowl on the face suggested it was extremely dismayed. I would even venture a guess that whoever the face belonged to was probably no friend to Bram.

“I should leave you for dead, you son of a bitch,” the unfriendly man muttered. Leaning down on his haunches beside me, he rolled up one of his shirt sleeves to his elbow. Then, after reaching behind himself, he produced a small, metal gadget. When he depressed a switch of some sort upon the gadget, a sharp blade shot forth. The man glanced at me again, frowning just as before, while holding the blade to his wrist and gradually pulling it toward him.

“Try and drain me and this blade will be plunged into your heart before you can say jack shit,” the man announced. Holding his wrist above my face, he allowed a gentle shower of liquid to leak down and touch my lips. In response, I opened my mouth just as the drops landed upon my tongue.

Suddenly, a cloying sweetness exploded inside my mouth and my eyes began to glaze over, imbuing my surroundings with a rosy hue. I felt myself lurching forward as I gripped the man’s hand, trying to pull it closer.

“Don’t fucking do it! Control yourself, you greedy asshole!”

I heard the voice, but it sounded so distant, and as such, I considered it unimportant. Right now, all that mattered to me was lapping up the liquid sustenance that was being poured so generously into my mouth. It streamed down my throat like warm gravy, nurturing my body with all the nutrients it so desperately craved. I could not seem to suck the precious vitality down fast enough; and when I tried to sink my fangs into my gracious donor even deeper, I instantly met with resistance. My donor’s sudden forbearance did not make sense to me. I knew my strength was unparalleled and unsurpassed by most creatures; yet, I could not gain any purchase on my victim, which I desperately needed.

“That’s enough,” the voice said, but I failed to register the meaning of his words. All that existed in my mind right then was my urgent need to fill up the vacancy that resided inside me.

“That’s enough!” the voice railed at me again, only this time, it was bellowing. Yanking my teeth out and pulling me away from the source of my nourishment a few seconds later, I became quite perturbed when my head was pushed backwards rather violently. It took me a moment or two to right myself. When I did, however, I began blinking and stirring with a feeling of pure elation. All the previous numbness in my fingers and my toes was absent. My body was finally released from its insensate condition, and the warmth continued to spread throughout me, bringing with it more understanding and clarity.

Glancing to my left and then to my right, my eyes settled on a grey machine in front of me. And that was when I remembered what happened. The very last thing I could recall was being drained, and virtually murdered! I instantly inspected my arms, relieved to find them free of the plastic tubes that were formerly inserted into my veins. The biggest surprise I discovered was that my hands and feet were no longer restrained.

“Where is she?”

The voice was now coming from behind me. I turned around and faced a man I recognized, although I could not recall how or why. Despite how swiftly the lucidity in my thinking was steadily improving, it was not fully restored.

“Where is Dulcie, Bram?” the man repeated.

At the mention of that name, it seemed as if someone flipped on the memory switch in my head. All at once, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Stumbling backwards as I rose to my feet, all of my former strength was beginning to amass inside me. As I regarded the man standing before me, the shock I felt registered all the way down to my toes. He was the last person in the world that I ever expected to see.

“Knightley Vander,” I whispered as I faced him.

FIFTEEN

Bram

The expression on Vander’s face told me he was certainly not pleased to see me. Yet he was undoubtedly acting as an angel of mercy upon finding me nearly dead. Now that I reclaimed the more healthy, vibrant form of myself, I had to admit that I was not entirely pleased to see him either. Knightley Vander and I were cut from two very different cloths. Mine was akin to fine silk and cashmere, the most elegant, natural sources of fashion, and Vander’s fabric was more along the lines of a rough burlap. I never could understand why Dulcie preferred burlap to silk.

All of a sudden, Vander’s hand wrapped around my throat so tightly that his fingernails dug into my neck. An expression of rage that bordered on outright lunacy shone in his eyes. It was probably more accurate to say he was displeased to see me.

“Where is she, Bram?” he repeated in a louder tone, his eyes growing so wide, they were mostly white. “Where the fuck is Dulcie?”

I tried in vain to clear my throat, a difficult task at present, considering he was choking me. Had I all of my previous power, I would have cast him off me as if he were nothing more than a pesky fly. “If you would be so kind as to unhand me, perhaps we could discuss this matter like civilized gentlemen instead of acting like brutish apes,” I replied. Using my most polished smile, I cleared my throat again in an attempt to illustrate my point, which was that his fist had not released my throat.

Vander sneered at me, but at the same moment, he thankfully released his viselike grip around my neck. He also gave me a healthy shove backwards, as if to remind me that my strength was not yet fully restored. Walking like a newborn foal, I clumsily tripped over my own feet and careened into the wall behind me. Instantly, I felt light-headed and had to bend over. I placed my hands on my thighs and held perfectly still, striving to keep the dizziness from overtaking me.

“Start talking, Bram, and make it fast. I am currently trying to resist the urge to run a stake right through your heart,” Vander announced.

I rubbed the stabbing in my neck, and the stars began to fade from my vision. Since I was able still to feel pain, I had to remember that my healing powers were not fully restored yet. All I needed now was a pint or two of fresh blood and a decent sleep. However, I had a creeping premonition that I would receive neither.

“What would be the point in that, Mr. Vander?” I asked. Shaking my head, I clucked my tongue at him and pushed myself away from the wall. My feet seemed to have wings of their own and felt as light as feathers, yet I managed to maintain my balance. “Why would you deign to bleed yourself in order to bring me back from the brink of death just to turn around and send me back there again?”

“Where is Dulcie, Bram?” Vander persisted. Crossing his gargantuan arms over his chest, he eyed me warily. Vander was a Loki, those who are created in Hades’ own image specifically to guard the Netherworld, and consequently, he was enormous both in stature as well as physique. Although it is true that many women seemed to find him exceedingly attractive, I have always failed to understand why. There is nothing cultured or sophisticated about Vander. I can only imagine that the same women who would find Vander appealing would also consider a caveman attractive.

I briefly considered the caveman’s question as I pictured the lovely fairy in my mind’s eye. Instantly, a heavy weight settled uncomfortably upon my shoulders. I again used the wall to lean on as I worried that my knees were about to collapse. “I do not know,” I truthfully stated.

Vander took two steps closer as his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I haven’t heard a single word from Dulcie for over a week! I’m long past the point of losing it. So, in case you failed to get the point earlier, I am not a patient man,” he seethed, glaring at me while the tips of his ears turned red. I could hear the racing of his heartbeat as well as the rush of his blood which suddenly conspired to make me ravenously hungry. However, Vander was not the type of person I could consider a snack. That would be as unfeasible as sending the tiger into the lion’s den to attack him.

“You certainly do not impress me as an impatient man,” I mocked him as I ventured a step forward, trying to test my balance.

“You need to tell me where Dulcie is! And you need to tell me now.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that,” I started, holding up my hand to silence him when it appeared he intended to interrupt me. “In case you failed to notice, when you heroically entered this room, I was merely seconds away from expiring and leaving this good earth forever,” I said. Then, something occurred to me and I faced him curiously. “Say, Vander, what became of that ruffian who was assigned the task of supervising me? I hesitate to believe you were under the false supposition that I was in here alone?”

Vander shook his head. “If you’re talking about the goblin, when I found him coming out of the restroom, I eliminated him.”

I nodded with relief, so glad to know that Drajow was no longer an issue. I could not repress my smile as I reasoned that he really should have taken me up on my offer. At least that way, he would still be alive. Ah, well—I had little pity for him. “At least the poor sot managed to protract a special moment for himself before he was summarily launched into the forever and beyond,” I said with a heartfelt sigh.

“Where is Dulcie, Bram?” Vander kept repeating. “I need to know if she’s okay. And if she’s not, then tell me now,” he finished, and his voice trailed off. Only then could I observe the burden his sadness had become, which also appeared in his gaze.

“Rochefort took Dulcie.”

“Jax?” Knight inquired angrily. “The same Jax Rochefort who works for you?”

“The same Jax Rochefort who used to work for me,” I corrected him. “Now, however, he no longer acts under my command and, thus, we both need to deem him public enemy number one.”

“First, you’ll have to convince me that you’re not public enemy number one.”

“I must confess in all honesty that I am not. The enemies you have to encounter now are on a much grander scale.”

“So, for the sake of argument, if Jax has Dulcie, where did he take her?” Vander demanded.

“I cannot answer that question, and to understand the reasons why, I must explain all the events that have occurred in your absence,” I replied as I started for the doorway with Vander at my heels. When I reached the door, I again needed to brace myself by hanging on to the doorjamb as a plethora of stars began to dance before my eyes.

“Where are you going now?” he asked in a wary tone, sidling up behind me in mere seconds. “If you think you can escape, let me remind you of something: all I have to do is blow on you hard enough and you’ll topple over like a sack of potatoes.”

“I have no desire to escape from you,” I spat back at him. “The brute who was watching me carried a cell phone with him,” I explained as I pushed past the doorway. Cautiously taking the few steps that separated me from the banister overlooking the hallway below, I added, “Rochefort will be texting or calling him soon to give him instructions. The brute was ordered to watch over me until my death, at which time, he was to return immediately to Rochefort. It is imperative now that we do not allow that contact to go unanswered. It would only incite Rochefort’s suspicion and anger.”

“Do you mean this phone?” Vander asked as he produced a black cell phone from inside his pocket and waved it at me. At seeing my expression of surprise, he explained: “I searched the thug’s pockets and took whatever I thought I could use.”

“Diligent and resourceful,” I commented as I headed for the stairs. I was finding it more than difficult to walk because my feet felt so heavy, almost as though I were trudging through puddles of tar. I needed more blood …

“Was he the only one here with you?” Vander asked as he followed behind me.

“Yes, as far as I am aware.”

“So now that we’ve established that I already recovered the bastard’s phone, where the hell are you headed?” Vander demanded, clearly suspicious as ever of my slightest move.

“I propose to search for an answer to your question regarding Dulcie’s whereabouts,” I replied while clinging to the railing. Taking each step singly, I sincerely feared the chance that I might black out and fall over the banister.

“And how do you intend to do that?”

“I have recently fed from her, which means I can track her,” I answered. Keeping stone-faced, I knew my reply would only inflame his ire again.

“What the hell does that mean? You fed from her?” he shouted as he jumped in front of me. Slapping his palm flat on my chest, he prevented my progress down the stairs.

“If you would allow me to finish my story, you would learn that detail as well as many others,” I started, after sighing with obvious frustration. “Suffice to say that you and I are on the same side, Vander. I am not your enemy.”

Vander shook his head. “I seriously doubt that. As far as I can tell, you were the reason that Dulcie’s been missing all this time, since you were the last one to see her.”

“Rochefort was the last one to see her.”

He took a deep breath as his eyes narrowed. “And for all I know, this whole thing could be a setup by you, Bram. Jax was one of your minions, and under your command. You now expect me to believe that one of your underlings could manage to overthrow a centuries-old vampire? And not just a vampire! But a master vampire that can see any and everything coming his way well in advance?” He took another long breath. “Let’s face it, Bram, you’ve never been caught with your pants down. You always have some vamp trick up your sleeve.”

“While I am most grateful for your vote of confidence in my skills,” I started while frowning and spearing him with an expression that said I did not in the least bit enjoy relaying the ensuing information. “In this instance, I am loath to admit that I did not see any of it coming. In all honesty, I was quite literally taken by surprise.”

“I’m still not convinced,” Vander replied as he shook his head vigorously. “This whole situation could be no more than an elaborate hoax. You could be playing a role, the wounded, tragic hero who was left for dead; when all the while, you’re actually leading me by the nose into a trap.”

“How can you actually say that you would believe that?” I asked, piercing him with my angry expression. “And just how do you propose to explain that I would have even the slightest inkling that you were coming here in the first place? When I last inventoried my powers and skills, I did not possess a Loki-seeking device.” I refused to allow him any time to interject. “Speaking of which, how did you end up here?”

Vander’s lips were compressed into a tight line. “I felt Dulcie.”

“You felt her?” I repeated in astonishment. I did not comprehend his meaning.

“Dulcie and I have a special connection,” he began to explain. As he spoke, I experienced a strange, sinking feeling that arose deep from inside my gut. It made very little sense to me as I had not experienced it before.

“A connection?”

“Yes, a soul connection, if you will,” he continued and appeared uncomfortable. “This connection is something that unites us no matter the distance. When and if she’s in mortal danger, I can sense her instantly.”

“But you cannot sense her now?”

Vander shook his head. “No. I believe our connection only warns me as a last resort. I sense her whereabouts only when she is at risk of losing her life,” he finished. Averting his eyes and shaking his head, he appeared to be a man who was in the midst of losing everything that was dear or valuable to him. It was clearly evident to me how much Dulcie must have meant to him. I would have even dared to wager that she comprised his entire world, were I a betting man.

“Then, logically speaking, if we rely on that fact, and you have not received any warning from her since then, shall we be so bold as to infer she is safe?” I asked, hoping to lighten his depressed mood.

“Or,” he started, but then shook his head. Perhaps he simply could not bring himself to finish his own sentence. “Either way, none of this removes my suspicions. Why should I trust you? How can you convince me that this entire fiasco isn’t some elaborate hoax on your part?” The anger in his voice returned anew.

“Ah, so we are back to our game of quid pro quo,” I replied with a bored sigh. “I hope I have I at least adequately established that I did not foresee your visit?” Vander did not respond so I continued. “Second, does it not strike you as odd that I should only employ Drajow, the incompetent? And how can you resolve my pathetic form, when you found me nearly drained? Do you honestly believe that I would endanger my own existence to that level merely to persuade you that I am on your side?”

Vander shrugged. “It’s not completely beyond the realm of possibility.”

“Then you, my dear sir, have a difficult decision to make. You may either trust me and risk yourself; or do not trust me and risk yourself. Either way, the risk on your part still remains.”

Vander was silent for perhaps a second. “Where are we going?”

Closing my eyes, I mentally searched for the draw, the bond that existed between Dulcie and me, established by drinking her blood. The bond was weakened after most of her blood was drained from me; and to further complicate things, I also had to resist the pull of Vander’s blood. Weakened though it was, my link to Dulcie was still very much there, as witnessed by the fact that I was able to feel her deep within me.

“North,” I answered before taking the next step down, and Vander moved out of my way. He did not continue down the stairs but watched me as I made painstakingly slow progress from one step to the next.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he exclaimed as he took the three steps that separated us. He wrapped his arm around my upper back, allowing me to settle my left arm above his shoulders. At his touch, my skin began to crawl. I could only imagine that it was probably the same for him. Neither of us spoke a word for at least a few seconds.

“We will never speak of this,” I warned him finally with a solemn expression. Turning to face him, I was beyond uncomfortable with our close proximity. Now our noses were merely inches apart.

“Agreed,” Vander said, tightlipped, and we both faced forward as he assisted me down the remainder of the stairs in silence.

***

Vander was in the driver’s seat of my Porsche, but before he turned the ignition on, I reached over and gripped the wheel. I speared him with a stern expression; and owing to my current physical weakened state, my temper was on the ragged edge.

“I am riddled with angst at the very prospect of you driving this vehicle,” I started. “Were I not in such poor condition, I would never allow it. And if time were not of the essence, I would certainly have chosen a more modest vehicle in which to travel.” Then I sighed. “But the fact remains that this vehicle will outperform any other by leaps and bounds.”

“Warning noted and taken, Bram,” Vander responded as he shook his head and frowned at me. “I promise not to total your midlife crisis vehicle.”

“You jest, but this is not just any vehicle! This is a 2015 Porsche Mission E Concept Car and worth nearly four million dollars.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get into my pants,” he answered before flashing a mocking grin at me. I chose not to respond to his antics. Instead, I briefly instructed him on how to turn the motor on, along with the lights, etcetera. As soon as we were mobile, and he managed to drive without crashing into anything on the severely narrow driveway, I sighed with relief.

“Where are we going?” Vander asked as he turned to face me.

“Do not look at me, Vander; keep your eyes on the road,” I insisted.

“Okay, Miss Daisy, but where are we going?”

With no inkling as to why he would refer to me such as he was, I also had to admit that I did not much care. “All I can tell you is the direction from which I feel her pulling me,” I responded. Glancing out the window, I desperately hoped that when we eventually reached Dulcie, we would not be too late. Jax Rochefort was unreliable; and, as such, he was dangerous. “As far as ANC backup is concerned, I suppose we will have to locate Dulcie first and then wait for your reinforcements to arrive.”

“Reinforcements?” he repeated as he turned to face me with a doubtful expression. “There are no reinforcements.”

“You mean to say you came alone?” I asked as I shook my head and remembered he had been alone when he broke into my chateau. That was not to say that I assumed he had no reinforcements awaiting him, though.

“I couldn’t afford to spare anymore of my men,” he explained with a straight face, his expression solemn and grave. “This mission to find Dulcie was personal, which is why I came alone.”

“Then, sadly, we are doomed,” I replied as I bemoaned my bad fortune.

“Why are we doomed?” Vander demanded, turning to glance at me as I shook my head.

“Keep your eyes fastened on the road,” I snapped at him. I was growing ill at ease with the prospect that we were on this mission when it was only just the two of us. If the Darkness, or whatever person was calling the shots, were anything like Drajow characterized him, we would need a militia.

“Why are we doomed?” he repeated, ostensibly because he believed I had not heard him the first time.

“Would you like the abridged or the unabridged version?” I asked.

SIXTEEN

Dulcie

“Where the hell are you taking me?” I demanded. I glared at Jax as I sat in the back of the black sedan he hijacked from Bram’s house. Still wearing the same oversized, dark grey shirt Bram had given me earlier, I thanked Hades for it now. I couldn’t imagine how much more uncomfortable this trip could have been if I were naked! Of course, I definitely had no false expectations that Jax would have been so kind as to take it upon himself to soothe my sense of modesty by providing me with something more appropriate to wear.

“You just sit back and relax, sweet cheeks. Leave all the navigating to me,” Jax said. He patted my upper thigh where the hemline of Bram’s shirt ended and leered down at me. If my hands hadn’t been manacled behind my back, I would have smacked his away.

I found myself inextricably wedged between Jax and the werewolf. One of Jax’s other thugs was driving, this one a troll. Immense in his height and girth, his bald, misshapened head hit the top of the car, forcing him to tilt it to one side. The angle he was required to assume didn’t seem to ensure that our drive would be safe. Not to mention how broad he was, swallowing up the entire allowance of his seat along with half of the middle console beside him. The third henchman employed by Jax, the goblin, had been deliberately left behind to watch over Bram.

Bram … just the thought of the vamp’s name sent a shiver down my spine. The unrelenting, overwhelming sense of loss I felt bubbled up from inside me. I had to assume I’d never see Bram again; and the thought of that reality overpowered me. There was never a single time during my lengthy association with Bram that I could imagine him being caught unawares. Not once could I recall a dire situation in which he didn’t have something up his sleeve or his next move previously planned and accounted for. Preparedness in every kind of predicament or situation had practically become his call name. I should have nicknamed him something like “Ever-ready Bram” because that was what he was known for. And, yet, fate, unfortunately, is an uncompromising thing—those who once appeared to be on top also end up on the bottom. Sadly, for Bram and for me, it seemed that this fatal mistake might have resulted in him having to pay the ultimate price …

I couldn’t swallow easily because a large lump was forming in my throat; it immediately caused a familiar sting behind my eyes. Clenching my eyelids tightly shut, I ordered my disobedient mind to think of other subjects. I absolutely refused to allow Jax to see me cry.

As soon as I closed my eyes, the headache returned. It started softly, like a thief sneaking into my tired brain. The dull throbbing at the base of my neck and my head was slowly working its way up to my temples. If the headache were any kind of indicator, I was still in very poor shape. Even though Bram’s blood had done wonders to help heal my body, and my fingers were no longer broken, the swelling substantially reduced, I knew I wasn’t fully restored to my former self. How did I know? Because I was weak. The truth was, it felt like I’d been hit by a semi-truck.

“I gotta take a shit,” the werewolf interjected somewhat hesitantly as he faced Jax. “How much longer we gotta go, boss?”

“Really, Greebow?” Jax answered sarcastically as he glared over the top of my head and shot daggers of warning at the were. Of course, it didn’t escape my notice that Jax kept his filthy hand resting on my thigh. The bastard! I quickly concluded he was just trying to piss me off. Well, one point for him then, because it was working.

“Sorry, boss, but nature’s callin’!”

“You really intend to bother me with that right now?” Jax replied, looking well beyond ticked off and irritated.

“Is it just me, or is someone in our little group becoming overly agitated?” I asked cheerfully as I faced Jax before I smiled like the Cheshire Cat. Two can play this smug, self-serving game of yours, asshole, I said to myself as I beamed my wide grin innocently. Jax glanced over at me without a smile, but a frown.

“I’m not agitated,” he answered.

“Shit! Well, I am! I gotta go! As in now!” Greebow exclaimed with a frustrated shrug. “An’ when a shifter’s gotta go, you gotta let ’em!”

“We can’t take the time to stop yet,” Jax explained as he faced forward, his jaw tightening. “We got one more pass-through before we arrive, so you better get a grip on it an’ hold it until we do!”

“What’s a pass-through?” I inquired out of curiosity. I watched Greebow turn his face toward the window as he grumbled something about shitting himself. I could only hope to Hades that didn’t happen while we were in the car since I was stuck on the seat right next to him. And I would so not be okay with that … At the very thought, I had to force myself to go to my happy place.

“It’s when you cross through a portal,” the troll driving up front answered. As soon as the words left his mouth, Jax leaned forward and smacked him right on the back of his bald head. The troll reacted by snapping his head violently up, which loudly rammed it into the top of the car. “Ouch! Jesus, boss!” he grumbled while he rubbed the first sore spot where Jax so rudely smacked him.

“You need to learn how to keep your big mouth shut!” Jax railed at him before he sat back down into his seat. Still shaking his head, Jax was furiously crossing his arms over his chest.

“You really think I would have failed to notice when we passed through a portal?” I asked as I turned to face him with a skeptical frown. “And what difference does it make? So what if I know we’re headed back to the Netherworld or not? Why should that even matter to you? It’s not like I’m going to use that information and secretly signal my posse at our pre-appointed location in the woods, telling them to meet us there so they can overpower you and rescue me!” I sighed; if only such were the case …

“Because the less you know, the better,” Jax replied, narrowing his eyes as he glared at me defiantly. I wasn’t sure why his previous false charm had faded so swiftly. Maybe he was just in a bad mood; or possibly getting nervous at the prospect of reuniting with his boss. As it was, nothing seemed to please him, and he acted ticked off at the whole world in general. “Prisoners are not allowed the benefit of any information regarding what lies in store for them.”

“That’s stupid!” Facing forward again, I silently lamented my unhappy misfortune. The last place I wanted to go was the Netherworld. Why? Because Knight was there. And I literally bristled at the idea that my current situation could easily endanger Knight like I was sure it was going to. Now, it was finally making some sense: the reason Jax’s boss was suddenly ordering us back to the Netherworld was primarily because, from what I could gather, the Rebellion was still based in the Netherworld. If Jax’s boss planned to trade me in exchange for control of the portals, he would have to deal directly with Caressa and Knight, both of whom resided in the Netherworld as well.

The other reason I wasn’t too keen on traveling there again was because of my unfamiliarity with the place; I didn’t know the Netherworld like I knew Earth. Having only visited it a few times, I was permanently traumatized by the winged monsters that regularly roamed the skies and plucked off unsuspecting passersby. It simply hadn’t struck me as a very nice place in general. Then there was also the other reason I hated going there. Because of my wings … Whenever I entered the Netherworld, I instantly developed my fae wings. Unluckily for me, they weren’t useful, ethereal, little, pixie wings either. Not at all! Mine were completely psychotic; they would randomly start flapping for no reason at all. If I weren’t holding onto something stationary, I’d end up floating away like a leaf on the wind. And if that weren’t enough to discourage me, there was also the subject of my species: also known in the Netherworld as sexual crack. When I encountered any and all creatures of the male persuasion, they acted like they were starving refugees and I was Grade A, prime beef tenderloin.

Naturally, the Netherworld wasn’t my first vacation choice. And adding insult to injury, now I was going back there as a prisoner, so I was even less thrilled. But it was what it was, which meant I had to banish those thoughts in the blurry landscape of my weary mind. I glanced outside the window and watched the endless line of pine trees whizzing by, like blurry flashes of green. The morning sun was just beginning its ascent into the sky, reflecting its pale yellow light across the horizon. I checked the clock on the dash of the sedan and noticed it was barely six a.m.

Wherever we were heading, it was up high, somewhere in the mountains. The highway was comprised of two lanes, but both were exceedingly narrow. Fortunately, we hadn’t needed to pass anyone. It was very remote and desolate out here in the wilderness, and I felt more alone than I had in a long time. Especially since I still had no idea where “here” was.

“This is good. Stop right here,” Jax said, interrupting my thoughts. He tapped the headrest behind the troll’s massive noggin pretty sharply and the troll immediately winced, as if he were afraid that Jax was ready to backhand him again.

“Here?” the troll hollered back, obviously doubting Jax’s choice. His bellowing voice instantly caused my headache to return with a vengeance. I again longed for the use of my magic, so I could have magicked the pain away. Not to mention a few other things I would have also magicked away …

“Yes,” Jax answered as he shook his head and looked even more annoyed.

“Got it,” the troll answered before depressing the gas pedal and we began to slow down. Then, he reached forward and seemed to be searching for something on the dash. Apparently finding it, he clicked on a button that looked like it might have been the hazard lights. But no hazard lights came on.

The car slowly came to a stop, and seconds later, it emitted a red beam from each headlight. The red beam, which was maybe three feet long, intrigued me as I had no clue what it could be. I watched it, and as I did, it seemed to be melting away all the scenery just in front of us. The road, the trees and the mountains in the distance began to bleed together, as if they were nothing more than wet, running paint. As soon as the objects ahead of us ran together, the red laser beams turned white. Seconds later, the white beams appeared to be burning a hole into the dripping blobs of color. Inside the hole, however, I could glimpse another landscape that was taking shape.

“Is this the portal?” I asked, but no one responded. Not that they needed to; I was already well aware of what it was. I was just surprised when the car turned out to be equipped with the astonishing means of cutting a portal from nothing. As far as I knew, the only device capable of doing that was a little, can opener-like gadget that Bram once gave me. Apparently, Bram was holding out when it came to the coolest techno-toys.

“So if you already possess the means to just cut a portal into the Netherworld, what the hell do you need me for?” I asked Jax, thinking the question was well beyond obvious. If their entire operation depended on their imports and exports through the portals, why would they bother to take them all over from the ANC? Why go to so much trouble when they could just cut their own?

“I can’t just cut a portal into the Netherworld,” Jax answered. An expression of “duh” was pasted on his face. He acted as if I’d just told him to earn all the money he needed by planting a money tree.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that what this car just did?” I inquired with a shake of my head, now clearly at a loss. I didn’t mean to ask a stupid question, but …

“Yes and no,” Jax said with a sigh, signifying his boredom and frustration. “The car merely cut a portal to another location here on Earth. It didn’t cut one through to the Netherworld.” Then he paused and took a deep breath. “As we all know, there’s no way to travel to and from the Netherworld, other than doing so through the ANC’s portals. It’s not like we could randomly engineer a car that could ignore the laws of physics.” Then he laughed. However, little did he know the joke was on him; because I knew there was one such object that could do just that. I found it interesting that Bram hadn’t entrusted Jax with that tidbit of information. Well, unless Jax was simply testing me to see if I’d blab that I knew he was dead wrong. Of course, I wasn’t going to … I was smarter than that.

I just smiled to myself before I organized that little note into the filing system inside my head. Meanwhile, the troll stepped on the gas and the car started through the portal. As we drove into it, there was a sound of popping and then a sucking sound that hinted at the huge level of suction we were experiencing as the entire car was pulled through to the other side. It happened in maybe two blinks of an eye. That’s all it took. Once we arrived on the other side, I realized we were no longer surrounded by trees and mountains but black pavement and tall buildings.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“No one answer,” Jax interrupted before spearing each of his men with a cross expression. Not one of them made so much as a peep. I glanced over at Greebow just to see how he was doing and to make sure he wasn’t about to burst. If he did, I was directly within firing distance.

“You good?” I asked.

Greebow just nodded, and I faced forward again, feeling much relieved. When I looked at the scenery outside the windows, I deduced we were in the city somewhere. I didn’t recognize any of it. But it seemed to be an average, ordinary enough place. I observed the various people busily going from storefront to storefront, walking their babies in strollers or racing to the bus stops, late for work. While it didn’t appear to be a very large town, it was bustling.

The troll took a left at the end of the street where we instantly encountered a large, white building that identified itself with a large sign as the ANC office in BrokenView. A clue! If the ANC office was in BrokenView, that meant we were in Delaware. Hmm, interesting …

We pulled up to a white fence and an attendant wearing a grey uniform stepped out of the guard booth. He glanced at the troll with a frown as Jax rolled his window down. Upon seeing Jax, however, he briefly nodded before honoring Jax with a salute and returning to his booth. At the press of a single button, he opened the gate and granted us admittance.

Having never been to the BrokenView ANC office before, I had no idea what to expect, but I was nothing less than amazed when Jax was granted entrance. It didn’t make any sense to me; unless …

“Don’t tell me … you’ve, er, the Rebellion’s taken over this branch already, hasn’t it?” I asked in a hesitant voice as I turned to face him.

The smug smile on his arrogant face was my reply.

SEVENTEEN

Dulcie

“Are all of these people members of the Rebellion?” I asked without expecting an honest answer. We’d already walked down the hallway from the parking lot into a long corridor, which led to the ANC office building. The werewolf was already long gone; ostensibly to take care of his baser needs. So the troll was carrying me, bridal-style, down the hallway. I was still so weak, I couldn’t even take a step on my own.

“Yes! So don’t go getting any stupid ideas like asking any of them for help,” Jax spat back as he fixed his angry eyes on me with a stern expression. “They all report to us personally. And they’re all very dedicated and loyal to our cause.”

I didn’t give Jax the courtesy of a reply, choosing instead to pay closer attention to my surroundings. But the surge of disappointment that flowed through me was difficult to ignore. However, it was extremely important that I remain conscious so that I could record a mental note of everything around me. Any escape from my current predicament was unlikely, given the circumstances of my confinement, but I hoped that maybe the information could prove useful later on. That was in addition to, of course, my own morbid curiosity. I was dying to learn more about the Rebellion and how it operated.

Once inside the main lobby area, I noticed two hallways on either side of the lobby. The closer we came to the reception desk, the better I could see down each one. They both appeared to lead into a large common room, which was divided into rows of cubicles. I watched an assortment of people in various ANC uniforms busily doing this and that, while looking for all intents and purposes totally normal. Yes, there weren’t as many employees as I expected to find in such a large building, but finding any here at all was still a small surprise.

Their minimized numbers and the robotic manner in which they worked, seemingly so calm and structured as if none of them had a care in the world, was nothing less than unsettling to me. All this time, I, as well as several others in the ANC, erroneously assumed the potions rings were nothing more than a collection of misfits, petty gangsters who were too disorganized and unsophisticated to pose any threat. They were always arguing amongst themselves, as far as anybody knew. Witnessing the systematic teamwork that was before me now, I realized that we couldn’t have been more wrong. And any flawed conclusions, especially one such as that one, didn’t bode well for us, the good guys.

The more I studied the cooperation of the employees surrounding me, the more impressed I became. If I were judging them strictly by the way they were dressed and going about their business, I’d never have even guessed in my wildest dreams that they could be part of the Rebellion. They all looked far too comfortable, like creatures of habit, as if they’d been in this building and doing what they were doing for years on end. Some were even making idle chitchat over the coffee machine in the break room at the end of one of the hallways. I couldn’t imagine how a recently besieged ANC office could look so unscathed and back to full production mode as this one appeared.

Then I got a feeling deep down in my gut that suddenly made a new idea pop into my head. However, I sat on it for a couple of seconds, basically trying to avoid any further conversations with Jax in general. But my question continued to nag at me until I was practically forced to ask it so I could confirm or deny it. “They’re the original ANC employees, aren’t they?” I phrased it like a question but said it more as a statement of fact, since it was. Of course, I had to be spot on, as it was the only logical explanation for such a swift recovery of organization.

“Yes,” Jax answered without bothering to look up from his phone. He was busily texting someone whose identity remained unknown to me. Either way, Jax’s attention appeared to be distracted somewhere else entirely.

“And are they doing the same stuff as before only now they must report to you?” I asked, just to verify and confirm my assumption.

“Yeah,” he replied flatly.

“So they know about the illegal imports and exports?” I continued, sounding baffled.

“What?” Jax asked as he glanced up at me and frowned. “No. No, they don’t.” Then he dropped his attention back to his phone. “They don’t know anything that’s going on in the background.”

I was pretty astounded that Jax was even bothering to answer my questions, considering all his refusals to do so earlier. I had a premonition that his acquiescence had more to do with his anxiety and nervousness about something else. I was sure he wasn’t paying any attention to me or my questions, and thus failed to realize what he should and shouldn’t be telling me. Or maybe he just planned to kill me shortly anyway, which would have made all of this nothing more than a moot point.

Don’t become a victim to your own negative thoughts, I reprimanded myself. Stay strong and be positive until you can figure a way out of this.

“How did you manage to convince ANC employees to continue working their jobs only now under your command?” I asked, genuinely curious. I looked at the staff again and shook my head, wondering if all those people were just intimidated into resuming their positions or if something more nefarious might have been responsible.

“We didn’t manage to convince them of anything,” Jax answered. He stopped texting and glared at me instead. “As far as they know, there’s just been a slight change in management, and that’s all. And that’s all they need to know.”

“A slight change in management?” I repeated. “Do you mean, as in they don’t know who’s in charge now?”

The troll nodded vigorously. “We got rid of all the big guys, and the ones we thought could give us problems. Little guys don’t usually bother with details,” he said, his voice growing instantly low. It almost sounded like it was a faraway echo from a stone well, or from deep inside the ground.

“You murdered everyone in upper management?” I asked, even though it wasn’t a question and, as such, I could barely conceal my shock and dismay. My mouth dropped open as I wondered exactly what had gone down here; as well as what was going on in the ANC office in Splendor, the city where I was from. Who knew if it were still under the guidance and control of the ANC authority anymore? Or had the Rebellion already adopted it as their own? My biggest hope was that Sam, my best friend, along with the rest of the ANC employees, were all safe and alive, even if that meant they had to report to and follow the orders of the Rebellion. Alive was so much better than not.

“What did I tell you about divulging too much information, asshole?” Jax reprimanded the troll as he faced him angrily, clutching his cell phone in his hands.

“You were answerin’ her questions, boss, sose I thought it was okay fer me ta do it too,” the troll defended himself before hanging his head in obvious humiliation. He looked a lot like a dog who had just been scolded for bad behavior. I almost felt sorry for the pathetic creature. Almost.

“No more fucking questions,” Jax snapped as his attention drifted from the troll back to me. “Got it?” At the same moment, his phone dinged, signaling another incoming message. He glanced down at it and took a deep breath. “Fuck,” he muttered as he shook his head and bit his lip. He looked worried.

“I got it!” I answered, still wondering what was up with him. He definitely wasn’t playing his usual role: that of the self-righteous, arrogant, smart-ass I’d gotten accustomed to. Now, he looked like he was stressed out and totally losing it.

“We gotta check in at the front,” he announced to the troll while shaking his head like he was ticked off about it.

“We do?” the troll asked, looking dumbfounded.

Jax nodded. “I can’t believe he’s makin’ me go through this damn protocol!”

The troll didn’t respond but obediently dropped behind as Jax walked past him. They headed toward the reception desk. An older woman with heavy makeup, brightly colored red hair that was piled high atop her head and a pair of black-rimmed, thick glasses sat behind the desk. She appeared to be taking turns at staring at each of us with a well-developed frown.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a nasal voice with a high-pitched inflection.

As soon as I got close enough, I could instantly detect that she was a witch—proof was in the purplish aura that surrounded her.

“We’re here to cross over to the Netherworld,” Jax informed her, seemingly put out over the requirement that he had to check in in the first place. I wasn’t sure why, but I found the whole situation amusing. Actually, I did know why. Anything that pissed Jax off or otherwise made his job even harder was music to my ears.

“What name is your reservation under?” the witch asked Jax as she pushed her spectacles higher up on her bony nose and eyed him with visible impatience.

“The Darkness, himself,” Jax answered in a sarcastic tone, his lips tightening. The witch’s eyebrows rose for a split second before her poker face reappeared and she tried to seem emotionless. “Which is the reason why I don’t know why the fuck I have to even check in with your ass in the first place,” he added. He was glaring down at her and she, to her benefit, returned his dour expression. I couldn’t restrain my smile.

The witch took out a spiral notebook from her top drawer and opened it. Then she started silently reading the entries while using her long, skinny index finger to keep her place.

“The Darkness?” I repeated, and my eyebrows rose for the ceiling as a smile curled up my lips. “You really report to someone who calls himself the Darkness, Jax? Couldn’t he have thought a little longer or harder to come up with something more unique, less corny or, failing those, less stupid, at least?”

“One more fucking word out of you,” Jax started as he turned to stare at me, and his eyeballs practically bulged out of his head, “and I’ll slit your throat right here, right now.”

“Come now, is that any way to address your collateral?” I asked as I shook my head. I also tsked him in the same way he’d done to me so many times. Even though I was still physically exhausted and my throat burned just to talk, there was no way I could miss an opportunity to give Jax a hard time. Somehow getting under his skin made my situation just a little bit more tolerable.

“There comes a point when I could give a shit about collateral,” he answered, his tone sounding more serious. “And I’m quickly approaching that point.”

The witch glanced from me back to Jax, her expression one of ennui and disinterest. It was as if she’d just overheard Jax and me discussing the weather rather than him threatening to slash my throat. “I’m afraid I don’t see any reservation here under that name,” she said as she faced him with a triumphant frown. “Could there be another name that was used for the booking?”

“Rochefort, maybe,” Jax answered. Anxiously drumming his fingers against her counter, he looked like he was about to blow his top over all the delays.

“Tell her your handle, Jax, don’t be shy,” I teased. I was long past the point of self-censorship, mostly because I couldn’t deny how much Jax’s disquietude pleased me. It was about time that Jax’s smart-ass mouth and behavior got turned around on him. I turned to face the witch again. “That would be the Lightness.”

“Get her the hell away from me!” Jax commanded the troll as he pointed to the other side of the room. The troll simply nodded and slowly turned around before he started lumbering back across the stretch of generic, grey carpet. I could feel the anger in Jax’s glare spearing my back.

“You shouldn’t provoke him like that,” the troll warned me before he sat me down on a bench at the far side of the room. He took a seat next to me and the wood groaned beneath his substantial tonnage. As we both turned our attention to Jax, who now leaned against the counter and continued his former texting at a feverish pace, the troll muttered, “He’s got a screw or two loose.”

“Yeah? You’re telling me,” I said with a sigh as I wondered what sinister hell awaited me once we reached the Netherworld. Whoever this Darkness person was, I felt convinced he was the true source of Jax’s disquietude and overall stressed demeanor. And if Jax were afraid of him, then it probably made perfect sense that I should be afraid of him also. Especially since we were both on opposite sides of the law.

The werewolf rejoined us eventually at the exact moment when Jax motioned to the troll to return with me. The troll nodded and took a few seconds to hoist himself up, amidst tottering and appearing pretty unstable despite his enormous feet. If he didn’t have back trouble yet, he would soon. Because of their immense size, the bodies of trolls usually expired when they were only in their forties. If I had to guess, this troll was probably in his mid- to late-thirties.

“What happened? You fall in, Greebow?” he taunted with a raucous laugh before turning to face the werewolf, who just frowned at him. Then he reached down and lifted me up like I was a paper doll.

“Hey, it ain’t often we gits ourselves a bit o’ private time, so I put it ta good use,” Greebow answered with a wink in my direction. I just rolled my eyes and withheld my comment.

When we reached Jax, he was still facing the witch. “One, two, three, four,” he counted, first pointing to himself, then at the troll, then at me and, finally, at Greebow. “There’s four of us,” he insisted. “If you don’t believe me, count for yourself.”

“I believe you,” the woman snapped back as she leaned forward and peered at us, looking down her long nose. “And which one is the prisoner?”

I couldn’t help feeling surprised at hearing that. I figured my being held a prisoner and their traveling with me was classified information. But apparently not.

“The woman,” Jax answered.

The witch looked at me and raised one brow in a condescending fashion before nodding at Jax and handing him four pieces of paper upon which she stamped something in red ink. He accepted them and thrust them into his back pocket before he started to walk away, but she stopped him.

“Uh-uh,” she said as she shook her head. “The prisoner has to be identified first,” she explained as she glanced down at her desk.

“Make it quick, lady,” Jax ordered. “You’ve already wasted enough of my time.”

The witch didn’t respond but produced a sticker, which had some numbers on it, along with the address of the BrokenView station. She’d also scribbled Jax’s name across the bottom. She glanced at the troll and motioned for him to hold me closer to the desk. Then she reached over and pulled the sticker off the non-stick backing before pressing it on the top of my shirt.

And then she did something that was interesting. It happened in just a split second, but before pulling away from me, she brought her hand to my exposed clavicle, placing her thumb momentarily into the depression where my bones met.

As soon as she touched me, an icy coldness washed over my entire body that caused all the hairs on my arms to stand up at attention.

Act naturally, I heard her voice saying in my head. I am your friend, not a foe.

She didn’t say anything more, although, strangely enough, it suddenly felt as if she were actually inside my head. Not only that, but she seemed to be sorting out and discarding the memories of my past within nanoseconds. I could see and hear these distant moments as if I were watching them on a screen nearby. Each memory, at least those which she apparently deemed useful, was then sucked out of me, forcibly as if she were a vacuum. My own memories, however, remained intact so it wasn’t as if she were actually stealing them from me, but rather like she was merely duplicating them before feeding them back to herself.

Then she pulled away. The icy coldness instantly faded, and I blinked a few times before my attention was drawn back to her and Jax. The whole memory extraction process must have lasted barely a second or two at the most; and it seemed that none of the motley crew with whom I was traveling even noticed anything out of the ordinary.

“If you go down the hallway to the left,” the witch started to instruct us, then she stopped talking in order to push her tired spectacles back up onto her nose again. “It’s room four, and you’ll find it on your right once you pass all the cubicles.”

“And you’re sure you got our final destination right?” Jax asked impolitely before yanking the stamped pieces of paper from his back pocket and skimming them again as if to double-check the witch’s coordinates. I noticed the witch didn’t bother answering the fool, but only frowned at him, raising one of her eyebrows in unmasked irritation. Jax didn’t say another word to her before he turned on his heels and started heading for the hallway to the left. The obedient Greebow followed right behind him.

“Good luck,” the witch said to me as the troll carried me past her. I couldn’t veil my surprise at her warmth, and when I glanced over at her, she simply nodded at me. I failed to respond, however, mainly because the whole episode of having her inside my head pretty much left me reeling with surprise. I didn’t know what to make of it. Clearly, she had no trouble tampering with my mind. Luckily, I managed to see the specific memories that interested her the most. The only thing they had in common was that they were all centered on what happened to me from the first moment I met Jax. I didn’t care that the witch had them, or at least a Xerox copy of them because I was even feeling better than I had before.

She was looking out for you, I thought, reassuring myself as a glimmer of hope began to bubble from deep inside me. Maybe somehow, some way, she can get in touch with Knight. Maybe she was able to pull information about him and his whereabouts in the Netherworld from your mind, and maybe she can reach out to him. I could only hope!

I was so preoccupied with my own wishful thinking that I didn’t even realize when we reached room four until we were standing just outside the door. Jax swiftly opened it and then, upon seeing whatever was inside the room, swore to himself. Shaking his head with an audible sigh, he entered the room, and again, Greebow was right on his heels. Once the troll carried me into the smallish room, I understood why Jax had slipped into a tizzy. There was a line. A very long one. It wrapped around the perimeter of the entire room more than once and was comprised of maybe forty people or more. But the line wasn’t what caught my attention. That honor was reserved for what was in the center of the room, which was nothing less than fascinating.

It looked like a tornado. But it was contained, being held inside clear plastic or glass walls, and the violently rotating column of air was maybe twelve feet high from the base to the top. The narrow end, the finger that touched the ground, was swirling with a cloud of debris that included hats, glasses and various other personal belongings. From what I could observe, each person standing in line was being allowed to enter the tornado as soon as their turn arrived and they reached the head of the line. The cyclone was manned by two people who were both wearing ANC uniforms. One of them was busily perusing the travelers’ stamped tickets, while the other one was in charge of admission to the cyclone and controlled the opening and closing of the glass door.

I also observed the people standing in line, who ran the gamut in terms of their diversity. Some appeared to be ANC employees, while others were dressed in expensive suits, and still others looked like street urchins. None, however, were humans, and I knew for sure that all of them were Netherworldly creatures. That didn’t strike me as being unusual since humans were either forbidden altogether or discouraged in general from traveling through portals to the Netherworld. The main reason for that was because humans required much more extreme amounts of protection once they arrived there. As a rule, portal travel to the Netherworld was only available to human dignitaries and high-ranking government agents. The main reason they had to visit the Netherworld was primarily to check and make sure that the ANC was handling everything satisfactorily and enforcing the laws that be. I had no idea what the current situation might have been between the humans and the Rebellion, but I didn’t imagine it could be too good.

After maybe thirty minutes, we reached the front of the queue, and once we did, I could feel my heart rate speeding up. Having never witnessed a twister portal before, I’d also never even heard of one, so I had no clue what to expect. I watched it carefully, however, and noticed that whenever someone stepped inside the transparent door, they were instantly sucked into the center of the twister where they disappeared. Thankfully, no one appeared to get caught inside the swirling, debris-filled air that bashed the unsecured fragments around the glass walls.

Waiting at the head of the line, Jax summoned the ticket collector who glanced over the paperwork he handed her before putting her own stamp on each page. Then she ripped the bottom half off and handed the stubs back to Jax, but not before eyeing me with obvious interest. Turning to the person who was in charge of opening the door into the portal tornado, she nodded, and that person depressed a lever on the door which opened it wide. A gust of wind blew into the door attendant’s face as soon as he opened it, and from what I could observe, he was having a hell of a time just trying to hold the door in place.

“Hurry,” the woman taking the tickets said to Jax, who quickly nodded and stepped out of the way so Greebow could enter first. Greebow, apparently no stranger to this type of travel, guarded his face with his hands as he braved the heavy winds. Like all who went before him, once he stepped over the threshold inside the glass box, he disappeared. I couldn’t help my disappointment that he hadn’t gotten caught up in the winds and slammed against the glass walls. That would have been a visual I would have paid to see …

“You go next,” Jax said to the troll. “Make sure you keep a tight hold on her too.”

The troll said nothing but just nodded, and I wondered what might happen if he didn’t keep a tight hold on me? Maybe I’d end up in another time period? Hmm, that wasn’t such a bad possibility …

“I’m right behind you,” Jax reassured him as the troll started toward the glass enclosure. His stride was so slow that I could hear a few people behind us groaning and muttering about the senseless delay. But the troll didn’t seem to notice their remarks, or if he did, he didn’t comment as he continued lumbering forward. Once we were inside the direct path of the relentless winds, I had to cover my face with my hands because the force they blew was so powerful. If the troll was walking slowly before, he was moving at a snail’s pace now. After another few steps, I knew we had to be inside the tornado because the sound was nearly deafening.

And then, all at once, it wasn’t.

EIGHTEEN

Bram

Vander remained quiet until I finished narrating my story.

I explained everything that happened from the moment Jax arrived with Dulcie at my chateau, right up until the last time I saw her. I also bent his ear with the information I managed to glean from Drajow regarding the self-appointed leader of this rebellion, the so-called “Darkness.”

“And thus concludes the absent information that you were formerly lacking,” I said after wrapping up my explanation. Vander did not reply or react, but simply continued to stare straight ahead at the hairpin bends in the road, approaching them with what appeared to be increased aggression and downright recklessness. “Let me please remind you that the automobile you are driving is not replaceable, should it be totaled,” I added.

“So, Bram, you’re telling me the reason you ordered Dulcie to be kidnapped from ANC Splendor and delivered to you was expressly so you could explain everything that was going on with this Rebellion to her?” he asked after a lengthy pause. I had to suppose he was processing my description of the most recent events.

“Yes, I confess that is so.”

“But why?”

“Because I prefer that the Rebellion does not succeed.”

“Oh, really? Even though, at the time, you were counting on the Rebellion’s success because it would facilitate your own success?” Vander continued, obviously growing more suspicious of my true motives. His line of questioning did not surprise me, however, for I knew Vander was a most skeptical and distrustful character in general. No, I was not the least bit taken unawares by his interrogation; I expected it.

“Yes, even so,” I honestly answered with a smile.

“You do realize, I hope, that there are easier ways you could have relayed that information to Dulcie, ways that didn’t involve having her kidnapped,” Vander started as he alternately eyed the road and me. I suppose he expected to read my body language, but I did not flinch. “Speaking of which, you could have kept Dulcie out of it altogether! Why didn’t you just come to me, for example?”

“Ah, pray tell, what reason would compel me to seek your assistance, Vander?” I asked incredulously. I faced him and raised both of my eyebrows, exaggerating my expression for dramatic emphasis. “You know as well as I do that you and I have never cared for and only barely tolerated one another. And any sign of amicability between the two of us has been entirely for Dulcie’s benefit.”

Vander frowned in such a way that relayed that he could not argue with my observation. Of course, he found it frustrating, all the same. “You must have gone to Dulcie for other reasons than you are letting on now,” he insisted as he turned to face me with an undeniable glower.

“Of course I did!” I answered with a derisive chuckle, choosing to make light of the situation. It was a silly conversation to begin with; he and I both knew exactly where we stood with regard to Dulcie’s affections and well-being. “I make no pretense where my interest in the fairy is concerned. It will not come as any surprise to you when I say that if she ever wakes up and comes to her senses, she will realize that I am a much better companion for her than you are, and I should leap at the first opportunity to have her for my own.”

“Yeah? Sorry, Bram, but you’ll be waiting a very long time for that day to come,” he answered in a dark tone. Clearly, I was getting under his skin, as they say.

“‘A very long time’ means nothing to me,” I responded with a knowing smile. “Everything I am is inured and habituated to ‘a very long time.’”

“Back to the point,” Vander snapped as he shook his head. He appeared unduly vexed that I, as always, most assuredly bested him where our debates and discussions were concerned. “You must comprehend in your ancient wisdom how and why your story is pretty hard for me to buy, don’t you?”

“Of course I understand,” I responded in an affronted manner. I did not appreciate his implication that I was foolish by not considering the effect of my story or to even assume it would be an undeniable explanation for him to readily embrace.

We were spared from further banter when there emerged a buzzing from Drajow’s mobile phone, which Vander dropped in the center console. I immediately reached over to answer it, reading the text message as soon as it came through.

“What does it say?” Vander asked.

I cleared my throat. “Rochefort has eloquently asked ‘is it done?’” I told him. “Shall I respond in the affirmative?” Vander nodded his agreement.

I typed back “yes” and clicked send.

Then I closed my eyes to concentrate on the connection I shared with Dulcie. Traces of her blood still traveled through my veins, but they were rapidly weakening. It was important that I continue to check our link every ten minutes or more just to ensure Vander and I were still traveling in the correct direction.

“What are you doing?” Vander inquired.

“I am checking my bond with Dulcie.”

“You have no bond with Dulcie.”

“I am checking my connection with Dulcie.”

Vander grumbled something unintelligible, but I was not paying very much attention to him. The tentative link I shared with the delectable fairy was decidedly less pronounced than it had been only minutes earlier. I clenched my eyes shut more tightly in a more intense effort to push past the blood connection I shared with the brute beside me and locate the briskly evaporating grasp I still had with Dulcie.

“What’s wrong?” Vander demanded.

“Our connection is weak,” I replied in a patient tone. He was beginning to irk me because his incessant questions were unnecessary and, in some cases, unanswerable. “I am having some difficulty locating her at present,” I calmly explained as I shook my head and opened my eyes. I had to admit, if only to myself, that I was actually feeling increasingly worried. “I fear I can no longer sense her whereabouts.”

“But why?” Vander inquired as he looked at me for an answer. The expression on his face was a veritable minefield of concern. “Why can’t you feel her any longer? Does that mean something’s gone wrong?”

“No, not necessarily,” I answered. Just then, the mobile phone in my hands suddenly dinged again with an incoming message. I glanced down at it and read aloud: “‘Good. Meet us at Station 2.’” I turned to face Vander. “Concise and direct,” I said as I continued. “Does Station 2 mean something to you, because I must confess, it means nothing to me.”

Vander shrugged. “No, it means nothing to me either. I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

I cocked my head to the side as I considered the options. “Regardless, I must respond.” Vander did not reply so I assumed he agreed with me. I typed back: “Gotcha!” All the while, I hoped my response sounded like something Drajow would say. But in general, I was not familiar, much less adept, at speaking like an idiot.

“Try to locate Dulcie again,” Vander commanded impatiently. I opted to ignore his dictatorial demeanor if only to avoid an unpleasant and boring argument. Magnanimously, I simply closed my eyes and reached out to my sweet, little blossom, straining to sense the pulling in my veins that would trigger my brain to direct me in the right direction where she was currently located. But just as with my first attempt, this time was no more successful.

“I cannot feel her,” I said with finality before I opened my eyes and shook my head. “It feels as if she has vanished into thin air or fallen off the map.” And then something dawned on me. “That might very well be exactly what happened!”

“What do you mean she might have vanished into thin air?”

“If Rochefort is traveling through a portal to another location, it naturally becomes much more difficult for me to track her. The greater the distance or the longer the separation between her and me, the weaker our tie consequently becomes. And if they have crossed into the Netherworld, I fear I could lose my connection with her altogether.”

“Then do you think that’s what happened?” Vander demanded as he faced me wide-eyed, his dread and apprehension clearly evident in his Neolithic features. “If they’re in the Netherworld, is that why you can’t feel her at all anymore?”

The mobile phone beeped again with another incoming text, so I glanced down at it and read Rochefort’s message, while at the same time I responded to Vander’s question. “I do not know for certain; although I would definitely venture to say it stands to reason that they would have crossed the threshold into the Netherworld.” Then I glanced up and further considered the message that had just come through. “But, at the moment, I am afraid we have much larger problems with which to contend.”

“What?” Vander asked as he looked at me and shook his head in that apish manner of his. “What are you talking about now?”

I glanced at the mobile phone again and read aloud: “There is no Station 2, asshole! Who the fuck is this? And where is Drajow?”

“Fuck!” Vander said as he bashed his fist into the steering wheel, which responded by emitting an affronted honk. I was so taken aback by Rochefort’s curt message, along with my utter inability to locate Dulcie, that I failed to even register how badly Vander was mistreating my Porsche in his outraged reaction.

“My sentiments exactly,” I agreed as I allowed the mobile to rest on my lap once again. “I do not see any point in responding now.”

“Neither do I,” Vander mumbled, and only seconds later, another chirping ring suddenly shattered the dour silence that descended between us. Vander gripped the wheel with his right hand, and with his left, he reached inside his pocket, producing another cell phone. “Vander,” he said in a rather inimical greeting. I could easily hear the high-pitched voice of a woman on the other side. “Sam, slow down,” Vander ordered. “And run that by me one more time.” He held the phone out before him and pushed the speaker button, which allowed the caller’s voice to be audible for us both to hear.

“This is going to sound really strange, but I just got a weird message. It’s from a fellow witch at one of the bases, which was already taken over,” Samantha said. “I think she said she was calling from our BrokenView office,” she continued.

“Hello, Samantha,” I said aloud. Common courtesy demanded that I politely inform Samantha that she could be heard by both of us.

“Bram?” she asked, and the surprise in her voice was unconcealed.

“The one and only,” I replied, and my short-term memory suddenly recalled her large, warm brown eyes and seductive body, upon which I had feasted on more than one occasion. Perhaps a short reunion was in order …

“Okay, enough with the pleasantries,” Vander interrupted as he speared me with a discouraging frown. “What was the message, Sam?”

“The witch said she saw Dulcie,” Samantha answered, and her voice began to sound winded as if her thoughts were going so fast, she could not keep up with them.

“Where is Dulcie now?” Vander asked as he immediately leaned forward, and an alert expression of optimism appeared on his face.

“The witch said she saw her about forty minutes ago, and she was still in the custody of Jax as well as two other creatures—a werewolf and a giant troll. They were heading into the Netherworld, through portal thirteen,” Samantha finished.

“Fuck!” Vander exclaimed as he hit the steering wheel again, this time, however, avoiding the horn.

“Then I was correct in my assumption,” I said, keeping it mostly to myself. If Dulcie were already in the Netherworld, that explained why I could no longer track her by her blood.

“Did the witch give you any more personal information about herself? And how did she relay this information to you, Sam?” Vander asked. “Did she reach you via a cell phone?”

“I know nothing about her, except that she works at BrokenView,” Samantha answered. “And as for how she got that information to me, she was using her mind waves. So you don’t have to worry about anyone accidentally or purposefully intercepting it.” Witches shared the convenient ability to relay information to one another through a psychic connection that was exclusive to their minds. Any eavesdropping by others was forbidden. They were a highly magical and powerful species.

“Okay, did she offer you anything else?” Vander asked.

Samantha sighed in a way that suggested there was more information but it was not necessarily positive. “She sent me an imprint, but …” she started.

“Okay, send it to me,” Vander interrupted.

Samantha paused for a few seconds in obvious hesitation. “I don’t think I should. Knight, it’s pretty graphic, and there’s some stuff in it that might not be good for you to see at the moment,” she began to explain. “I have all the pertinent information for you, regardless. I know where Dulcie’s headed, and I know about what time she left.”

“Sam, just send me the imprint,” Vander demanded as he took a deep breath and held it before exhaling it with audible force.

Samantha stalled again. “I just watched the whole thing because I had no choice. I can honestly tell you, though, that I wish I hadn’t, Knight. I really don’t think …”

“Don’t make me ask you for it again,” Vander snapped, his anger visible across his red cheeks as he tightened his hold around the wheel.

“Okay,” Samantha responded. “But you have to keep yourself together, okay? Please don’t let this make you lose it or go off the deep end. You need to maintain a level head now more than ever, Knight.”

“I promise not to let it affect me,” Vander replied, his tone much softer this time. He seemed as if he almost regretted being so curt and harsh with her earlier. Samantha was Dulcie’s closest friend and Vander’s employee, making her very dear to them both. Samantha and I were quite close too, at one time. But owing to my fickle nature, I find it difficult to remain with a single woman for longer than a fortnight, at most. Hence, our intimacy no longer existed.

“Okay, call me if you need anything else,” Samantha said, “and good luck.” Then she hung up and Vander did the same. He was quiet for a few seconds and I did not push him or ask for the details because it was clear to me that he was lost in his thoughts. He began braking to slow the car down and eventually pulled off the highway, coming to a stop on the side of the road.

“I need a moment,” he said. He barely faced me before undoing his safety belt and opening the car door.

“A moment? May I inquire for what?” I asked as I shook my head to indicate I did not comprehend his meaning.

“Whatever information that witch extracted from Dulcie’s memories, she managed to capture it in what we call an ‘imprint.’ The witch telepathically transferred that imprint to Sam, which means I can now experience whatever Dulcie did.”

I immediately recalled the condition that I found Dulcie in when I last saw her. “I do not believe that is a very good idea,” I said honestly, remembering the images of her bludgeoned face and her broken fingers. I doubted very much if Vander could handle seeing those visuals, especially at that moment.

“I don’t care,” he replied tersely as he stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him. He walked to the rear of the car and leaned against the boot. I turned fully around and watched him. He opened his phone, which is where, I assumed, he could access the imprint. I supposed it was something akin to a video or movie, except that it was as seen from the perspective of whoever lived through the situation in the first place.

I was more than skeptical that Vander could tolerate the horror he was about to observe. When he returned to the driver’s seat, he could very well be a changed man. Not to mention, I was also slightly concerned that whatever the imprint revealed might also incriminate me. I still did not know the extent of my part in Dulcie’s near death experience.

Regardless of my looming anticipation and utter dread, there was nothing for me to do now. I simply had to wait for Vander to view the informative imprint and hope that his ensuing rage would not throw him into a full tailspin.

NINETEEN

Dulcie

As soon as we emerged from the whirlwind, I felt something familiar; it kept fluttering and tapping against my back. As my realization of what it was dawned on me, I sighed and then frowned, finding it difficult to restrain my annoyance. The cause of my distress? My wings, of course, which were present and duly accounted for, immediately tipping me off to our current location: the Netherworld. Thankfully, Bram’s shirt was far too big on me and it gave my wings ample room to flap. Had the shirt been any smaller, my wings would have been compromised. And that would have hurt like an SOB. Thank goodness for small favors! Considering my current predicament, I had to take them any way they came.

“Aha! She got her wings,” the troll said, reminding me of a proud parent as he stared at me with a gap-toothed smile. I still didn’t know his name but also didn’t care to. The idea of harboring any personal associations with potion-smugglers and thugs wasn’t on my bucket list.

Jax glanced at me briefly, then at my wings. Naturally, they were already freaking the F out, and Jax frowned before turning toward the busy ANC office. Even though we were definitely in the Netherworld, this besieged ANC station looked very similar to its reciprocal version on Earth. The only differences that I immediately detected were the walls, which were painted a drab grey instead of white, and the carpet, which was a boring brown. Other than that, however, everything else looked almost exactly the same, including the ANC-uniformed employees who scurried every which way, attending to their duties. One variable note, though, was the increased number of armed guards that appeared to be stationed every ten feet or so. They weren’t wearing ANC uniforms either, but were dressed purely in black: fitted trousers and matching, long-sleeved shirts with no logos or company affiliations visible. I could only imagine they must have been directly employed by the infamous Rebellion.

The shadowy soldiers stood there just as silent as the Queen’s Guard with their hands crossed over the human-made machine guns, which were strapped to their chests. I assumed most of their artillery must have been imported from Earth, although I was sure it had to be spiked with Netherworld creature-disabling bullets, such as, you guessed it, dragon’s blood.

“The driver should be picking us up outside momentarily,” Jax suddenly announced. He glanced down at his phone and whatever he read there caused his lips to tighten into a straight line as his hands fisted. He didn’t say anything more, and I didn’t inquire. Turning away, he started heading toward the sliding glass doors just as a large, black SUV that looked like a Suburban or an Escalade pulled up in front of us. I didn’t fail to notice the license plates were missing. Figured …

“Perfect timing,” Greebow commented with a large smile.

No one replied or said anything more as we walked through the doors and entered the Netherworld atmosphere. As soon as we did, I reflexively glanced up at the sky. My heart was in my throat at the prospect that I would see one of the dreadful winged predators, which were incessantly on patrol. On my first visit to the Netherworld, I was accompanied by Bram, and on that trip, I watched in horror as one of the hideous creatures swooped down and picked off a person who was standing in line just in front of us. For now, thankfully, the skies were clear of both predators and clouds.

One of the first endeavors that Knight and Caressa had accomplished after we permanently removed my father from the equation was to eliminate the marauding, winged killers altogether. My father kept the monsters around to terrorize the public and thereby staunch or hinder any would-be uprisings or seditious insurgencies. The new regime had persisted in adopting my father’s outdated ideas on how to govern the Netherworld, so I half expected the Rebellion to reintroduce the flying abominations, at least in the pillaged areas where the Rebellion had managed to overpower the ANC. But, so far as I could tell, that didn’t appear to be the case.

Jax opened the passenger door and nodded to the driver without saying anything, not even a cordial greeting. Likewise, the driver didn’t acknowledge Jax or anyone else in our party. Instead, he just sat there robotically, facing forward. Judging by the size of his shrunken head and overall tiny stature, it was easy to identify him as a gremlin. I knew it instantly and didn’t even require my fairy abilities in creature detection to help me on this one. To most people, it might have seemed odd for anyone to employ an overly small creature, such as a gremlin, for a chauffeur. Especially one such as ours, who needed special apparatuses fitted onto his legs and feet just so he could reach the gas and brake pedals. Gremlins, however, possess uncanny talent when it comes to anything mechanical. They are adept not only at breaking things, but also at fixing them. Because of that notability, most gremlins either worked with cars or machines in whatever aspect they could, but usually as drivers or mechanics. I would have bet my last dollar that this one must have owned the Escalade or Suburban or whatever the vehicle was in which we were driving.

Jax sat down beside the gremlin, and Greebow took his seat behind Jax. Then, Greebow reached inside his pocket. Pulling out his iPod, he leaned back and closed his eyes, effectively tuning out the rest of us with no apologies. The troll lumbered around the vehicle before opening the rear door and pushing me inside. I had to assume this was where I was relegated to sit, virtually squished between the two of them!

“Where are we headed, boss?” the troll asked. He had a little bit of trouble folding himself into his seat. This time, it was necessary for him to stoop forward, leaning over his knees, in order for the rest of his enormous body to fit. He looked so ridiculous, he reminded me of the Flinstones’ pet dinosaur, Dino.

Jax cleared his throat as he glanced back at the troll with visible irritation and then at me without any affection or comment. I wasn’t surprised to find Jax even more handsome in the Netherworld than he was on Earth. Of course, the same thing could have been said regarding Knight. When traveling in the Netherworld, its creatures were restored to their truest forms. Just as my wings became visible and functional (to a point), Lokis appeared broader, taller and slightly nobler, just as their birthright would suggest. But I saw nothing noble in Jax. He might have been created as one of Hades’ guardians, but he had strayed so far from his path now, he seemed utterly irredeemable.

“The Darkness has requested that we bring you to Headquarters immediately,” Jax said as he eyed me narrowly. Then he fell silent as he continued to stare at me expectantly.

“I’m not sure what response you’re hoping for, Jax,” I answered with a quick shrug.

“This is a great honor,” he practically spat the words out, as if I were too stupid not to have already comprehended as much on my own. “An honor that I don’t believe you deserve in the least but, in this case, I’m just the messenger.”

“Well, you might think it’s a great honor, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m still no more than a helpless prisoner.”

“The Darkness is assuming a great risk by allowing you to visit the Rebellion’s secret operations,” Jax explained. “Ordinary prisoners would be summarily denied such luxury and license.”

“It’s not like a dinner invitation to Prince Charming’s ball,” I grumbled as I shook my head.

“No, but there’s a special reason he’s extending the invitation to you,” he retorted angrily.

“I’m not interested in cheesy consolation prizes,” I snapped back at him, growing impatient and irritated with his overall demeanor. “So you can take your honor and shove it up your …”

Jax instantly leaned forward and wound his arm back before wielding his hand right across my face. He slapped me so hard that my head snapped backwards and a shooting pain bolted up my neck. Gasping for air, my breath seemed to be caught in my throat, and my heartbeat increased with violent indignation. However, since I lost so much blood already, my increased heart rate only managed to flood my mind with dizziness. I had to close my eyes and simply concentrate on regulating my respiration. Meanwhile, swirling stars continued to dance before my eyelids, threatening to overcome me.

“I warned you more than once to keep your smart-ass remarks to yourself,” Jax snarled as I opened my eyes and took a brief glimpse at my surroundings. I noticed Greebow and the troll were both staring at Jax with wide eyes, almost in disbelief, as if they were just as startled by his unprovoked response as I was. I couldn’t see the gremlin’s reaction, but he said nothing, which wasn’t unexpected since gremlins, as a rule, weren’t a very chatty race.

“All your bitch slaps and sucker punches can’t intimidate me, Jax,” I said as I ran my hand across my tender mouth. Glancing down, I didn’t flinch when I noticed the trail of blood covering my knuckles.

Jax didn’t reply to my comment but merely faced forward for the remainder of the car ride; and everyone else was silent too. That was fine by me. The thing I needed now more than anything else was a stretch of pure silence. I hated to admit, even to myself, that I could still feel the pain in the cheek that was victimized by Jax’s blow. Now it was stinging something awful. I fought back the tears that were filling up the corners of my eyes and eyelids as I concentrated on what to do next. I was fairly sure that whatever wards had been in place that disallowed me the use of my magic while we were at Bram’s chateau were now a moot point. That meant I could probably reach out to Knight …

But as soon as that idea crossed my mind, I decided against it. For two reasons. In the first place, I assumed Jax would definitely have realized that once we were outside of Bram’s chateau, I could again connect telepathically with Knight. That left me thinking that either I was still under some sort of magical block, or Jax actually wanted me to reach out to Knight. In doing so, however, I would reveal Knight’s location. And that was the basis for my second reason in deciding against it. I didn’t want to subject Knight to any further danger. So, after mentally debating and weighing the possible consequences to both of my proposed actions, I came to the final conclusion that I was better off to just sit tight. I had to rely on myself exclusively now; and I was okay with that. Why? Because I’d pretty much spent my entire adult life having to depend on my own resources. My plan now was just to sit and wait for the next opportunity to make itself known, hopefully one in which I could try to escape. It wasn’t much of a plan, but really, right now it was all I had, so I chose to go with it.

When the car stopped maybe twenty minutes later, I was surprised. We were literally out in the middle of nowhere. I knew we drove clear out of the city, which was about ten minutes ago, before we entered a residential area, which soon disappeared and consequently became nothing but a sea of trees. Then we drove up a hill. That took a good five minutes until we reached a metal gate. The gremlin pulled directly in front of the gate which immediately swung open, allowing us passage. The private driveway we followed was a long and winding road that was partially unpaved. Once we reached the top, the gremlin parked the car and turned the engine off. Glancing over Greebow (who was sound asleep and snoring like no one’s business), I peered up at the large, imposing edifice now looming over us.

It had an asymmetrical structure and was very dark in color, which made it look a lot like a haunted house on Halloween. An overabundance of extra wings and bays facing in different directions made it look like something out of a kid’s fantasy picture book. To say it was not exactly the first image that appeared in my head when I imagined the headquarters of the Rebellion was probably the understatement of the millennium.

The structure comprised three distinct stories in Victorian housing style. A massively large, wraparound porch with delicate, ornamental spindles and brackets in the era of Queen Anne accented the exterior. A colossal, round tower with a steep, pointed roof adorned one end, while an equally immense octagonal tower perched on the other. Boasting elaborate trim, scalloped shingles, gingerbread details and a steeply pitched roof with pronounced gables facing different directions, it could have passed as a mammoth dollhouse. However, the dark grey paint of the wood siding and its black trim imbued it with a much more sinister vibe.

“Wake up, Greebow!” the troll said abruptly. He reached over and shook the werewolf’s arm. Greebow sputtered and coughed before he came to and promptly wiped his sleeve across his mouth where he’d been drooling. I grimaced as I quietly hoped that none of his saliva had pooled on top of me. Werewolves really were disgusting creatures …

“Where are we?” Greebow asked in a sleep-heavy voice. When he glanced out the window, he instantly appeared to be confused.

“Headquarters!” Jax answered with audible irritation. He opened his door and stood up, taking a deep breath of the Netherworld air as he glanced around. It almost seemed like he was seeing the place for the first time.

“Headquarters?” Greebow repeated, sounding and looking more amazed than before.

“What? Don’t tell me you’ve never been here before?” I remarked with a frown of skepticism. Naturally, I figured Jax’s henchmen had to be pretty high up on the corporate ladder. But maybe I was wrong? I mean, if I were wrong, it wouldn’t have been that much of a surprise, because if I’d been in the Darkness’s position, I would never have employed such idiots.

“Nope,” the troll answered.

“Neither have I,” Greebow said as he opened his door and stepped out. The troll shoved me toward Greebow rudely, who simply reached down and lifted me up, thereby pulling me out of the SUV. It took the troll at least a minute to unfold himself from the backseat before he plodded around the vehicle.

“Wow, fancy that,” he said in a deep voice. As the four of us started toward the front door, I noticed there were no other cars parked out in front. From what I could see, though, there seemed to be a wraparound driveway that led to the rear of the house. I could just glimpse the edge of what appeared to be a detached garage so I figured all the other cars were probably parked back there. Whoever lived, worked or did whatever here, they apparently insisted upon order.

The old, wooden stairs creaked beneath our feet. When the troll stepped on them, I half wondered if his heavy boots and weight would stomp right through the ancient boards. But, luckily for him, the floorboards held up. Upon reaching the large pair of wooden doors, Jax reached over and pushed the doorbell. A deep, mourning sound came from within the house.

“You better be on your best behavior starting right now,” Jax said underneath his breath as he addressed me. Before I could respond, he added, “And I’m saying this for your own good. The Darkness is not someone you want to test or play with. I warn you right now: he will not tolerate any of your smart-ass comments.”

“Duly noted,” I answered.

I could hear the faint clicking of heels coming from the other side of the door and, seconds later, a woman opened it. She was dressed in an outdated, white-and-black maid’s uniform, the kind that you might see in an old movie, which even included a funny, little headpiece on top of her hair.

“Come in, come in! He has been expecting you,” she said as she opened the door wider and we walked into the vestibule. The deep, dark wooden floors ran the length of the open hallway, continuing up the stairs in front of us along with both of the rooms on either side of us. The ceiling extended all the way up to the third floor in the entry and, as such, was commendably tall. An immense chandelier also hung above us, appointed with what had to be at least one hundred lightbulbs, each shaped like a candle.

The woman rushed past us before turning to face Jax and motioning for him to follow her. Then she darted into the room on our right. Once Greebow carried me inside, I presumed we were in a parlor or maybe even a library. Myriad books filled up one entire side of the room from floor to ceiling. There was also a large bay window, furnished with a velvet, upholstered window seat in a bright red hue. It matched a similar shade to the crimson of the floral wallpaper. Plantation shutters blocked out the sun and covered all the windows. Above them were ostentatious, black-and-gold window treatments.

“Wait here,” the woman said as she left the room, silently closing the narrow double doors behind her. I was so taken by the expansive room and the building itself, that it never even occurred to me to identify what type of creature the woman was.

“You might as well take a seat, because I’m not sure how long we’ll be here,” Jax said before throwing himself into one of the black velvet upholstered chairs in front of the vast slate fireplace. Greebow placed me carefully on a matching settee across from Jax before taking the chair beside him. The troll did not sit, but continued standing, probably because it took too much energy for him to sit down only to get up again.

“You think we’re gonna actually get to meet the Darkness, boss?” the troll asked dumbly as he faced Jax, who didn’t bother looking up at him. Instead, Jax kept his attention strictly focused on his cell phone. There was no slack in his jaw.

“I have no idea,” he answered with little interest.

“I bid you all welcome,” a man’s voice suddenly broke the silence in the room. I couldn’t help myself and jumped as the voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Furtively glancing around the perimeter of the room, I couldn’t see or detect any speakers. When my eyes alit on the shelves of books, I didn’t see any speakers there either. I shrugged and figured the voice was probably coming to us via magic, somehow. I briefly looked at the others, only to find them just as surprised as I was.

“Thank you,” Jax said before clearing his throat. He suddenly seemed uncomfortable, as if he weren’t sure which part of the room he should address.

Another lapse of silence descended from the other party, and we all just looked at one another in apprehensive expectation.

“Explain to me this: why is she dressed that way?” the voice suddenly boomed out. Anyone could sense the anger brewing in the tone of his words. No one replied, but they all looked at me, as if just noticing for the first time that my oversized T-shirt was the only thing I wore. Personally speaking, however, I was more than slightly alarmed that whomever the voice belonged to was able to see me, since as far as I could tell, there was no one else but us in the room. Then, I deduced this was probably just another example of powerful magic. Either that, or we were being captured on video.

“Why was the fairy carried in? And more importantly, why does she appear to be wounded?” the voice inquired, its pitch rising with increasing irritation.

“She has lost some blood, sir,” Jax started to explain in an unsteady voice.

“What happened to her?” the voice demanded.

“The vampire,” Jax began to reply.

“Stand at attention whilst you address me!” the voice roared, and Jax instantaneously leapt to his feet. I noticed Jax refused to look at any of us and stared only forward, looking toward the bay window seat.

“My deepest apologies, master,” Jax said, dropping his head in deference as he spoke. It was a role I’d never seen him play, but one that thrilled me, all the same.

“Explain the current aggrieved state of the prisoner,” the voice said, this time more coolly.

“The vampire nearly drained her,” Jax started to answer.

“Only because you starved him and then placed me in the same room with him!” I yelled defensively. I was more than angry that Jax would even dare to blame Bram for something he, himself, orchestrated. “Bram would never have done that to me of his own free will!”

Jax pierced me with a murderous expression, but I didn’t give a shit anymore. Whomever the Darkness was, he would only hear the truth from me.

“Explain why her face is so bruised and her lip has been torn,” the voice ordered. “And why is she wearing nothing more than a man’s large T-shirt?”

“You authorized the use of force and punishment,” Jax replied, his own voice suggesting his heretofore undisclosed anger. “I was merely following your orders, my lord.”

“Those were in regard to the vampire only, you idiotic fool!” the voice bellowed, and we all jumped collectively in our startled response. “Your express instructions were never to harm the girl!”

As soon as the room grew silent again, the double doors opened, revealing another woman dressed in the same maid’s uniform as the first. She entered the room, keeping her eyes fastened on me. Without sparing even the slightest glance to anyone else, she stopped walking as soon as she stood directly in front of me. Then she extended her hand, and I briefly debated as to whether or not I should take it. However, after reasoning that the Darkness seemed less keen with regard to inflicting more pain and suffering on me than Jax did, I accepted her proffered hand.

My wings immediately began flapping underneath my T-shirt. The woman simply glanced at them and shook her head. Miraculously, my wings calmed down just as quickly as they started. I couldn’t deny my utter amazement. No one had ever been able to control my wings, and least of all, me! The maid tightened her hold on my hand, and despite all my shock and disbelief, I began to float up into the air. I tried to sense my wings, to see if they were somehow flapping again and making me airborne, but they weren’t. Whatever was lifting us at present was entirely the maid’s doing. I tried to read her but found I couldn’t even tell what type of creature she was. It was as if I were encountering a wall. Interesting …

Regardless of my bewilderment, she continued to hold my hand, and I floated about three feet or higher off the floor. She led me out of the room and we started across the vestibule until we reached the hallway. Then she made a right and headed toward the staircase.

“Where are we going?” I asked, somewhat hesitantly. My heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it was thumping against my ribs, and I was more than nervous since I didn’t know what to expect. Never mind that I wasn’t exactly dressed for combat, and obviously, in no shape to defend myself, if the need arose.

The woman did not bother to glance back at me as she started up the stairs, still holding my hand with hers while grasping the banister with her other hand. “I am taking you to your room. There you may find a clean change of clothing and a bath, which will restore you and make you more comfortable,” she told me in a singsong voice as we reached the top of the stairs.

“Restore me? To what?” I asked, having never heard of any bathtub that would do that, even a magical one, and growing, quite naturally, suspicious. Despite my current ease and slight relaxation, I had to remind myself that even if the Darkness was showing me some level of courtesy, I was still being held a prisoner in the home of my enemy.

“The bath will restore your health to you, madam,” the maid tersely answered as she led me to the first door we encountered in the upstairs hallway. Stopping outside the door, the maid fished inside her pocket before she produced a skeleton key. Then, after she unlocked the door and opened it wide, she turned toward me and smiled, pulling me inside “my room.”

TWENTY

Dulcie

The bedroom was surprisingly well appointed and featured a showy canopy bed, covered by a navy blue velvet duvet. More than half of the mattress was obscured by all the satin and silk pillows on top of it. They came in all shapes, sizes and colors, and made the bed look like a rainbow had thrown up all over it. The four floor-to-ceiling windows were also sheltered from the outside sun by plantation shutters, very similar to those in the library downstairs. Similarly, these windows also featured valences atop the shutters; this time, set in a cornflower blue with a dark stripe that matched the duvet cover. Hmm, so the Darkness seemed to favor a Better Homes and Gardens approach to interior design. Interesting …

“Whoever owns this place doesn’t seem particularly fond of sunlight,” I observed as my eyes instantly settled on the copper tub in the center of the room. It was filled nearly to the top with what I assumed was ordinary water. The tub seemed so out of place, sitting in the middle of the bedroom, rather than in a bathroom, but I didn’t care enough to even comment. It was already more than clear to me that the Darkness definitely had eccentric taste, and this old, outdated house that he used at his headquarters was true to form.

“No, madam,” the maid replied with a self-conscious giggle. She only released my hand when I was floating right above the bed. Gracefully, I drifted down onto the sumptuous mattress. Meanwhile, she went about the room, closing all of the shutters, ostensibly for my privacy and Puritan sense of modesty.

Once she finished her task, she returned to the beautiful, gleaming tub. Dropping her elbow inside it, she tested the temperature of the water. When she looked back at me, she began to smile and even opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, but the expression was instantly washed right off her face. Seconds later, her irises rolled back into her head until her eyes were completely white. It looked like she could have been having a seizure. Concerned, and at the same time appalled, I leaned forward and gripped one of the canopy railings. I attempted to hoist myself up and onto my feet as my wings fluttered to assist me. But before I could do that, she suddenly spoke.

“I must apologize for the rough treatment you received while in the custody of Rochefort,” she said, and her voice sounded like her own but somehow, the cadence and the tone were very different—she was much more confident and commanding in her speech.

“I … I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I replied. It took me a few seconds to catch my breath after the jolt of watching her eyes roll back in her head, and then the energy it took to attempt to stand up. I could only stare at her with incredulity, while trying to figure out just what the hell was going on. Her eyes were still all white, with the colored irises rolled back into her head, but she didn’t seem to be in any pain or discomfort otherwise. As far as I could tell she didn’t, anyway …

“I am but one person, and although I command the laws and regulations of this operation, I cannot wield my control to some of those beneath me at all times, unfortunately,” she explained.

“Wait,” I started and I held my hand up. I wasn’t sure if she could even see me with her eyes looking as they were, but by the time that thought occurred to me, I’d already waved at her. “You’re the leader? You’re the Darkness?” I asked, motioning to her maid’s uniform with a perplexed expression on my face. I just couldn’t understand why the mind of this grandiose organization would parade in front of others like a simple maid. “But … but you’re dressed like a house servant?”

“I can see that you are utterly confused,” she responded with a small, understanding smile. “Allow me to clarify the situation.” Then she took a deep breath that seemed more for show than anything else. “Yes, you are speaking to head of the Rebellion, I must confess. I have been dubbed the Darkness, which is an appellation I must admit I find quite fitting,” she replied. Her face and body were still in a catatonic state, and she was just standing there as still as a board; only her mouth moved. “But this, what you see, is not my true form.”

“Then how,” I started but soon frowned. It was only then that I realized my wings had actually calmed down. They were lying placidly folded against my back. Maybe it was because I was still so weak, and my physical frailty affected my wings as well. If so, at least there was one positive feature to the situation.

“I am able to speak through the creatures in my employ,” she interrupted. “I merely borrow their voices and bodies temporarily … and with their consent, of course.”

“And you do that through magic, I’m guessing?”

“Precisely!” the maid responded triumphantly. Now, I could only wonder whether the Darkness possessed his own magic, or did he just employ someone else who possessed magical skills and abilities? It was an important delineation too; those who possessed their own magic were decidedly more powerful than those who did not.

“Is what you’re doing now causing that woman any pain or discomfort?” I inquired as my eyes honed in on the maid’s eyes, whose pupils and irises remained invisible and rolled back in her head. I could only imagine the headache she might have once her body was restored to her.

“No, no pain or discomfort,” she responded. “In general, I try to avoid hurting any of those loyal to me or my mission.”

I wasn’t sure how to read that comment since I obviously wasn’t loyal to him or his mission, but I eventually decided to shelve it for the time being. It was far more important for me to better understand just who and what the Darkness was or represented. “So … you borrow the bodies of other people and creatures in order to avoid being seen in your true form?” I asked as I wondered what type of creature he could be. “Are you a spirit or something intangible like that?” I asked as I studied the maid with narrowed eyes. If that were the case, then the Darkness was nothing more than a specter or a disembodied ghost. Of course, it certainly necessitated that he appear by borrowing the bodies of others. Specters, in general, were not usually considered terrible threats, but I knew stories of an odd poltergeist or two who became a force for others to contend with. Nonetheless, the whole endeavor sounded very odd to me.

“No, I am not a spirit,” the maid answered, and I could sense some amusement lacing her tone. “And, yes, the only reason I assume the form of others is to avoid being seen in my true form.”

“Why don’t you want anyone to see you in your true form?”

“I am afraid that is a very long and involved answer.”

“I have plenty of time,” I said with mock conviction as I crossed my arms over my chest. If there were truly no way of escaping, (and right now, it didn’t seem there was), the next best thing I could do was gain valuable information. And as much of it as I could. Besides, I was in no rush to be reunited with Jax and his crew of deplorables. Sure, the Darkness was obviously the larger threat, but so far, I could say in all honesty that I preferred his company to that of the egomaniacal sadist downstairs.

“Are you familiar with Machiavelli?” the maid asked, throwing me for a loop slightly.

“Um, only in as much as I know he was a prince,” I answered with a quick shrug. “But it’s not like I collected or studied his writings at length or anything.”

“Very good,” the maid answered quickly, and I thought to myself how odd it felt to carry on a conversation with someone that had no irises or pupils. “In Machiavelli’s book, The Prince, he presents the concept that as a leader, it is better to be feared than to be loved by your people, if you cannot be both.”

“I remember that quote!” I replied while thinking to myself that I never realized the concept had come from Machiavelli. Not that it really mattered, but anyhoo …

“In this instance, I must realize that it is not possible for me to be both feared and loved by my people. I am respected, yes, but I cannot be feared as well as loved,” the maid continued. “Thus, after many years of thought and self-reflection, I arrived at the conclusion that Machiavelli is absolutely correct, and it is vastly better to be feared.”

“But why?”

“Love is an internal, very flighty and very fickle emotion. You can practically turn it off or turn it on. Love comes and goes and comes again,” the maid explained, and I found I had no argument for her. Although I considered the love I had for Knight to be eternal and all-encompassing, I also had to recognize that such wasn’t the case for all people in romantic relationships. “Fear, on the other hand,” she continued, “is an external emotion which automatically makes it much more predictable. Whereas lovers may love each other on one day, the very next day it is always possible that they could hate each other. Fear, however, does not vanish so easily; not if your character remains the same.” So, the Darkness relied on logic not emotion; never mind if it was Machiavelli’s logic originally. Regardless, his casual manner in discussing this subject left me feeling very concerned because it was fairly apparent that the Darkness was as cold, calculating and devoid of emotional empathy as a robot.

“Then you consider not showing your face to those who obey your commands as nothing more than a fear tactic?” I asked, trying to clarify the intention of the Darkness to make sure I understood him fully.

“What do you fear most?” the maid replied. “That which you can see? Or that which you cannot see?”

“That which I cannot see,” I answered as soon as I considered it. Even in the realm of police work, the scariest situations were always those that were the most unpredictable.

“There is a very good reason that all tales of horror take place in the darkness, rather than during the light of day. Since the dawning of mankind, the darkness is what we fear the most. It casts shadows, and it hides the truth. Darkness does not reveal its truest nature, it lies and it shields itself. The darkness is that which you cannot see, that which can harm you, and kill you even, without you ever knowing it is lurking there.”

“So you hide your face and your true identity from your minions, because you think that causes them to fear you?”

“Keeping my minions in a state of ignorance as to my identity and powers is elevating in itself. They never know what their leader looks like, nor where he is at a given time, not to mention what shape he can adopt. That is intimidating, no?” the maid responded. Without waiting for me to reply, she continued. “Would you not incessantly be looking over your shoulder? And would you not be much more careful in whom you choose to place your trust? Would you not work even harder if you worried that your boss could be peering over your shoulder at any given moment?”

“Yes, to all of the above,” I answered honestly before something else occurred to me. “You said your response to my question was a long and involved one,” I started as I cocked my head to the side and studied her. “That didn’t seem too long or involved.”

“The desire to inspire fear is only part of the reason I do not show my face,” the maid responded. “The other reason is to retain my own protection and safety.”

That side of the equation was one I could wrap my mind around more easily. If your identity was a mystery not only to your enemies, but even to your own people, it would be much more difficult for an assassin to murder you or someone within your ranks to rat you out. Clearly, the Darkness, whether a person, an entity or whatever the hell it was, must have studied all the implications of this whole thing through and through.

“So that clears up a lot of the questions I had regarding your motivations in not showing yourself,” I started. “But I’m still not exactly sure what you want with me,” I finished, figuring it was time for us to move on to more important conversations. “Jax said I’m collateral. That makes me wonder if you’re planning to negotiate some sort of a tradeoff with the ANC. Something like offering me in exchange for access to the portals or something along those lines.” I took a short breath. “But, as far as I can tell, based on everything I’ve experienced with the Rebellion so far, there’s no need for that. You seem to be doing a pretty good job of securing the portals yourself, that is, if BrokenView is any example of your power.”

The maid nodded and remained quiet for a few seconds. “Jax is incorrect,” she said at last.

“Incorrect? About what?”

“You are not collateral,” she answered. “You are much more important to me than that.”

“Then if I’m not collateral, what am I?” I asked as another idea occurred to me. “And why does Jax seem so convinced that collateral is all I am?”

“I will answer your second question,” the maid started. “I do not believe Rochefort needs to be informed of my plans or motivations. He is simply a pawn whom I have hired to obey my orders. I prefer to keep things that way. As to why he would call you collateral, I can only surmise that he must have reached that conclusion all on his own.”

“Okay, then why did you say I’m not collateral, but something more important?” I pressed.

“That is a future conversation, which I promise to have with you at some point in time,” she answered as she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it. “But not at this moment. For now, your focus needs to be entirely on repairing your body.”

“I’m tired of having all my questions left unanswered,” I complained as I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. I was so sick of getting the runaround. And now that I’d finally “met” the Darkness, I had even more questions.

“I sincerely apologize for that, but on this subject, I will not bend,” the maid announced, very matter-of-factly. “The most important thing to me now, as it should also be to you, is your health. You must return your body to its happily functioning and fully restored state. Once you are rested, fed and feeling well again, we will resume this conversation. On that subject, you have my word.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but your word doesn’t mean much, if anything, to me.”

“I understand your reservations now, but it is as it must be,” the maid said with finality. “And on that note, I must bid you adieu.”

Before I could say another word in reply, the maid’s head jerked forward and her eyes suddenly rolled down, right back into their rightful position. She looked slightly disoriented for a moment or two and seemed to be staring at the ground until she, apparently, regained her bearings. It took her a few seconds and I noticed that she refused to look at me during this time. It was almost as if she were embarrassed by what just happened to her.

“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling half-annoyed at myself that I even cared, but I did. Even though she was a lowly ranked servant, she was still my sworn enemy, as far as I was concerned. I found it increasingly important to remind myself that I was still inside an establishment filled with my enemies. No one was going to do me any favors here. It was important not to forget that.

“Y-y-yes,” she answered as she offered me a little smile before she continued staring at the floor. She looked as if she were trying to recall what she’d been doing before her body was briefly possessed.

“Does it hurt you?” I asked, this time using a softer voice. I imagined the conversation might have caused her some degree of embarrassment, if her most recent actions were any indication. “I mean, when he borrows your body to communicate?” I added when she looked like she was at a loss.

“Oh, um, no, no, it doesn’t hurt,” she replied with another apologetic smile. Then she eyed the copper bathtub as she seemed to remember what she’d been tasked with before her body was possessed. “Your bath is ready, madam,” she added. “Please take advantage of the hot water before it cools.” She approached me and momentarily caught me with her eyes, and then she dropped her gaze to the top of the bed. “Do you require any assistance undressing?” she asked. Then, something else seemed to occur to her, and she popped her head back up as she approached the closet. “Oh, I forgot to mention, there is a change of clothing ready for you,” she said as she opened one of the closet doors. Reaching in, she pulled out a hanger with a long, black dress dangling off it.

“Thanks,” I said as I eyed the thing with disinterest. In general, I don’t wear dresses. They’re too awkward and suffocating, making it hard to fight or otherwise defend yourself. Give me a pair of jeans or yoga stretch pants and an old shirt over a dress or skirt any day, or night. “And, no, I don’t need any help undressing,” I answered. Glancing down at my T-shirt, I looked back up at her. “This comes off pretty easily,” I explained. “However, if you could assist me in getting into the bathtub, that would be much appreciated,” I added, as soon as I realized I didn’t possess the mere strength it took to get in there myself.

“Of course,” the maid answered as she hurried back to my side, carrying the black dress with her. She laid it out on top of the duvet and smoothed out the creases, looking upon it with what appeared to be admiration. Then she turned back to face me and took the five or so steps that separated us. Bending over, she firmly gripped me by my upper arms as she hoisted me up.

I even surprised myself when I decided to give the bath a try. I wasn’t fully convinced that it really could restore my health to me. There was a nagging doubt at the back of my mind that suggested it could have been full of poison or something similar that would seep into my skin and eventually kill me. But, in the end, I figured that was pretty unlikely. If the Darkness wanted me dead, he could have accomplished that relatively simple task a long time ago. I could only imagine Jax would have been very happy to take care of the cruel deed himself. The primary reason I decided on the bath was because I wanted to wash off the memories of Jax and what he’d done to me, even if it were only a symbolic gesture. And, I figured if it did heal me in the process, that was just an added bonus.

The maid pulled me toward her and brought me onto my feet; then, she assisted me by holding my arms as I attempted to walk the four steps that separated me from the bathtub. My wings instantly began to flutter and flap, thereby aiding her slightly by lifting me into the air a few inches. Using them to her advantage, she simply aimed me in the direction of the bath. As soon as I grasped the lip of the tub, my wings stopped beating and I drifted gracefully back down to the ground. She supported me by holding my waist, but despite her assistance, I was still pretty winded and dizzy. I had to close my eyes and take a few deep breaths before I felt lucid enough to dare to lift one of my legs over the side of the bathtub and into the water.

As soon as my foot touched the water, I felt a vibration that traveled right up my leg. It wasn’t alarming or anything, but I noticed it all the same. I took another big breath as I brought my other leg over the side, and then I had to bend over so I wouldn’t pass out. I closed my eyes and concentrated exclusively on my breathing so I wouldn’t fall victim to the vertigo. The maid, probably sensing how close I was to losing it, gripped me more tightly beneath my arms as she coaxed me downward, eventually allowing me to sit in the tub. The hot water felt like nothing short of heaven as it flowed around my waist, the tiny vibrations now sizzling mostly around my legs and midsection. I assumed the pulsations were owing to the magic infused in the water. It seemed like an entity in itself as it sought out whatever damage Jax had done to me and repaired it. Well, not just Jax, but Bram too, for that matter.

“Thank you,” I said to the maid in all sincerity. I also wanted to let her know I was fine and could be left on my own now.

She immediately stood up and obliged me with a quick curtsey as well as a nod of her head before she turned around and left me again to my solitude.

TWENTY-ONE

Bram

I was not certain how many minutes passed. Vander continued to stand at the rear of my Porsche, fully divested in whatever he was witnessing on his mobile phone. Personally speaking, I must admit that I was not eager for his return. I did not know what my behavior or actions towards him should be. In general, I am not someone that others seek when they require compassion, solace or comfort. Those emotions are estranged and foreign to me and, perhaps, I radiate that information without having to announce it. Thankfully, no one has ever relied on me for such. Furthermore, were it required of me to perform such conciliatory acts, I am not entirely convinced I would even know how! In general, I am not in the least bit comfortable at the notion of myself offering, much less providing, such altruism. The whole concept feels very awkward and unfamiliar to me. As such, I was and still am wholly turned off by it. Not to mention that offering such an act of empathy to Vander made me even more discontented. While Vander and I were not exactly enemies, we were most certainly not friends. I would hesitate even to label us acquaintances as that word also carries with it a sense of intimacy in its connotation.

My angst-ridden inner monologue was rudely interrupted when Vander suddenly opened the driver’s door. I was so entrenched in my own prevailing thoughts that his unexpected appearance surprised me. Without a single look at me, he sat down behind the wheel, not bothering to even close the door after him. Neither of us spoke a word. He simply stared straight ahead as I examined him and wondered what words I should say. I was beyond convinced that there was little or nothing I could do to alleviate the situation, but I supposed it was custom to at least attempt it. I continued to deliberate, staging and restaging the situation as I racked my brain for some way to lift his clearly sagging spirits.

“I owe you an apology,” Vander said at last. I did not fail to notice, however, that he spoke without bothering to look in my direction. It was almost as if he were addressing the windshield. I was so flabbergasted by his unsolicited admission, I did not respond. That was just as well, because he did not stop speaking, all while still staring straight ahead rather than at me.

“I believed the worst of you,” he started, “as I always have.” He glanced down at the steering wheel and sighed while shaking his head slightly. “But after seeing what I did …” The words died on his tongue. I was not certain if it were a recent development or perhaps I had merely missed it earlier, but his eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

The ensuing silence in the vehicle soon became deafening, if only because it highlighted my utter failure to respond. Even though I continued to rack my brain with hypothetical replies, I could not seem to arrive at one which would satisfy both of us. Finally, the persistent quiet became too much for me to bear. I said aloud the next thought that entered my head.

“Was it so terrible?”

Vander turned to face me then, and I instantly wished he had not. The weight of experience after viewing whatever hideousness he must have witnessed was now crushing down on him visibly. His shoulders sagged and his chest seemed as if it were caving in on itself, causing his head to jut forward. Even though the burden of his knowledge was not visible, it was bearing down on him all the same.

“You don’t know? The extent of it?” he began with genuine surprise registering in his dark blue eyes. “You weren’t there to witness any of it?”

“No,” I answered with a quick shake of my head. “I was rather fixated on being bled to death, and owing to that, I must admit I was quite delirious and not very lucid.”

Vander nodded as if he understood me and my terse explanation resonated with him. “Yes, of course,” he said in a small voice as he continued to stare at the steering wheel. From what I could see of his eyes, he was suffering from the pangs of terrible regret. “I don’t know why I asked you. I already knew you weren’t there, so of course, you wouldn’t have known what happened.”

“May I ask,” I started before clearing my throat as I wondered if I were approaching sensitive territory, or an area that should have been forbidden to me. “May I ask exactly what you did see?” I cleared my throat again, feeling as if I should explain myself further. “I must admit I fail to comprehend what this ‘imprint,’ as you call it, means in relation to you and Dulcie.”

Vander sighed and nodded but remained quiet for a few seconds. Then he took a deep breath and opened his mouth twice, only to close it again as if he were experiencing false starts. When he did it a third time, I half wondered if the words were simply so deeply lodged in his throat that they refused to be heard.

“If your recollection of the event is too difficult a task, or causes you too much pain to relate, I understand fully,” I began. I did not want to encourage him to delve into subjects which quite possibly were beyond his ability to face at the moment. I was genuinely surprised to find that I actually did care about Vander’s feelings. Empathy was so extraordinary an emotion in relation to me and not one I could have ever imagined experiencing with regard to Vander. I half wondered if losing all my blood and replacing it with Dulcie’s had not somehow redistributed some of her kindness and understanding onto me …

“No,” he answered immediately as he shook his head. “It is important you know,” he quickly resumed, taking a deep breath as if he were resigned to enlightening me. “It’s important that we both know precisely what we’re up against.”

I could only assume his last statement was a reference to Rochefort. “Very well,” I said with a brief nod. “Whenever you are ready to inform me, I shall be ready to listen.”

“When Dulcie encountered the witch at BrokenView, the witch actually touched her,” Vander started, his tone purposeful and direct. “In doing so, she was able to pull out Dulcie’s memories. In a matter of milliseconds, the witch sorted through Dulcie’s memory bank and isolated only those which applied specifically to the current situation’s unrest.”

“You mean the unrest with the Rebellion and Rochefort?” I asked just to be sure I was following him correctly.

“Yes,” Vander nodded as he continued. “Through magic, or what Sam termed an ‘imprint,’ the witch managed to save Dulcie’s memories. Sam sent me these memories so I could see exactly what Dulcie saw, and see what she experienced.”

“And that is all that you witnessed then?” I inquired.

Vander nodded. “Yes. I witnessed everything Dulcie did. I saw everything, but clearly, from her perspective.”

“Then you must review for me the role I had to play when I discovered her nearly dead,” I replied, even though I doubted whether I truly wanted to know the extent of my own crimes.

“I know what you did to her was beyond your control,” Vander said, his voice dropping lower. “You were set up, Bram. You were merely an ignorant pawn in Jax’s fucked-up game of domination.”

“All I can remember is finding Dulcie lying limp in my lap,” I recalled as I shook my head against the flood of memories that suddenly overwhelmed me. “She was naked,” I continued before a horrible thought sparked my mind. “Please assure me she was not … violated?”

“No,” he said and shook his head immediately. “She wasn’t, thank Hades.”

I nodded and inwardly sighed with relief. I could not bear the idea of any of those barbarians taking something so precious from my sweet.

“Go on,” Vander said as I tried to recall where I had been in my narration.

“Ah, yes,” I said as the memories returned. “She was lying upon my lap and her tiny body was so badly beaten and broken and torn. I instantly assumed I was the responsible party.”

“No, you weren’t,” Vander replied, his voice sounding suddenly very strained as his jaw tightened.

“I must accept all responsibility, however, for very nearly draining her of her life’s blood,” I said, sighing inwardly with relief that I had not otherwise harmed her. Of course, I had already previously rationalized my behavior to myself. I felt sure I would never have treated my sweet in such a manner, but confirming that it was the absolute truth from another person filled me with a sense of liberation that I did not earlier possess and found incomparable.

“Yes, but you were also a victim of your own bloodlust,” Vander answered quietly. “You know that as well as I do; once you get starved to that point, there is no coming back. There was nothing you could have done about it and no way you could have resisted its power.”

“Yes, that is so.”

“And I saw exactly what happened, Bram,” he continued as he faced me with a more earnest expression. When he started speaking again, however, he returned his attention to the scenery outside the vehicle and straight ahead of us. “As soon as you realized what you’d done, you immediately tried to correct your actions. You could have left her for dead then, but you didn’t.” He turned to face me again and I saw something in his eyes which had not been there before. Was it gratitude?

“The reason she made it out alive, Bram, was entirely owing to you and your subsequent actions.”

“Yes, well,” I started to reply before clearing my throat because the words suddenly felt as if they were clinging to my throat. Rapidly moving away from feeling comfortable with this conversation, I was now as far away as it was possible to be. “I did what I had to do. I did the only thing that could have been done.” I spoke the truth. There was no way I could ever have left Dulcie in the appalling condition in which I found her.

“No,” Vander nearly interrupted me as he shook his head. “You know as well as I do just who and what you are.”

“I fail to comprehend your meaning,” I answered, wondering if he were purposely attempting to offend me, although the timing seemed strangely off. He interrupted me again before I could further contemplate it.

“You are a man who’s always been out for himself,” Vander supplied. “You don’t surround yourself with friends simply because you don’t believe in them. You’ve always subscribed to the notion of keeping your enemies closest to you. And you have no family. You’re even estranged from your maker, as far as I can tell.”

“My maker is dead,” I replied as I thought about Meg and my jaw went tight.

“My point is this: you exist solely for yourself and you always have,” Vander continued. “Except where Dulcie is concerned.”

I could not argue with him, so I chose not to. Instead, I just listened and remained quiet, sitting stock-still and most assuredly appearing as uncomfortable as I actually was.

“I understand now,” he continued.

“What is it you now understand, Vander?” I asked. I diverted my attention from my hands, which were neatly clasped in my lap, and lifted my eyes back to his face.

“I finally understand your feelings for her now,” he explained with a shrug. “I always assumed your interest in Dulcie was merely physical, that you wanted her as a conquest, a notch in your belt, just like every other woman you’ve come across; but I just realized that was never the case.” He took a breath. “And it’s not the case now either.”

Although there was truth in his words, that did not mean I was prepared to address the issue. I did not respond and simply averted my eyes and my attention to the landscape outside my passenger window as I wished I could have been anywhere but there.

“You love her,” Vander persisted.

At hearing his words, my stomach dropped like a rock in a well. Despite how much I wanted to deny or, at the very least, swerve the direction of the conversation, I found myself unable to. It was almost as if my own tongue had sewn my lips shut from the inside out. I just sat there in awkward silence, yearning to be a million miles or more away.

“If anything happens to me, Bram,” Vander continued, and I shuddered at the sound of his voice again. “If I don’t make it out of this alive, Bram, I’m asking you to promise me here and now that you’ll take care of Dulcie and you’ll always keep her safe.”

“I promise,” I answered immediately. I had no qualms. “There is no need for you to ask me, since I would act accordingly regardless of any promise or vow.”

“I know,” Vander said as he nodded. “And for that, I will be eternally grateful to you.” He grew quiet then as he stared out the window. When he spoke again, his voice was low and frozen with iciness. “There is one more thing, Bram.”

“Yes?” I replied, even though I doubted whether I could take any more of his remorse. I was on the verge of opening my passenger door and insisting that I walk the rest of the way to wherever we were headed, if only to avoid the current conversation.

Vander swallowed hard. “I realize that you have every reason to hate Rochefort and will probably seek revenge against him for what he did to you,” he started.

“Yes,” I agreed, because it was the honest truth.

He faced me then and I observed a renewed sense of purpose in his eyes. “Please allow me to avenge her, Bram,” he said. “Whatever happens, whether I live or die, this is something I, alone, must do.” Then he took a deep breath. “As long as there is air in my lungs, I can’t allow Rochefort to live, not after what he did to her.” He dropped his gaze to his hands as he shook his head. “I don’t know how she can ever be expected to come back from something like that.”

“Dulcie is very strong,” I replied at last. I must confess that I much preferred the apish brute I had become familiar with, rather than this emotional, broken man I now saw before me. “You know as well as I that she will find a way to survive and, eventually, thrive.”

“Yes,” Vander agreed as he began nodding emphatically. “She is very strong.” The glassy sheen returned to his eyes as he furiously blinked the tears away, thank my lucky stars. I doubted very seriously if I had the wherewithal, not to mention the strength of mind, to respond properly if he broke down. “She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” he insisted, his voice growing softer.

“Of course I will grant you the favor you are asking,” I replied, although I was feeling somewhat annoyed at myself for giving in so easily. I had vowed to avenge both myself and Dulcie. But witnessing the heartbreak and reality of Vander’s anguish, I most probably would have granted him anything else in the world that he asked for just so we could move on. “And should the situation arise in which you find yourself unable to extinguish and eliminate Rochefort, I shall take the task upon myself forthwith.”

“Yes,” he answered immediately as he glanced over at me. “And don’t do it quickly either. Make him suffer much more than he made Dulcie suffer.”

“I will make him endure far greater suffering than he could ever imagine in his darkest hour,” I answered with firm determination. It was the same promise I had already vowed to myself.

“Then we are in agreement,” Vander replied with a clipped nod. He started the engine, and the Porsche purred in response. Checking behind him to ensure the road was clear, Vander pulled onto the street again. “We’ve got to get to the nearest ANC office,” he started to say as he glanced over at me. “From there, we go directly to the Netherworld.” Then he sighed, deep and long. “The only problem confronting us now is one of time.”

I looked at him with arched eyebrows but did not ask him to elaborate. He received my gist, all the same.

“It took me a day to reach you from the Hollow station,” he announced. “A day that we can’t afford to waste now.”

“Have you learned nothing from me in the lengthy time of our association?” I asked with a satisfied smile.

“What do you mean?” he inquired.

I depressed the button that released the glove box and reached into it, producing a thin, metal gadget that I held up beside my face. “I always keep something useful up my sleeve,” I answered as I waved the portal ripping device to and fro.

TWENTY-TWO

Dulcie

Despite how impossible it seemed at the time, the hot bath actually did heal me. Hooray for the power of magic! It took less than twenty minutes, and I had to lie submerged right up to my chin. My entire body was thrumming with electricity as the little bolts of magic collaborated in repairing my wounds and soothing my fatigue. I wasn’t sure if the magic also managed to increase the amount of blood in my body, but I didn’t question it. Little by little, the dense fog that formerly occupied the front and center inside my head dissipated, and I could suddenly think much more quickly and clearly. To my added relief, my errant wings behaved themselves too, by lying inactively against my back.

When I could no longer feel the tiny buzz of magic moving along the skin of my body, I decided to test myself just to see how healed and restored I truly was. I lifted one leg with no problem and then the other one before doing the same only using my arms. The utter joy I experienced at just being able to accomplish such a small movement was nearly overwhelming. Only a few minutes ago, I wasn’t even able to move any of my limbs, and now it seemed like all of my strength had been finally returned to me. When I brought my hands up to my face, I wiggled my fingers and noticed everything worked perfectly and with very little effort. Yes, I knew Bram’s blood did most of the healing in my broken fingers, but this magical bathtub certainly handled the rest. I savored the huge rush of relief that soon consumed me entirely.

Don’t kid yourself, Dulcie, I instantly reprimanded myself. You’re still in the Netherworld and surrounded by your enemies. Yes, although you’ve gotten your strength back, in the light of recent events, you’re still neck deep in a very bad situation.

And I couldn’t forget that fact. For as much as I was starting to feel somewhat indebted to my captor for being so kind as to heal me, I couldn’t allow my feelings to be revealed. My enemies were the ones to blame, and the ones who did this to me in the first place. Sending any gratitude their way was definitely the wrong place to invest it. Nope! No way would I allow myself to fall victim to Stockholm Syndrome! My captors could never win my trust or allegiance.

I wasn’t sure if it was the sudden negative thoughts that swarmed my mind, but the dull thrumming in the back of my head returned anew. I figured I could erase it easily enough by submerging my head in the healing waters. Not to mention the multiple blows Jax swiftly delivered to my face and the resultant swelling and bruising from them. Holding my breath, I plunged my head underneath the water and felt the tiny pricks of healing cells surrounding my face and head. The headache that kept plaguing me for the last hour immediately disappeared, and I couldn’t help smiling at its departure. After a few more seconds, I had to come up for air, but I again immersed myself under the precious water. Closing my eyes, the tiny jolts of healing magic raced over my cheeks, my mouth, my chin and the back of my head. Feeling somewhat light-headed, I interrupted the process in order to inhale a few huge swallows of air before I slid back down underneath the water. I continued repeating the process until I could no longer feel the delightful thrumming of magic all over my body.

When I sat up, I observed the water level inside the tub beginning to drop. I didn’t remember noticing a drain at the bottom of the tub, so I inspected it but found nothing. Even so, the water level continued to decrease so rapidly, it seemed to be locked on fast-forward. Within seconds, all the water had evaporated completely, and the final drop disappeared into the air with a little popping sound. I stood up and glanced down at myself, noticing I appeared to be completely dry. Having no answer for how or why this could have occurred, I shrugged and simply admired whatever magic was responsible for making all of this possible. Then I stepped out of the copper tub, feeling completely healed, rejuvenated and restored to my former healthier and much happier self.

My attention instantly fell onto the bed and the long, black dress which I saw lying there. I sighed, figuring I had no other alternative where my clothing was concerned. Glancing over my shoulder, I was pleased to find my wings were still dormant. I approached the bed while I examined the dress with abject disinterest. Although it definitely wasn’t my first choice in terms of attire, it was light years better than wearing Bram’s T-shirt, if only because it could cover a hell of a lot more. I picked the dress up and noticed the black lace bra and matching thong panties that hung beneath it. At least someone was on the ball and covering all the bases.

I pulled the panties up over my thighs and then began putting the bra on. I was more than pleased to discover that both fit me perfectly. It was almost as if whoever hung them up in the closet was expecting me and no one else. I pulled the dress up over my legs because it was easier than trying to slip it over my head since my wings would invariably get caught in the fabric. The back of the dress was completely open, which suited my wings perfectly. I shook my head as I pondered over my good fortune in finding such a well-tailored garment. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed as if this dress had been specifically procured just for me. In general, I didn’t believe in coincidence. Regardless, I smoothed the stretchy black fabric down and maneuvered it into place. Skin tight, the top of the dress plunged all the way down to the area just beneath my breasts. It blatantly outlined the swells of both of my breasts without leaving much to the imagination.

“Figures,” I grumbled, shaking my head as I thought to myself that if I hadn’t known the Darkness was a man before now, I would have guessed he was based entirely on the choice of clothing he so generously provided.

The hemline of the dress reached the floor and swished around my feet in flowing, luxurious fabric. I turned around and spotted a full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door, which was still open. I started toward it, mostly because I was curious to see if my bruises had disappeared. The first thing that caught my eye, however, was the prominent way in which my breasts were displayed. I tried to squeeze the pieces of fabric closer together, but as soon as I let them go, they just pulled apart again. There was no way I could adjust the dress to make it appear a little more modest. Giving up on that task, I couldn’t help admiring how nicely my hair flowed around me in loose waves. I looked like I’d just come from the salon.

So magical baths not only possessed the powers to heal you, but they also washed and styled your hair! Interesting, I thought to myself as I sighed happily at my reflection. Clad in the ridiculously tight, long, black dress, I looked just like Elvira, the Mistress of the Dark, only with blond hair and fairy wings.

How the hell are you going to get yourself out of this mess, Dulcie? The thought raced across my mind and I watched my shoulders slump in defeat. I didn’t have an answer to my question. I felt beyond sure that there was magic in use all over the house and wards in place that would prohibit me from even opening a window or making the slightest attempt to sneak out. As soon as I considered that, I figured I might as well at least give the windows a good tug, just to see if my initial assumptions were spot on.

I teetered along, because the dress was so tight I couldn’t walk, and made my way to the bank of slide-up windows. I tested the first one, but it was shut and locked so tightly, whether from the outside or by way of magic, the eventual outcome was still the same. When I tugged on the next window in the line, it was the same story; and the third window? It proved not to be the charm.

With a sigh of resignation, I turned around, and at the same moment, I heard a strident knock on the door. I grumbled something unintelligible that even I could not make out, but the door opened all the same. Standing in the entry stood a strikingly handsome man who appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent with dark olive skin and inky, flashing eyes. He was dressed just as I imagined must have been the custom of his homeland: in flowing silk robes, a large sash and moccasin-like shoes on his feet.

“Pardon me, madam,” he said in an accent that sounded as exotic as he looked. “I trust that you are feeling much better?” he asked, and I instantly doubted my first premonition that he was Middle Eastern. His accent actually sounded French.

“Yes,” I answered as I studied him. “And who, may I ask, are you?”

“Many apologies, madam,” the man answered with a quick bow. “My name is Antoine, and I have been commissioned to ensure your comfort and well-being. I have also come to invite you to dine with my master, as it has been brought to my attention that you have not consumed enough sustenance during these last few days.”

How true that was, but I didn’t say anything to Antoine. Instead, I simply studied him for a few seconds longer and tried to identify what type of creature he was. He was definitely French; and his name certainly gave his nationality away, even if his bizarre attire led me to believe otherwise. But as to his class and species? It was exactly the same as it was with the maids; meaning, I had no clue. It was almost as if the species, themselves, defied classification. Either that or my identification abilities were being blocked inside the walls of this bizarre establishment. “What are you?” I asked, the increasing frustration in my voice clearly evident.

“Madam?” Antoine repeated, indicating he did not understand my question.

“What type of creature are you?” I clarified. “Usually, I can detect a stranger’s genus immediately, but I noticed before that my powers aren’t working correctly here.”

“Yes, of course,” Antoine answered as he nodded briefly. “I am loath to admit it, but your powers are deliberately being blocked inside these walls, madam.”

I nodded since I wasn’t surprised in the least. “That’s exactly what I figured.”

“Would you care to follow me now to the dining hall?” Antoine asked as he held the door wider and smiled at me, encouraging me into the hallway.

“So, I’ll ask you again: what are you?” I repeated. I crossed my arms over my chest when his eyes landed on my breasts and stayed there. He immediately colored red and looked embarrassed at being caught so obviously gawking at me. Of course, it wasn’t hard to notice my breasts considering how much they were on display in the ridiculously low-cut dress …

“I’m sorry, madam, but I cannot answer your question,” he said quickly. “However, I can take you to someone who can.”

“The Darkness?” I asked just for shits and giggles.

“Yes, madam,” Antoine responded with a quick nod. “My master requests your company.”

“And what of the others?” I inquired, without making any motion to budge from my spot in the middle of the room. “Are Jax, the werewolf and the troll dining with us too?” If they were, my fragile appetite was suddenly extinguished.

“No, madam,” Antoine answered immediately. “My master wishes only to meet with you. Uninterrupted.”

I was relieved in knowing that Jax wouldn’t be there. If I never laid eyes on him again, it would be too soon. I stalled as I glanced around the room and wondered what harm there was in eating with the Darkness. If anything, maybe he’d finally be persuaded to answer some of the questions that were still burning inside me. And it wasn’t like I was doing much, being stuck up here without my powers anyway. I considered it a vacation, however, just to escape being in the same room with Jax and his crew of morons.

I didn’t reply but simply nodded as I dropped my arms from covering my chest and started across the room. Antoine held the door open even wider, and once I reached the threshold, he began walking down the hallway ahead of me. When we reached the staircase, he glanced behind him, ostensibly to make sure I was still there.

“How are you feeling, madam?”

“I’m fine,” I answered, even though there were butterflies in my stomach and I was growing anxious over the prospect of dining with the Darkness. I could only wonder if he planned to appear in his true form or would simply assume the body of one of his employees again.

At the base of the staircase, I glanced into the library and saw Jax sitting in the same chair he’d been occupying when we first arrived. I couldn’t see the other side of the room so I didn’t know if the troll and the werewolf were still there, but I figured they probably were. As soon as Jax saw me, he eyed me up and down, from head to toe, and an expression of surprise twinkled in his eyes, as if he weren’t expecting to see me dressed this way. A moment later, the expression disappeared and his eyes narrowed as bitter anger polluted his features.

“Come, madam,” Antoine said as he led me down an adjoining hallway. I was only too happy to oblige him, anxious to get as far away from Jax as possible.

When we reached the end of the corridor, Antoine opened the wide, double doors, and I was nearly overwhelmed by the huge expanse of a dining room. The floors were a rich, dark mahogany to match the wood paneling that ran halfway up the walls and surrounded the entire room. The ceiling had to be no less than twenty feet high. In the center of the room was a sprawling, dark wood dining table with sixteen high-backed matching chairs surrounding it. The feast on the table was a spread that would have made any king jealous.

“Ms. O’Neil.”

I was greeted by a man who sat at the head of the table on the far end. As soon as he saw me, he stood up with a warm smile. He was dressed in the same fashion as Antoine: an exotic robe with a turban, a bright red sash and moccasin-type shoes. He wasn’t quite as good looking as Antoine but still handsome all the same. And he appeared to be pretty young, which surprised me because I’d figured the Darkness would have been older.

“Are you the Darkness?” I asked as I studied him. Even though he smiled at me in a friendly sort of way, I couldn’t help the shivers that raced up my spine as if someone had just walked over my grave. The Darkness made me uncomfortable. So far, he was just too welcoming and too nice, especially considering I was obviously his enemy. And in my experience, you can never trust people who act like that.

“Yes and no,” he answered with a smirk. His skin was much lighter than Antoine’s. Judging by his accent, he sounded English, or maybe he was Australian. He also appeared somewhat older than Antoine, even if he wasn’t as old as I’d assumed. Regardless, there were deep lines that creased his forehead and crows’ feet around his eyes.

“I’m talking to the Darkness, but that’s not your real body,” I answered for him, in an irritated and dry manner.

He smiled warmly. “Yes, you do catch on rather quickly.” Then he faced Antoine and said, “Leave us, please.” Antoine didn’t verbally respond but simply nodded before bowing low and turning on his heel while starting for the door. I noticed his footfalls made no sound on the hardwood floors, something which struck me as very odd. Meanwhile, the stranger with whom I was dining pulled out the chair closest to him, holding his arm out in a gallant and over-the-top gesture that I should sit. Figuring there was no reason not to, I did as he beckoned me and patiently waited for him to speak.

“I trust your health has been returned to you?” he began.

“Yes, it has,” I answered quickly. “Although I’ll probably lose my mind if one more person asks me that.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I apologize for my concern and that of the others, madam, but everyone here was very much involved in your successful recuperation.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Spare me the all this unnecessary superficiality,” I started as I shook my head. “But let’s be straight, eh? We both know that no one here gives a damn about me, much less my health and continued safety.”

The man shook his head vehemently. “That is where you are so wrong,” he said. “You are a very important consideration to all of us and, especially, to our mission.”

“And that’s the sticking point,” I said as I shook my head in turn. “I still fail to understand how any ANC officer can be so important to you or your bottom line.”

The man nodded and appeared somewhat pensive. “Let us save that discussion until after you have feasted and your belly is full,” he said as he motioned toward the sumptuous display of edibles set before me.

I couldn’t stop my eyes from roving over the glazed ham, roasted turkey, vegetable side dishes of every sort, baskets full of various breads, a cutting board overflowing with different cheeses and two trays brimming over with exotic fruits. And that was just the food! On the far end of the table were eleven large pitchers filled with various liquids of different colors. My stomach started to growl at the same time that my mouth started salivating.

The man stood up and approached the end of the table where he reached for a crystal goblet. Running his free hand above the various pitchers, he asked, “Do you prefer wine, ale, beer, or cider?”

If I never needed a glass of wine before, I definitely needed one now. “Wine, please,” I answered.

“Red or white?”

“Red,” I replied as my stomach continued to growl and I felt the blush of my embarrassment burning my cheeks.

“Cabernet, merlot, pinot noir, or Syrah?” the man asked.

“I don’t care,” I said with a shrug. “Surprise me.”

“Very well, I shall pour for you my favorite,” he answered before reaching for a decanter and pouring me a glass of the deep red fluid. When he returned, he handed the glass to me and I accepted it without saying thank you. Table manners didn’t come into play when you were being held as someone’s prisoner …

“Please, serve yourself,” he said as he motioned to the sumptuous feast before me.

I didn’t respond with words, but I did take him up on his offer. Reaching across the table to pile some slices of turkey on my plate, I helped myself to a sampling of each of the veggies and a piece of pretzel bread, which also happened to be my favorite type of bread and an enduring weakness of mine. When I sat back down, he raised his eyebrows as he observed the heaping piles of food on my plate.

I shrugged. “Might as well load up since this will no doubt be my last supper, right?” I quipped with a frown.

“That all depends on you,” he answered as he watched me. He tapped his long, manicured fingers rhythmically against the wood of the table. “Speaking of surprises,” he began, obviously changing the subject. I figured he was referring to my previous remark about the wine. “I imagine our conversation this afternoon will probably surprise you.”

“Really? Why is that?” I asked as I forked a piece of turkey and added a carrot before placing it into my mouth. At the glorious taste, my taste buds nearly exploded off my tongue as my mouth began salivating even more.

He shrugged. “I have information for you concerning your past.”

“My past?” I repeated and my eyebrows rose higher, aiming for the ceiling. The lump of food got stuck in my parched throat, so I reached for the glass of wine to wash it down. As soon as I tasted the potent, full-bodied flavor of the wine, I guessed he chose a Syrah. I took another sip before returning my attention to my plate, where I speared another generous piece of turkey. This time, however, I paired it with a bite of the pretzel bread, slathered in butter, of course.

“Yes, I know more about you than you are probably aware,” he said.

I shelved that subject for a moment because something much more pressing suddenly occurred to me. “Why aren’t you eating?” I asked as a bolt of shock traveled up my spine, and I immediately worried that the food was poisoned. I dropped my fork, which landed on the metal plate and made quite the racket.

The man laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry. The food isn’t poisoned,” he stated.

I frowned at him but made no motion of picking up my fork again. “You can read my mind?”

“No, but your face is quite transparent. You’re about as easy to read as an open book.” Then he stopped laughing although his smile remained. “Had I wanted you dead, I could have accomplished that somewhat easy task a long time ago,” he continued. “So cease your worry over my motives and simply try to enjoy your meal.”

I glanced down at the mostly uneaten food on my plate and considered his words for a few moments. I guessed he was being honest, because his explanation made sense to me. So I picked up my fork and resumed the ritual of stuffing my face.

“And to answer your question as to why I am not eating, it is simply because I am not hungry,” he said as he studied me with a visibly piqued interest and curiosity. “Surely the same cannot be said for you.” His eyes narrowed as he further studied me. “Was starvation another item on the list of grievances you have accumulated against Rochefort?”

“Maybe not starvation, exactly, but death by boring sandwiches definitely ranks in there somewhere,” I answered.

“Yes, well, Rochefort and I will be having a conversation regarding his treatment of you very soon,” he replied. Maybe it was the way he said the words or the words themselves, but a shiver raced up and down my spine. I wasn’t sure why, but I had an idea that Jax wouldn’t fare very well in any encounters with the Darkness. And that was fine by me. Whatever Jax had coming to him, he deserved it and then some.

I took another sip of my wine as soon as I finished my bite and faced the man again. “So how do you know so much about my past?”

“I have been alive for a very long time,” he calmly replied.

“Interesting,” I said, as I wondered what that could possibly mean. Many creatures in the Netherworld enjoyed very long lives and some even attained immortality. So it wasn’t like this breaking news narrowed down his genus very much. And I couldn’t say I was honestly even interested in what type of creature he was; at the moment, anyway. Not when more important subjects still loomed over my head—namely the fact that I still couldn’t quite get past he knew privileged information about me. “How is it possible that you would know anything about me or my past when I have no idea who in the world you are?” I demanded.

He smiled a secretive and knowing grin. “Finish your glass of wine, and I will enlighten you.”

TWENTY-THREE

Dulcie

I downed my glass of Syrah and watched the strange man stand up and reach for the decanter to pour me another. He was quiet as he performed this task and so was I; we both just stared at the red liquid as it streamed from the crystal carafe and filled my glass. When he finished, I brought the glass to my lips and took a small sip, watching the man return the carafe to its rightful place before resuming his seat at the head of the table again.

“Okay, so how do you know anything about me?” I asked as I speared a few pieces of broccoli on my fork and relished the flavor before swallowing the mouthful down with another gulp of wine. “And what exactly do you know?”

“I shall address your first question,” he calmly answered as he leaned back into the uncomfortable chair and exhaled a long sigh. “I was well acquainted with your father,” he began, eyeing me narrowly, as if he were expecting some kind of reaction from me. I had no immediate response.

I began nodding eventually because I wasn’t that surprised to hear about it. Since the Darkness was involved in the illegal potions industry, and ranked pretty high up on the nefarious hierarchy, it made perfect sense that he would have known my father.

“Before you start telling me all the anecdotes and your fond remembrances of my father, you should know that I hold him in the lowest esteem possible,” I cautioned him. Taking another swig of my wine, I suddenly realized I was starting to feel it. Notwithstanding, I decided if I got a little bit buzzed it wouldn’t matter too much. It seemed crystal clear to me that the Darkness wasn’t planning to hurt me or kill me … at least, not yet. He positively wanted something from me, and my next mission was to find out what that something was. As far as the wine was concerned, I doubted that it would affect my memory or my ability to pay attention to important facts but, even so, I decided to make this glass my last for the night.

“I assumed as much, in light of the fact that you were the one who killed him,” he replied, and an amused smile appeared on his broad lips.

“So what? Is that common knowledge down here in the Netherworld?” I asked as I took another bite of my pretzel bread.

“I don’t know how common that knowledge is among the citizens who reside here, but everyone in the potions rings is well aware of what happened, and I imagine everyone at the ANC knows about it, obviously.”

I cocked my head to the side and softly sighed as the ugly memories suddenly infiltrated my head. Even though my father was less than the scum of the earth, it still wasn’t easy for me to accept the blame in being the one to kill him. But c’est la vie. What I did was over and done. There was no point in my looking back now, and absolutely no place for regret or guilt.

“I suppose you probably consider my father some kind of hero or maybe even a martyr?” I asked before swallowing another sip of my wine. Ordinarily, I would have become a bit uncomfortable when being the only one eating and drinking; but in this unique instance, I didn’t give a shit. That was mostly because I was starving, but not entirely. The real reason was: I didn’t give a rat’s ass what the Darkness thought of me.

“I would never have called your father a hero, no,” he replied with a thoughtful expression. “From what I can gather, you don’t know very much about your father, do you?”

I shook my head. “The very first time I met him was right before I killed him, and that’s fine by me. As far as I’m concerned, my father totally disgraced the O’Neil name for a long time to come.”

The man nodded his agreement as he began drumming his fingers on top of the wood table. “As I recall, your mother fled the Netherworld and relocated on Earth while you were still in the womb?”

I nodded as I put the piece of bread back on my plate and gave him my undivided attention. “You seem to know a lot about me; which, I have to admit, is really unsettling. Especially seeing as how I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know what you really look like; I don’t even know your true name,” I complained before pushing the half-full glass of wine away. Now it was starting to give me a headache. Not only that, but I noticed a hollow ringing in my ears and a numbness that was beginning to disable my fingers. I suspected I must have drunk too much and probably too quickly. The tiny amount of food in my stomach wasn’t doing anything to absorb the alcohol in my bloodstream either.

“I am sorry that you find yourself at a temporary disadvantage.”

“No, you’re not,” I retorted as I shook my head and faux-laughed.

“As regards the information I know regarding your past,” he continued, without taking any offense to my rude statement. His gaze fell down to my glass of wine before he brought it back to my face. “Are you feeling well? You look a bit peaked.”

“I think I drank too much, and I know I didn’t eat enough,” I answered with a shrug. Taking a deep breath, I had to blink a few times because my vision was slowly starting to blur. Not only that, but my heart was beginning to race and my palms were feeling clammy. A second or so later, beads of perspiration broke out along my forehead and down the small of my back. That was when it occurred to me that what was happening now was no ordinary reaction to wine, toxic tannins or not. When my heartbeat increased, a new wave of anxiety overtook me and my clear thinking. I pushed away from the table and tried to stand up, but I nearly fell over. My feet suddenly felt as if they were miles away from the rest of my body. I had to slam both of my palms against the tabletop as I struggled to maintain my balance.

“My dear,” the man started to say as he stood up with an alarmed expression riding all over his face. I snapped my head to look at him and narrowed my eyes, while trying to focus on both of his heads.

“You … d-d-drugged me,” I said, but my words came out in an unintelligible slur.

He smiled at me in a patronizing way. “Please, take your seat and calm down. It will do you no good at all to try to resist. In a few seconds, you won’t be able to control your limbs anymore.”

He pushed his chair away when I made no motion to sit. In the blink of an eye, he was right beside me, wrapping his arms around me. I didn’t even see him move! I couldn’t take any time to ponder that topic, because he escorted me over to a settee that was placed in front of an enormous stone fireplace in the farthest corner of the room. I tried to push away from him to see if I could stand on my own, but he was absolutely correct, my legs were so wobbly, if he hadn’t been holding me up, they would have collapsed like an unsteady stack of bricks.

“What did you use? To drug … me with?” I demanded before castigating myself. I should never have been so naïve and trusting. It was entirely my own fault that I now found myself mired in this predicament. That awful truth consumed me like a burning conflagration of absolute ire, and it was aimed solely at me.

“It is innocuous. I gave you nothing that will have any long-term implications,” he reassured me. “So calm down and do not upset yourself unnecessarily. In barely an hour or thereabouts, the potion will pass through your system and you will be restored to your former self.”

“But … What … Is it?”

“Draught of the living death,” he answered without pause. “As I told you, it was nothing to worry over. Try to settle down and relax. The potion will not harm you, as you are well aware.”

“Fuck!” I said as I shook my head and inhaled deeply. I was familiar with that narcotic. It was basically a muscle relaxant on crack. It made the user look as if they were dead because it targeted the nervous system and instantly disabled it. That meant now I no longer had any control over my body. In addition to that, in a short amount of time, my temperature was going to drop substantially. That was another reason why many people mistakenly assumed that those who took the narcotic were actually dead. All the while, however, my brain would remain unaffected and alert. Any way I looked at it, I had to expect a rough road ahead of me, at least for the next hour. But, the Darkness did have a point—as far as potions went, this one was on the less harmful side and there were no side effects.

“Come now,” the man crooned as he massaged my back below my wings as if trying to comfort me. The room started to swirl around me and soon became no more than a blur of dark colors. I felt him assisting me onto the plush, downy softness of the black velvet divan. He politely held my wings out so I wouldn’t crush them as I closed my eyes. The swirling of the room was making me dizzier, and I dropped my weary head onto the lavish pillow. I felt the man covering me with a thick blanket, no doubt because I was about to become seriously cold.

“What are … you going … to do to me?” I asked, my tone of voice did not even hint at the angst that was now nagging at me.

“I am going to tell you a little story,” he answered as he sat down next to me. He carefully pulled the blanket up to my neck, tucking it in around my shoulders and my upper arms, both of which lay motionless at my sides.

“A little story?” I repeated, half wondering if I were now hallucinating because it sounded so bizarre and illogical. The last thing I expected now was to be tucked in and told a bedtime story …

“Yes,” he replied. “You will soon lose your ability to speak or form words,” he explained as he began rubbing my arms up and down, as if trying to warm me up before the cold overtook me. But the coldness had already set in, and I could feel the icy pin pricks racing up and down my skin. “That means I will have to do all the talking.”

“What are you … going to do to me?” I demanded again, my eyes growing wide with irrepressible fear.

“Let me say this: I am not going to hurt you,” he answered as he smiled down at me. But it wasn’t a smile that I trusted, and it didn’t comfort me in the least.

I opened my mouth to insist he stop playing word games and tell me immediately what was going to happen, but when I spoke, my voice came out as nothing more than garbled sounds that made no sense. Worse still, my jaw remained open since I was unable to use my motor skills. He reached forward and pushed my gaping jaw back up to close it again.

“Do not make any further attempts toward speech. Your body has lost its ability and will not allow you to any longer,” he informed me. “Instead, I would ask you to listen to the short story I am about to tell you. This is a tale about your past. Perhaps, it will answer many of the questions that I am certain you must have often wondered about. And, I have not forgotten my promise when I assured you earlier that I would happily divulge to you all the reasons why I need you. I shall very soon keep my word.”

I could do and say nothing, so I just lay there, like a newborn baby swaddled in a blanket. I looked up at him, though, and I wondered what could possibly lie in store for me. I was afraid; there was no denying that. But I was also somewhat optimistic that I could make it out of even this dire situation alive. Maybe it was just a false hope and a stupid one at that, but somewhere, deep down inside of me, I actually felt convinced that I would survive this. Maybe because I was banking on the Darkness needing me, as he’d said, but regardless of why, it did set me at ease somewhat.

“Your mother fled to Earth to escape the Netherworld and especially your father; that much is true,” the man began. He pushed my hair away from my face and held the back of his hand to my cheeks, like a mother checking her sick child’s temperature. “You are growing colder,” he informed me. “I fear that will be the most uncomfortable part of your experience, and I must sincerely apologize. I shall do my best, however, to keep you warm.” Then he glanced up in the direction of the entrance to the dining hall. “Antoine,” he said using the same tone he’d used when addressing me.

I heard the door open and was amazed that Antoine could even manage to hear him in the first place. The man had spoken in such a low, almost inaudible tone that there was no plausible way for Antoine to have heard him, that is, unless Antoine were a vampire. In that case, his auditory capabilities would have been highly refined and extremely sensitive. That would also explain how he could walk on the hardwood floors without making any sound at all. Hmm, maybe I’d just solved at least one of the riddles in this place.

In maybe a matter of seconds, Antoine instantly appeared above me, but his attention was fastened on the man sitting beside me. The man faced him with a tender expression, one that hinted at genuine fondness. I found their whole exchange strangely bizarre and concluded maybe he and Antoine were lovers or something equally as intimate.

“She is currently under the effects of the living death,” the man started to explain as his glance shifted to my direction. “Consequently, her body is now being consumed by the coldness. Would you mind building a large fire to heat the room, Antoine?”

Antoine simply nodded before he turned around, heading toward the enormous fireplace. Then the man returned his ministrations to me and began rubbing my arms again, only more fervently. The coldness was exactly as he warned me it would be—horribly uncomfortable, even to the point of agonizing pain. I felt like I was packed in ice and my nerve endings were screaming out and protesting their cruel treatment. The only thing I could do was shiver involuntarily while it felt like I was being electrocuted by a million tiny wires all over my body.

“When your mother fled the Netherworld,” the man started again as Antoine finished building the fire. The orange and yellow flames began to roar upward, throwing flickering shadows all around the room. I was instantly reminded of my childhood, listening to ghost stories while gathered around a campfire.

You’re as far away from summer camp as you could possibly be! I mentally scolded myself. The annoyance brewing inside me was replaced by a deep-rooted sensation of regret and disappointment that surged all the way through me as soon as I re-acknowledged my current situation.

“She fled from your father, yes,” the man continued. “But, she also fled the Netherworld because she wanted to shield you from something she never should have tried to protect you from.” My eyebrows began creasing in the center of my forehead, and I felt relief as well as surprise that I still had any ability to move. “You see, your mother did not understand what we, that is, your father and I, were trying to do,” he started to explain. Antoine approached him then and nodded his head quickly before exiting the room. “She did not understand our goals and motivation, because your father never explained anything to her, and perhaps that was his failing.”

With nothing to do but look up at him, I did just that. Meanwhile, in my mind, I wondered what reason he had for telling me this and whether he was even telling me the truth in the first place? At this point, I sincerely doubted anything the Darkness had to say. As far as I knew, it could all just be part and parcel of whatever grand scheme he conjured up in his mind where I was concerned. If he ultimately intended to turn me against my values and beliefs, along with the ANC and everyone who ever meant anything important or special to me, deceiving me was a good way to accomplish such a trick. With that in mind, I immediately fortified myself, refusing to believe a single word that came out of his mouth.

“Let me explain. Your father and I were only attempting to strengthen you,” the man continued. “Born of fae and elven parents, your species are renowned for being very magically powerful to begin with. And we only sought to increase that mighty power.” The fire behind him popped, and a glowing cinder flew from the flames and landed on the stone hearth, fizzling out only seconds later. The man glanced at it momentarily without reacting and returned his gaze to me. “In order to enhance and amplify your natural powers, your father injected you, while you were still in your mother’s womb, with the blood of a very powerful master vampire,” he explained, and my stomach churned with acid as I suddenly felt very ill.

Don’t believe it! It’s not true, Dulcie, I said to myself as the shock of his words bolted through me despite how many times I denied their probability. There’s no way that any of this could be true! If it were, your mother would have told you all about it when she said she escaped from Melchior in the first place! Then I remembered that my mother never told me exactly why she left my father and the Netherworld; and that sad recollection now stuck in my head like gooey tar.

“We naturally waited until your mother had entered her third trimester, because we were very worried that such a young fetus could not survive the potent blood. And, of course, we transfused you in gradual increments, starting you off with very small doses. Surprisingly, after a few months, you seemed to tolerate the blood transfusions quite well.”

It can’t be true! I protested to myself as my angry tears burned and filled my eyelids. I suddenly wished my hearing would be just as disabled as the rest of me so I could spare myself these lies.

“I am sure this comes as quite a surprise or even a shock to you,” he added as he offered me a cheesy smile of consolation that did nothing but annoy me. “But have you ever wondered why you excelled as a Regulator in the ANC to the degree that you have? Or why your magic is as potent as it is? If you have ever known other fae creatures and compared your abilities to theirs, you would certainly notice a huge disparity.”

I thought about it for less than a half a second and realized I didn’t know any other fairies, so I had nothing and no one to compare my powers with or against. But he was correct, I was very powerful. When my magic was available to me, I could pretty much do any and everything I could think of. But that still didn’t mean the rest of his story was true. And just because I had no one with whom I could compare my abilities, that didn’t strengthen his claim, it only weakened it.

“Even though your mother ruined our plans by running away to Earth when she did, the blood we did manage to give you had a lasting impact, Dulcie. It strengthened your body as well as your magic. It ultimately helped to shape you into the powerful creature you are today.”

I just didn’t know how any of this could be true. If I had been injected with vampire blood, why didn’t I show any vampire traits? Despite my powers, it wasn’t like I was especially strong or could move particularly fast. Furthermore, I tolerated a day in the sun just fine. The more I considered his story, the more convinced I became that all of it was nothing more than bullshit. Bullshit that was intended to make me doubt everything I was. Well, it wouldn’t work.

“After your mother departed the Netherworld with you,” the man said, and his eyes took on a faraway glaze. “We did our best to try and locate both of you, but your mother was also a powerful fairy in her own right. She had no trouble in concealing your whereabouts because she used her magic.” He stopped talking for a moment and smiled down at me again before he resumed rubbing my arms. “The only reason I am telling you this now is because I did not want you to believe your father and I simply gave up on you; that was not the case at all.”

After he finished rubbing my arms, which really didn’t do much to restore any heat to my ice cold body, he sat up straight as his gaze settled on something far off in the distance. “And that brings us to the present moment and the true reasons why I need you,” he said without bothering to look at me. Standing up, he shook his head. As soon as he did, his eyes went wide and he glanced around the room as if he were utterly surprised. It was a similar reaction to the maid’s after the Darkness abandoned her body, so I figured the same thing must have just happened. It took the man only a second or two to regain his composure after which he immediately nodded his head and bowed low to someone I couldn’t see.

As with Antoine, I couldn’t hear any footsteps that would alert me to someone entering the room. Nonetheless, I was sure someone had entered, because I could feel the swish in the air as the person walked past me. That, and I doubted my companion would be acting in such a way unless someone else had joined us.

“Master,” the man said while continuing to keep his head bowed low. Yep, the Darkness most definitely left his body, and, as far as I could deduce, he had just entered the room.

I strained to move my head to the side, hoping to get a fleeting glimpse of the Darkness, but my body refused to comply. Doomed to just lie there inertly, I began staring straight up at the ceiling.

“Leave us, Ernest,” the Darkness replied in a woman’s voice. I inwardly sighed as soon as I realized the Darkness must have simply assumed the body of another one of his employees, probably one of the maids, as usual. However, it did strike me as somewhat odd that he would leave the man’s body in order to possess someone else’s. I didn’t waste much more thinking on the subject, though, and concluded that each employee could probably only be possessed for so long before it took a large toll on their bodies.

The man, Ernest, nodded and immediately walked past the settee. His footfalls were just as silent as Antoine’s and the woman’s. When the woman finally showed herself, I was surprised. First of all, she wasn’t dressed in a maid’s outfit. Instead, she wore black slacks with a dark grey blouse that was neatly tucked into her pants. It failed to hide her ample breasts, however. Her hair was the color of ebony and it fell to her waist in thick, straight strands. Her eyes shone like emeralds, and seemed to be the same exact color as mine or close to it. Whoever this woman was, she was stunningly beautiful.

“Hello, Dulcie,” she said, and a knowing smile spread across her plump lips. “Of course, I’m aware that you cannot speak at present,” she continued as she took a step closer to me and remained standing. It almost seemed as if she enjoyed making me feel smaller and even more helpless. “Allow me to introduce myself,” she announced, and her perfect smile broadened while her eyes narrowed. Her expression was definitely that of someone up to no good. “I am the Darkness.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Dulcie

I was surprised. No, I was floored. I couldn’t help it.

But then everything started to make sense. As a woman, the Darkness knew her sex would be held against her in any attempts to unite the potions gangs. So it made all the sense in the world that she kept her identity secret, except for those closest to her, such as Ernest and, possibly, Antoine. As with the other creatures I’d encountered in this house, I couldn’t decipher what type of creature the Darkness was. I supposed that would continue to remain a mystery.

“I am certain you have a million or more thoughts going through your head right now,” the Darkness stated as she took a seat on the edge of the settee. She clasped her small, white hands together in her lap. “And I apologize that you are unable to voice any of them.” She smiled at me, and it was long and languid. “Unfortunately, I can’t add mind-reader to the array of skills and abilities I currently enjoy,” she added with a quick but phony laugh. “However, I will do my best to answer the questions I imagine you must have.”

She reached over unexpectedly and shifted the blanket. Moving my dress up and away from me, she wrapped her hand around my ankle before her eyes met mine again. “Yes, you are freezing, just as I predicted you would be. I am sorry for that,” she said as she turned around and faced the crackling fire, which was still roaring in the hearth. I was sure it must have been blazing hot, but it did little or nothing to thaw out my frigid body.

Standing up, she walked around the divan before placing both of her palms on top of it. Then she bent over and pushed it closer to the fireplace, with me still lying on it, as if the combined weight were no more than a pound. Whatever the Darkness was, she had ample strength at her disposal.

When the divan was no more than a foot away from the fireplace, she resumed her seated position at the base of the settee and offered me another smile. And just as with the first smile, this one seemed off somehow too. It was as if all of her smiles were forced, fake—almost like she didn’t actually feel the amusement or contentedness inherent in a smile and was just doing it simply because she felt it was expected.

“I hope you will be warmer now,” she said. Sadly for me, I still couldn’t say I actually felt any of the heat from the fire. There was a numbness inside me now. The former needle points and stinging from the icy coldness had finally ceased, so I supposed that was a small luxury.

“As you now must understand, I knew your father for a very long time,” she began with a brief nod. “I knew him for as long as you have been alive and even perhaps five years before your birth.”

I had to remind myself not to believe anything that came out of her mouth. It was all part and parcel of her grand scheme to throw me off by making me doubt everything I knew and formerly accepted as reality. There was no way anything she said could have been true … right?

“Your father and I started our liaison as strictly business partners,” she explained. “And while we were never actually friends, I would say that our business partnership or relationship was a closely knit one. We mutually respected one another,” she added as she speared me with those green, catlike eyes. “And before you even begin to wonder, no, we were never lovers,” she finished, and that counterfeit smile appeared on her lips again.

Of course, I was wondering about that exact topic. But the very idea that this woman could have been my father’s former lover made me violently sick to my stomach. I’m sure that reaction would have extended to any woman who could have had a romantic or sexual attachment to him. It was something I would never understand. I could only wonder if when my mother first met him, he was a different person. Or so I hoped.

“No, your father and I were never involved that way. My romantic interests concern only the fairer sex,” she added with a quick wink that made me feel even sicker. I was pretty sure she wasn’t coming onto me and her words were said merely in jest. Maybe it was her feeble attempt to inflate my abysmally low spirits; but it only made me nauseous all the same.

“Our purpose for instilling vampire blood inside you,” the Darkness continued. “And, by the way, it was my blood that we used,” she said as an aside. I felt my eyes widening in surprise as I put to bed the question of her lineage. “Yes, I am a centuries-old master vampire,” she admitted, apparently having picked up on my surprise. “I have been alive for such a long time that I sometimes forget just how long it has been,” she finished with a giggle that sounded sardonic and malevolent. “Our sole purpose in transfusing you with my blood,” she resumed her original point, “was to create a new creature; one that was more powerful than any residing in the Netherworld, and greater than any we have ever seen before,” she finished and a shudder raced down my spine. I wasn’t sure if that was owing to the draught of the living death which continued to infiltrate my circulatory system or just my own body’s response to her ominous words. “Your father, of course, was primarily interested in ultimately ensuring your continued safety, since you were his progeny,” she said, but I absolutely doubted the truth in that statement. “Yet, there was much more to it than just that.”

I had a feeling there was. The “more to it” had everything to do with my father and this vampire woman’s intent to employ my special powers and thereby help my father attain his lofty but insane goal of ultimate domination. Nothing my father ever did was for the greater good of anyone or anything. His only actions were to save himself. And the better I was getting to know the Darkness, the more similar I realized she was in character to my old man.

That is if you believe all the crap coming out of her mouth, I reminded myself. Even though I desperately wanted to doubt her statements, contradict and disbelieve all of them, there was something inside me that refused to let go so easily. As far as my father was concerned, that was absolutely something he would have done to elevate his own stature. And it also provided an excellent reason for why my mother had to ditch him and the Netherworld, if only to save her unborn child. And then there was the Darkness … this line of thinking made lots more sense for why I was so valuable to her and not just collateral. So, maybe …

“Your father and I wanted to sculpt and groom you, Dulcie,” the Darkness interrupted my tempestuous thoughts and smiled at me as warmly as she was capable. Naturally, it wasn’t warm at all and evoked the kind of expression you might see on a rattlesnake just before it sinks its fangs into your ankle. “We wanted to shape you into a true daughter of the Netherworld, a powerful girl who would ultimately become a one-of-a-kind woman. You would experience your life in a way no other creature ever had or could before. We intended to train you so well that you would accept and understand your skills and abilities; not only how and when to use them, but also when they should not be used.”

I hated her reference to me as a daughter of the Netherworld. As far as I was concerned, the only person who could ever lay claim to me was my mother. The Netherworld was not my home, and it never had been. I didn’t belong there. I considered my father as no more than a donor of semen. And this Darkness woman meant nothing and was no one to me. She ranked even lower on the totem pole than my father.

“We wanted you to rule the Netherworld with us, Dulcie,” the Darkness persisted, as if it were a badge of honor that she and my deranged father intended to bestow upon me. All I could think about was how grateful I was that my mother managed to escape with me when she had. If I’d been trapped in her shoes, I would have done exactly the same thing. That was when it dawned on me that I was actually beginning to accept everything this woman was telling me as the truth …

“And I still want that for you, my dear,” she finished. She patted my ankle gently, and her green eyes sparkled like gems in the low light. When she smiled this time, her fangs were slightly elongated, and the points appeared especially sharp and white. “My patience was nearly at an end,” she continued as she brought her wrist up to her mouth and my stomach dropped down to my toes. “It has been no easy task. I have watched the days, months and years pass despite my anger, resentment and eventual acceptance and admission of defeat. But once you returned to the Netherworld and killed your father, I believed it was fate, itself, sending me a sign.”

I wasn’t sure if she was angry over the fact that I took my father’s life, but she didn’t appear to be. Regardless, I could feel my heartbeat racing. I was pretty sure I knew where this story was headed. And I couldn’t say I liked it. In fact, I hated it. However, because the potion was still flowing through my body and disabling me, there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

“Now is our chance,” the Darkness continued, her eyes widening with what appeared to be excitement, even exhilaration. “Destiny has brought you back to me! But this time, I won’t take any chances of losing that gift,” she finished. Wrapping her lips around her wrist, she bit down and the blood immediately began to flow down her arm before pooling on the hardwood floors beneath her. She lifted her hand away and I saw two rivulets of her blood dripping down either side of her mouth.

She stood up and took the few steps that brought her in line with my head. Then she bent over and placed her wrist so it was hovering just above my mouth. I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t fight as her blood dripped onto my cheeks and my chin.

“How? What?” she started as she stopped moving closer to me and cocked her head to the side. Her gaze settled on the fireplace as she looked momentarily stunned. “He has come,” she said with a gasp of disbelief as she shook her head in obvious surprise. But moments later, her phony, unconcerned smile, along with her gaze, fastened on me. “I do not know how it can possibly be true, but your vampire has survived,” she said, and her grin widened. “And he has come for you.”

Now, I was confused. I wasn’t sure if the vampire she was referring to was Bram, but I guessed she must have meant him. The very thought that he was still alive filled me with elation that flowed through me like a tidal wave until I reminded myself that he was here, in the enemy’s lair. Immediately, my elation fizzled out like a spent bulb, replaced with sadness and a deep-seated dread.

“He is a fool,” the Darkness said as her eyes narrowed on me. “Somehow, he managed to escape his true death, which he should have considered it a gift and left it at that. But no! He had the gall to come here, in pursuit of you …” She didn’t finish her sentence.

I didn’t know how she could possibly know that Bram had come after me. As far as I could tell, it was still just the two of us inside the room.

“I am his master,” she answered my unasked question. “And, as such, I sense him whenever he is near me,” she explained as this unexpected fact nearly floored me. As far as I had always understood from Bram, his master died a long time ago, which freed him and allowed him to become his own master vampire. Her latest revelation was huge news to me.

“But he is too late!” she finished with a brief glance at her wrist before she brought it to her mouth again. I assumed her body must have already healed the original bite marks, because she had to sink her fangs into her skin again with a renewed sense of ferocity and determination. No sooner did I see the blood spewing from the two puncture marks than she brought her wrist to my mouth and again forced my lips around it. I deliberately avoided looking at her face and instead tried to stop myself from swallowing the foul fluid. But I knew eventually I would have to drink it because her blood was filling my mouth and I couldn’t spit it out. Despite all my attempts not to swallow it, gravity would collaborate to force it down my throat all the same.

“Drink now,” she ordered, and her eyes narrowed as her blood continued to drip into my mouth and, consequently, down my throat.

TWENTY-FIVE

Bram

Once we were inside the boundaries of the Netherworld, my ability to track Dulcie instantly returned. The blood bond shared between us had been too far stretched whilst we were separated not only in location, but also in dimension. The moment we occupied the same dimension, however, we were instantly united once again. The spontaneous sense of relief that Vander and I both experienced was nearly overwhelming.

It did not take me very long to track Dulcie to a strange and archaically built structure that sat upon a remote hill with nothing to recommend it other than the view of the valley below. Prior to reaching the structure, however, Vander and I encountered an unmanned gate at the bottom of the driveway. Although the gate was not staffed, it was appointed with two surveillance cameras. Upon further observation, I realized the cameras ran the perimeter of the fence which, I assumed, continued throughout the length of the property. It was also not unreasonable to expect that most undoubtedly, magical wards were in place to alert the establishment’s owner to any uninvited guests.

The cameras did not concern me in the least. The existence of wards, however, gave me reason to pause. But Vander and I eventually agreed that the wards would have to be a risk we were both willing to undertake. In regard to the fence and the observation cameras, I simply dematerialized over the gate in a split second. I was fast enough that the cameras could only capture a blur, something that could easily be misconstrued as a moth or possibly a particle of dust.

The dematerialization of myself, however, was not enough in the present case. Knowing that Vander also wished to be included in this rescue mission, I, unfortunately, and to my utmost chagrin, had to place both of my arms around him in what resembled a bear hug in order to dematerialize and relocate both of us. As soon as we landed on the other side of the fence and were no longer visible to the endless array of video cameras, I released Vander as quickly as I could. We both immediately began dusting ourselves off, as if the mere contact were offensive to each of us and we both wanted to remove any residual reminder of the other.

“Regrettably, this trip has, for the most part, plunged both of us in the most unstimulating and, I daresay, cursed position of being subjected to an overabundance of male-to-male contact,” I whispered once we started walking up the drive. “Speaking solely from my own heart, I most certainly am uneasy and vexed about said fact.”

“It’s not something I enjoyed either, trust me,” Vander replied. He stopped walking and turned to face me with a frown. I supposed it was owing to my labored stride. I was proceeding at a snail’s pace, due to my current state of ill health. The mere act of dematerialization for both of us had cost me precious energy. Now, I was having to use all of my strength and speed just trying to keep up with his breakneck pace.

“You should have let me do this on my own,” he muttered before he approached me and threw his arm around my shoulders. Then he assisted me on the rest of the way to the top of the driveway.

“You would not have gotten past the fence on your own,” I reminded him as he sat me down between two large bushes that grew across the street from the structure. Kneeling down, he slid onto his haunches beside me and used the dense foliage of the bushes to hide us both, which worked quite well. We both eyed the irregularly shaped and rather unsightly edifice that loomed before us. I had an uncanny sensation which I could not identify; there was something about the unwelcoming building that struck me as too familiar. However, my ever active brain wanted to ignore the feeling, since it made no sense and I had never seen the structure before. I consequently blamed my “déjà-vu,” as most people referred to it, on a severely limited blood supply. Surely that was the true reason my mind seemed to be playing games with me.

“What now?” Vander asked.

“I believe our best approach would be to find the rear entry to the building,” I said. Almost instantly, a rush of vertigo seized my mind and I had to close my eyes to maintain control of my posture and balance. “Once we are behind the structure, I shall provide us entry through a nearby window,” I finished.

“Oh, really? And how do you expect to do that?” Vander inquired with a skeptical frown. “I don’t suppose you have a spare key to unlock the door of a place you’ve never even seen before; or … have you?”

“No, I have not been to this place ever before and, unfortunately, no, I do not possess a spare key,” I answered as I shook my head and held up my index finger. “However, I do possess a very resourceful fingernail,” I added before I closed my eyes again and strained harder to eradicate all the weakness from my body.

“I won’t ask you to explain,” Vander replied as he took a deep breath and shook his head. He deftly looped my arm around his neck, thereby pulling me up and back onto my feet. He assisted me across the street and then around the side of the house until we reached the backyard. Once we were standing in front of the rear door, I demonstrated one of my many skills. I showed Vander how I could break the window by using only the point of my fingernail and my opposite fist. Vander naturally appeared quite surprised and incredulous. I will honestly add that he also seemed rather impressed. As soon as I splintered the glass, we both cooperated in the removal of it. After a few minutes, the entire broken pane was no longer a threat, and I reached inside, unlocking and unbolting the door. With a swift flick of my hand, I opened the door and granted us full entry. As I was about to take a step inside, Vander gripped me by my shoulder.

“Where’s your firearm?” he asked while motioning to his pistol, which he already held clasped tightly in his hands. Prior to our arrival, Vander kept insisting that I take his other firing weapon, although I failed to see any use for it. Having become a predator in my own right, and owing to my dexterity, immense strength and impossibly fast speed, I could not imagine any firearm that could outperform me. However, that was before I had been drained of my blood and so dreadfully weak from the need to supplement it. In this unique instance, I supposed I could use all the help I could get. I pulled the firearm out from where I purposely wedged it into my trousers. Holding it out before me, I tried to follow Vander’s example.

“You could have triggered a ward by breaking the back door window,” Vander whispered as we started through the dark room. “So we have to be on high alert from here on out.”

“Vander, you forget that I exist on high alert at all times,” I responded with a frown. Vander could be quite dominating and bossy at times. Despite how well I ordinarily managed to maintain my cool, this was not one of those times. I was edgy, primarily because of my feeble condition. And Vander very easily vexed and aggravated me.

“Shoot to kill,” he added before taking the lead. I struggled to keep up with him. He glanced behind himself only once after he reached the entry to the hallway. Spotting me where I leaned against the wall like a drunken tar, he shook his head while grumbling some words I could hear but failed to understand.

Cautiously approaching me, he rolled his sleeve up on his left arm and held his wrist out to me. “You have no more than two minutes,” he warned me.

Too elated to chance the opportunity that he might change his mind, I immediately latched onto his wrist and brought it to my mouth, biting down as swiftly and as hard as I could. He glared at me with disdain but said nothing. Seconds later, his glorious blood flowed into my mouth, and I lapped it up greedily. When he tried to pull his wrist away from me, however, it was extremely difficult to release him.

“Bram,” he warned, in a low grumbling voice. “Let go of me now!”

I barely mustered the strength to separate myself from his delectable blood; and when I did so, I did not fail to lick off the remaining drops from my lips. In perhaps only a minute, his rich blood entered my circulatory system, and I began to feel the rush. Even though I did not take too much from him, it was enough to give me the strength and balance to stand on my own. Taking a step, I found my muscles were no longer compromised. The vigor that was absent for so long in my body increased. I was not certain if Loki blood was superior to that of other creatures, but I had to applaud the fine job it performed in increasing my stamina.

“Where do you feel her now?” Vander asked as he checked the wounds I left upon his wrist. The skin was methodically piecing itself back together again. I did not realize Vander was capable of healing himself and must admit I was slightly impressed by it.

Closing my eyes, I focused on the bond I shared with my sweet. “Upstairs,” I replied in a mere whisper, “at the far end of the house.”

Vander nodded and started from the room, pausing only when he reached the threshold of the next room. Leaning closely against the wall, he appeared to be listening for telltale sounds coming from the adjoining room. My superior vision allowed me to see in the pitch dark, and it appeared to be a formal living room. Thank goodness for my infallible night vision.

“I hear nothing,” I said, since my sense of hearing was much keener than his. He did not respond except to nod quickly. Slowly moving his head around the corner, he checked to make sure our path was indeed clear. Apparently finding it free of obstacles, Vander started across the room. He was heading for the staircase that occupied the hallway through the double doors of the great room. To my great relief, I found I could finally keep up with him.

When we reached the base of the stairwell, I furtively glanced around myself, surprised to find that we had not yet encountered a single soul. “This is far too easy,” I said as I gripped the sleeve of Vander’s shirt. He stopped walking up the stairs and turned to face me.

“There should be guards,” I advised him as I shook my head. “And breaking into this abode should have been far more difficult for us. Something is not right.”

Vander shrugged. “The Darkness has no idea we’re coming. For all he and his goons know, I’m still in the Netherworld and you’re dead and gone.”

“Rochefort is well aware that something happened to Drajow,” I corrected him. “Do you recall the texts he sent?”

Vander nodded to say he did recall the texts, but then he shook his head. “Something happening to Drajow doesn’t automatically result in you being alive,” he answered. “And, besides, we’re here now so we can do what we came to do. Once we get Dulcie, we get out.”

Yes, that was the plan. Simple. Easy. In and out. But, even so, I could not just swipe away the odd sensation that everything we were doing was happening too easily. I expected we should have certainly come up against someone at the very least?

“Maybe no one is here at present and Dulcie is locked up somewhere all alone,” Vander suggested as he shrugged. “Or maybe it’s our lucky day?”

I nodded, but his inadequate explanation did not provide me with any sense of relief. When we reached the top of the staircase, Vander glanced at me again. I motioned for him to go down the hallway to the right. I had to close my eyes again to determine that Dulcie was inside the last room. He nodded and allowed me to take the lead. When I reached the final door, I held my ear flat against it and listened for any voices or beating hearts. I could only detect one, which I assumed must have been Dulcie’s. Perhaps Vander was correct. Perhaps she was simply being held prisoner here and all alone. I gripped the doorknob and turned it only slightly, opening the door as quietly as I could. Inside, the room was dark.

“Dulcie?” I whispered into the empty space.

“Bram?” I heard her reply, and a flood of elation erupted inside me. Vander must have heard her voice as well, because he pushed the door open wider and together we walked into the room.

Dulcie was standing in the center of the room with a large fire burning in the fireplace beside her. The flames illuminated her long, flowing black dress and the alabaster white I beheld in the swells of her breasts stood out prominently. Her hair cascaded around her in long, wavy tresses, and I could not see a cut or a bruise that might have hinted to the sadistic manner in which she had been treated by Rochefort. She smiled at us as she stood there, her limbs unfettered by chains or handcuffs. She eyed us both in turn and appeared to all the world as if she were as happy as she could possibly be.

“Dulcie?” Vander asked in a suspicious tone, apparently just as shocked to see her in such a state as I.

As soon as he said her name, bright lights came on overhead, striking the room with a garish starkness. In seconds, an impending sense of doom seemed to settle in my ribcage.

“Bram, I must admit how surprised I am to see you.”

Hearing a woman’s voice coming from behind me, I immediately whirled around. As soon as I beheld her, my cold heart stopped and a blast of pure shock waged its destructive path through me. I could not believe my eyes and had to blink three times before I could even speak.

“Meg?” I asked finally, still doubting her identity even as I uttered her name from my gaping mouth.

She bowed very low and stood up straight again. Then she smiled at me, but it did not reach her green eyes, which were hollow, cold and empty. “The one, the only,” she said, her lips tightening.

“But, how is that possible?” I demanded as I shook my head. I briefly wondered if my eyes were playing tricks on me. Perhaps the extreme blood loss or maybe the Loki’s blood was reacting in such a way as to show me things that were not actually there. Perhaps Meg was nothing but a hallucination, an odious trick brought on by my overly weary mind. “You were … you are dead.”

“No,” she answered with a small laugh. “You left me for dead that night, but I wasn’t dead then, and I’m not dead now.”

“Impossible!” I protested, because it was the only thing I could think of to say.

“What’s going on, Bram?” Vander inquired as he turned his attention from Meg, who walked past us to stand beside Dulcie, and returned it to me.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I fear the cat’s caught Bram’s tongue at the present moment,” Meg said as she glanced at Vander. She did not offer her hand. “I am Meg, Bram’s maker.”

“Bram’s maker?” Vander asked, clearly perplexed. “You were supposed to be dead.”

Meg shook her head and laughed. “Apparently, you are not the only one who thinks I was.” Then she faced Dulcie as she strutted from Dulcie’s left side around to her right. “But, no, as you can see, I am not dead. I am very much alive, and I have been for decades.”

“But how is that possible?” I persisted. “When last I saw you, you were torn apart, reduced to nothing but a skeleton! You were simply a burnt out torso and a skull!”

“Yes, that was so,” Meg answered with a curt nod. “After you so unsympathetically left me to my fate in that dark alley, my own master returned for me,” she replied, and her voice shook with what I assumed was poorly concealed outrage. “The bond I had with my master was still very strong. Even though I had not seen him for one hundred years at the least, he still appeared to me in my hour of dire need. His actions saved me from extinction. He brought me back from the precipice of the true death by using his own blood.” She faced Vander then. “Of course, all of this did not happen in only a day. It took weeks of my master transfusing me with his highly potent blood. Once he had given me all that he cared to, my subsequent survival was up to me.” Then she speared me with her catlike eyes again. “And survive I did, because that is who and what I am. All told, it took me months until my body was finally restored to itself, to what you see now.”

I could not conceal my shock and did not know what or how to think about Meg, my maker, now standing before me, as alive as she was capable of being.

“Then … you’re the Darkness?” Vander asked.

“I am,” she answered.

“You ordered Rochefort to drain me, did you not? And to torture Dulcie and me,” I accused her as I took a step toward her, but Vander put his arm out to prevent me from coming any closer. I was not certain if he felt he was protecting her or me.

“No,” she answered, “not Dulcie.”

“You cared so little for your own offspring?” I asked. I was almost physically unable to stomach the very thought that Meg could have stabbed me in the back again, and in such a cruel and horrible way.

“You cared so little for your maker?” she threw the question back at me without waiting for me to respond. “You are nothing to me now! Just as I was nothing to you.”

“What have you done to Dulcie?” Vander demanded, apparently growing tired of the banter between us.

Turning my attention to Dulcie then, I noticed she had not uttered a word since Meg had intervened and announced herself. To my astonishment, Dulcie was rooted in the same spot with her hands clasped behind her back and staring straight ahead. Her empty gaze had been and was still settled on something in the distance. She almost appeared to be in a trance state.

“Dulcie belongs to me now, such as fate decreed and it was always meant to be,” Meg declared.

“What the hell does that mean?” Vander demanded, his hands suddenly fisting at his sides.

“It means that I have taken control of her in a way that I should have years ago. But fate has a funny sense of humor. It tends to grant you the most precious gifts, those which you believed were irrevocably lost at one time or another, when you least expect them,” Meg continued, but her explanation made very little sense to either of us.

“You’ve taken control of her?” Vander repeated.

“Shall I demonstrate?” Meg asked, and a sinister smile contorted her face, stretching from ear to ear. “Dulcie, dear, I’ll ask you to do the honors.”

It felt like time was standing still when I watched Dulcie lift a pistol that she held concealed behind her. In only a split second, she pointed the pistol at Vander and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit him squarely in the chest, causing him to fly backwards with its impact. I rushed forward without even considering what I was actually doing. When Vander hit the floor, I ran over to him and crouched down onto my knees so I could better diagnose him. I shook him slightly, but I could not determine if he were already dead because he did not react.

“You have come too late, Bram,” Meg said.

I could not spare her a glance. Instead, I found my eyes fastened on Dulcie’s as I wondered what had become of her.

The End

PRIDE AND

POLTERGEISTS

Dulcie O’Neil #9

by

H.P. Mallory

Pride and Poltergeists

Copyright © 2018 by H.P Mallory

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements:

For my son, Finn, who makes this world magical.

For Len, thank you for always believing in me and for your encouragement. I love you.

To my editor, Teri: Thank you for a job well done, as always.

To Crystallee Hopkins: Thank you for coming up with the amazing title!

Pride And Poltergeists

PROLOGUE

Casey James, Special Agent

Human

I stood at the head of the room, listening to everyone breathe. Their inhales and their exhales, their rattling lungs, their coughing, their sighing, and their muttering. It was the only sound in the world, soft as a whisper and cold as death, because they all knew why we were here. People didn’t come into the Situation Room for tea parties. They came to make war. Occasionally, they even came to prevent it.

The door opened and closed. The muttering stopped and every head turned. President Odyssey took a seat at the head of the table, flanked by her chief of staff and the secretary of state. The first was a short, spindly, little man named Simon Richmond. I didn’t care much for Richmond. The other was a woman with stark, white hair and burning, blue eyes called Hana. She was beautiful, flawless as a porcelain doll, and just as disturbing.

Hana was the only magical creature in the room. The only monster in this human administration, and she walked like she knew it—with a certain confidence and bravado. She was a Valkyrie—a spirit guide to the brave and reckless, and also an empath, capable of reading the intentions of everyone in the room. Something which made her invaluable as secretary of state and was likely the only reason she was allowed to have a job in the human government. In general, humans were suspicious of anything that didn’t resemble them. I couldn’t say I disagreed with that generality. In my position, I’d encountered numerous Netherworld creatures that were anything less than law-abiding.

“Madam President,” I said in greeting.

President Leandra Odyssey inclined her head, squinting, wearing the magma-and-hot-water look I’d only ever seen when she was about to declare war. She didn’t say hello.

“What’s this about?” asked Richmond, already writhing in his customary confusion. Balding, with a ring of white hair surrounding his head like a crown, grey eyes, and a nose that never seemed to stop twitching, he reminded me of a mole. The chief of staff wasn’t accustomed to being out of the loop. Not that anyone else in the room knew much more either.

“You’ll know soon enough,” I said, trying but failing to keep the bitterness from my voice.

Richmond’s face turned pink with what little rage he could muster at two o’clock in the morning. Hana was standing behind him, a silver shadow with her arms crossed, the barest hint of a smile on her lips, too sharp to be genuine and too dull to be hate. Hana’s liquid, blue eyes landed on Richmond only for a second. She didn’t move, or even blink, but I knew what she was doing.

A second later, Richmond was calm. He took a deep breath and settled into his chair like he hadn’t spoken at all, courtesy of Hana’s power and her magic ability to put the chief of staff back in his place.

I swallowed hard. Hana wasn’t supposed to do that. There were, in theory, clauses that prevented her from using her powers on coworkers—but if it meant Richmond would shut the fuck up, I wasn’t about to call her out. I had to wonder if Richmond was even aware that Hana had magicked him, but I quickly dismissed the thought because it wasn’t important. The most important issue was: what the hell was going on with the Association of Netherworld Creatures, the ANC?

President Odyssey cleared her throat. It was two o’clock in the morning on a Saturday, and the look in her eyes told me this had better be damn good.

“There’s been a breach in the ANC,” I said.

The entire room sucked in a collective breath. The Association of Netherworld Creatures, the organization responsible for keeping the peace among creatures of magical and other uncanny origin, weren’t exactly doing their job. And that was bad news.

President Odyssey’s fingers curled into a loose fist, but she said nothing. Hana looked at each of the generals, admirals, cybersecurity personnel, and secret service in turn with a strange look on her face, one of haughtiness maybe. Whatever it was, I had trouble identifying it, and that realization left me nervous.

Hana’s eyes settled on me and a chill shook my bones, an iciness that meant she was probing me for intention. Clearly, she didn’t know that I had enough experience with those who are magically inclined to realize when one is trying to use her powers on me. I did my best to ignore it, and her, reaching into my pocket and wrapping my fingers around a small, green-grey stone.

“Garrison Hart was one of our assets, tasked with monitoring the Brokenview ANC and its portals,” I said, doing my best to thwart Hana’s abilities. Even though I was human, I had some of my own tricks up my sleeve.

But back to Garrison Hart … There was at least one human agent in every ANC branch in the world, most of them American, Canadian, and British. All were FBI, carefully selected and trained at sites more secretive than the CIA’s farm. Their job was to make sure the Regulators at the ANC were doing their job and keeping their kind on the straight and narrow, or risk mass deportation. These human agents were assassins, thieves, and liars by trade, and they were damn good at what they did—never making mistakes. “According to Marcus Ream—Garrison Hart’s manager—there was a disparity between his last two reports.”

“Disparity?” said Richmond, but I could see President Odyssey lingering on the word “last.”

I nodded and palmed the tablet on the table in front of me. In response, the other tablets scattered around the table suddenly lit up, displaying two scanned FBI documents side-by-side.

“These are Hart’s final two debriefings,” I said. “The first is routine stuff, mostly active ANC case files and lists of people caught stealing office supplies or sleeping together. Nothing too substantial.” Most ANC reports looked like that. The Regulators were good at their jobs, and the surveillance was nothing more than a precaution. Usually.

“And the second?” asked Richmond.

I sighed. That was where the problems started. “The second briefing we received three days ago. Same brand of intel, same lists, mostly the same people, but written in an entirely different voice.”

“A different voice?” asked Hana, eyeing me narrowly. Her words were soft, barely more than a whisper, but everyone heard and they went silent, completely still. She continued to almost glare at me while I returned the intensity of her stare. I wasn’t someone who backed down easily.

I faced President Odyssey. “If I may?” I asked as I nodded at my tablet.

President Odyssey motioned with her hand that I should start reading. So I did.

“Nothing more to say about the boys in custody. Their Feisty,” I started as I glanced up at everyone in the room. “Spelled t-h-e-i-r.” Then I returned to my reading. “Keep chewing at the bars like animals. Thomas Harley keeps visiting T.P.” I glanced up at everyone. “I believe the initials stand for Tootsie Pop, who happens to be an attractive blond that sits down the aisle from Garrison.” I took a breath. “Or I suppose he could be talking about toilet paper.” Everyone snickered, except for Hana. I glanced down and continued reading. “I think he and T.P. are banging. Nothing going on here much. Mostly should be reported that this coffee sucks.’” I cleared my throat and adjusted my glasses as I faced everyone in the room.

“So he’s not so good at spelling,” Richmond started. “So what?”

I turned to face him. “So Garrison Hart earned his undergraduate degree at Yale and his graduate degree at Harvard,” I retorted, my eyebrows meeting in the center of my forehead. “When was the last time you met a Yale or Harvard graduate who didn’t know the difference between t-h-e-i-r and t-h-e-y-’-r-e?” Richmond didn’t respond, so I continued, this time giving all of my attention to President Odyssey. “In the remainder of the report, the words ‘gross’ and ‘reeking’ are used to describe the creatures in custody, the coffee is continuously denigrated and, coincidentally, also spelled incorrectly three out of five times that it’s referenced. Hart makes multiple inappropriate comments about his female coworkers, giving them nicknames he’s never used in previous reports. He continually goes off on unrelated, unnecessary tangents and keeps referring to the werewolves in custody as ‘wolves,’ while he previously referred to them always as ‘weres.’”

General Tate wrapped his large hands around his tablet, mulling over the information I’d just provided and squinting at the words in question as he nodded slowly. His brow furrowed the longer he looked at it, clearly trying to solve the meaning of the shift. He was an impossibly large man with a square face, a set jaw, and a long, white scar running the length of his nose. He had the cold eyes of a wolf, and he spoke only marginally more often than Hana. His voice was gravelly and deep, on the rare occasions I ever heard it.

President Odyssey examined the documents, drumming her fingers against the table. Short, auburn hair framed a pale face lined with shallow wrinkles. She looked up at me with solemn, silver eyes, her lips pressed together in a thin, red line. I guessed one couldn’t smile often with a job like this.

“Last?” she said slowly as she looked up at me. “You said this was Garrison Hart’s last briefing?”

I nodded once. “His body was discovered by hikers less than two hours ago. In Virginia.”

“Virginia? How the hell did he get there?” asked Richmond.

“We think it’s likely that he was discovered by Netherworldian creatures, killed, and transported via portal, wormhole, or dematerialization,” I answered.

“Discovered?” Richmond asked incredulously. “The ANC is well aware of our presence in their agency. They always have been. So what do you mean by discovered?”

Maybe if you’d give me ten seconds to finish a sentence, you’d know by now, I thought as I took a deep breath. “I believe there has been a breach in the ANC,” I said, my patience shattering like glass. I faced President Odyssey. “We’ve received no communications from anyone in the agency, and the head of the branch has yet to contact us regarding Hart’s death—or his disappearance.” I faced Richmond with a brief nod. “You’re correct, ANC officers knew Hart was there and they’ve never had a problem with his presence before.” I let that sit in the air for a minute. “So if we agree that ANC officials knew Hart was there, we can also concur that they know he’s gone, and yet, they haven’t uttered a word about it.”

“Then you think the ANC officials are in on it?” President Odyssey asked me pointedly.

I shrugged. “Whether they were a party to Hart’s death or not remains to be seen.” I reached for a glass of water on the table before me and downed it. My throat was well beyond dry. “Madam President, what I can tell you is that the Brokenview ANC office is no longer under our control.”

Odyssey didn’t look surprised.

“Is this an uprising?” asked General Tate. “If there’s been no communication …”

I shrugged. “We don’t know,” I said. “The ANC appears to be functioning properly from the outside. They may be staging an uprising, yes, or they may be operating under duress, unable to call for help.” If the ANC were rebelling, they would have murdered an acting human emissary and a federal employee, and that would mean war and deportations, and then protests and riots on both sides. “God willing, it’s a coup, and one that we can stop.”

“Any word from Special Agent Vander?” asked Odyssey.

Knightley Vander was a highly reputable Regulator for the ANC and their chief contact in Human-Preternatural Affairs. I led the human surveillance of the ANC on my end, and he was in charge of his. I shook my head. “I tried contacting Vander as soon as our team discovered Hart’s body, but have received no reply.” That was more than a little disconcerting. While Vander and I didn’t always get along, we had a good working relationship. I could count the times on one hand when I’d called and Vander didn’t call back. I couldn’t help but wonder if this protracted silence meant Vander’s ANC in Splendor, California, was compromised as well.

“How do we know Hart wasn’t killed out of context?” asked Richmond, irritating me to no end. “Maybe he was helping the Regulators with a case that got out of hand. Maybe they don’t even know Hart’s dead yet. Hell, they might not even know he’s gone; they might just think he went out for a drink or something.”

It wasn’t the craziest theory. The human agents stationed at the various ANC offices often lent themselves to ANC investigations, if only to the break the monotony of their own, less thrilling surveillance jobs. And if Hart had only been dead for a few hours, or even a few days, I might have believed it …

“Because seven hours ago, we received another report in Hart’s name,” I said. “One that was very similar in voice and spelling mistakes to the second brief.”

“So?” asked Richmond. “Hart might have sent it before he died.”

“He didn’t,” I answered. “Hart has been dead for three weeks.”

Richmond’s mouth popped open. President Odyssey inclined her head, clicking her nails against the table. Hana took a single step out of the shadows. Her pupils dilated as she examined me, tasting the chemicals seeping out of my skin that would tell her what I was currently feeling. I felt strangely violated.

“What else?” Hana asked in her deep voice. “What else do you know?”

I swallowed, hellishly uncomfortable. Hana had a way about her that made you shrivel in her gaze.

“Several months ago, every registered ANC portal went offline all at once, and every ANC office in California went dark. And they stayed dark for several weeks. When they came back on, the acting head of the ANC, Caressa Brandenburg, told us it was a mass malfunction caused by a weather anomaly in the Netherworld. She also informed us that the former head of the Netherworld, Melchior O’Neil, had died in a car accident.” I took a deep breath. “No one at the CIA bought it, of course, and, interestingly, right around the same time, all of our assets in the Netherworld became compromised—as in captured or killed just before the fighting started.”

“Fighting?” repeated Tate.

I nodded. “The acting director of the CIA sent in Rowena Gem. Rowena is ex-KGB, absolutely insane, and the only person we were certain could insert herself into Brandenburg’s pecking order totally unnoticed. Rowena discovered there had been a coup, and the portals had been shut down by the former head of the ANC, Melchior O’Neil, before his death. We believe this was done in an effort to control travel to and from the Netherworld and to prevent his insurgents from getting through. The coup was executed by the heads of the ANC in Splendor, Moon, and Estuary, California, as well as several of O’Neil’s people. They brought an unsanctioned army through a temporary portal and decimated the existing Netherworldian government. Melchior O’Neil was killed in his home.”

“So this is a coup,” repeated Richmond. “They’ve deposed their own … what did they call him?”

“Head of the Netherworld, colloquially,” I answered, “but I believe the official term is Magister.”

“Bit pompous,” said Richmond, crossing his arms, and for once, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Perhaps,” I answered. “But there’s more. The brunt of Melchior’s power apparently came from some less than reputable organizations. Potion smugglers, creature traffickers, money launderers, mercenaries. It was less of a coup and more like a revolution, according to Rowena.”

“Who are her sources?” asked Richmond, growing grouchier by the second.

I suppressed a sigh. “I realize it’s two o’clock in the morning, but surely, you know I can’t tell you that?” I replied. “Rowena knows what she’s doing. If you don’t trust her intel, perhaps you’d like to go and collect your own?”

Richmond made a face and sat back, resigning himself to be tired and bored. I turned back to the president. “It is my belief, as well as Rowena’s, that this was a necessary power shift. Apparently, popular opinion had been against Melchior for some time.”

“He was a dictator,” a new voice announced from behind us.

The door slammed shut before a lithe, Arabic woman with stark, black hair appeared. She was dressed in a green penny coat, a white blouse, and blue slacks. She pulled her gloves off slowly and strode to the front of the room to stand beside me, grinning at us all with the half of her face that hadn’t been burned into oblivion—she hid the red, webbed scars under an ivory half-mask with a single black garnet where her eye should have been.

“Rowena,” I said with a smile as I turned to face the rest of the room. “May I present Special Agent Rowena Gem.”

Rowena was human, but barely—the magic that scarred her was still stuck in her skin, and now … she could do dangerous things. Now, her blind eye could see things no one else could.

“Agent Gem,” said President Odyssey, nodding in deference. “Good of you to join us.”

Rowena greeted her in turn and faced each person in the room. Everyone was deathly silent. “I don’t believe the Brokenview ANC has fallen out of contact of its own volition,” she said, her voice heavily accented. Rowena had a magnetism about her, an allure that demanded attention with its enticing subtlety. Or maybe it was only because she was pretty. “Melchior maintained power through fear. He bred terrible beasts to patrol the Netherworld skies and terrorize the population. The original electoral system has been out of play for more than fifty years, and nearly everyone in his administration was linked in some way to the potion rings. Many of his personnel were being blackmailed, including a member of his inner circle that later joined the resistance. The administration that replaced him following the coup has linked him officially to the deaths of more than twenty ANC Regulators, including three of our own operatives.”

“Potion rings?” asked Tate.

“Magic drug lords,” Richmond answered, crossing his arms.

Rowena cleared her throat. “Over the last three months, Caressa Brandenburg’s administration has been struggling to maintain power. Melchior’s forces had originally scattered, but the major potion rings and crime lords are now banding together under another banner, an unidentified magical creature that calls itself the Darkness. Whoever and whatever it is, it or they are very powerful, as well as the rings they are pulling together. The Darkness vastly outnumbers the ANC, and it is gaining ground. I find it extremely likely that the Brokenview ANC is no longer under ANC control, and now a stronghold for this Darkness character.” Rowena gave me a rather pointed glance. “The last thing the ANC has time to care about right now is government oversight. They are at war, and losing it, badly.”

“Well, just hijack my presentation, why don’t you?” I muttered, but I was smiling.

Rowena grinned back at me before turning to face President Odyssey. “Madam President, Brokenview may not be the only compromised branch. And if it has been taken by the Darkness, then every civilian in Brokenview is also at risk, as well as everywhere else the ANC has influence. This ANC conflict is spilling out of the Netherworld and it’s putting our own people in danger.”

President Odyssey cocked her head, linking her fingers together. “And what, exactly, are you proposing I do, Special Agent James?” Odyssey asked as she faced me.

Rowena looked at me too. She had the same clearance I did, but a hell of a lot more experience. The only difference was that my badge said “Special Agent” and hers didn’t, so it was my call.

“Send in a task force to identify the power players and take them out,” I said. “If they’re organized well enough to overtake an ANC office in a major city without anyone noticing, they’re more dangerous than Melchior ever could have been on his own.”

“You want to run a black op over the ANC’s head?” Hana asked softly, her tone and words revealing doubt, verging on anger, almost. “You want to assassinate the ringleaders before they can do anymore damage?”

I felt my jaw clench, but I said nothing. Rowena laid a hand on my arm as she turned toward Hana and shot daggers at her. The secretary of state bowed her head and stepped backwards, indicating that she wouldn’t try to second guess me again.

President Odyssey nodded. “Very well. Special Agent James, select your team.”

“Marcus Ream,” I said immediately. Marcus was CIA. “Judy Collins and Kent Jacoby.” Judy was ex-MI6. And Kent? Kent was just insane. “And, of course, Rowena,” I answered.

“Done,” said Odyssey. “Where do you intend to start?”

“With the person at the center of the conflict,” answered Rowena, her lips tightening. “The woman who is truly responsible for killing Melchior O’Neil. His daughter, Dulcie O’Neil.”

ONE

Dulcie

I was only dimly aware of the gun.

When my finger closed around the trigger, my wrist screamed with the recoil, and then all I could see was fire. The blaze disappeared quickly, along with the shadows it cast. My maker, my mother, stared down at them, speaking slowly, offering her blood to the silhouette sprawled on the ground. The other—the tall one, a lanky creature vibrating with an old kind of fury—lurched forward. I pulled the trigger again, bracing myself this time. Yes, that was better. The recoil shot up my arm, but the second time, it made it all the way to my shoulder, dispersing the impact into the rest of my bones.

The tall, lanky silhouette fell without a sound. My mother turned to me, smiling, her fangs protruding from beneath her lips. Cabernet red.

“Well done,” she said, and I swelled with pride.

My mother’s servants carted the still shadows away. She went with them, trailing black hair, leaving perfect red footprints in her wake. I wondered where they were going, and if they intended to come back. If the silhouettes were still alive, then Mother was in danger, and I couldn’t allow that.

Antoine will protect her, I thought, and the words relieved my worry. Antoine was nearly as old as Mother—his power wasn’t quite so grand, but he was formidable in his own right, and staunchly loyal. Brave, too, and brutal in ways I could only aspire to be.

I sat on the bed and rang a bell to call Sebastian. The butler appeared a moment later in a rush of cold wind and blue light, smiling amicably.

“Madam Dulcie,” he said, bowing, before he handed me a steaming cup of tea. I smiled as I drank it, observing Sebastian with undisguised admiration.

“How is it you already know me so well?” I asked, confused as to why many of Mother’s servants seemed so familiar with me and yet I didn’t know any of them. Green tea, a touch of sugar, and an obscene amount of honey. All in perfect sync.

Sebastian smiled. He looked like Mother when he did that, sly, coarse, and wildly intelligent. Although Sebastian was centuries old, he didn’t appear ancient at all. He was a vampire and not much younger than Antoine. As a result, he had a spectacular power swimming inside him. I could sense it moving through his frozen blood, tendrils of raw starstuff, desperate to warp the fabric of space and time. The electric cold of it was palpable, even from here, and I found it … well, electrifying.

“We have watched you a long while,” he said, pushing a shock of lily-blond hair out of his face with a hand gloved in white. There were pink stains on his fingertips, bloodstains that defied the power of bleach.

“I pride myself on knowing you,” Sebastian said, and I realized the long period of silence where I’d been unabashedly staring at him. I smiled.

Then my smile fell. “Who were they?” I asked, gesturing to the blackening pools of blood by the door. I opened my mouth to taste the iron drifting languidly through the air. The chemical vapor tasted tangy on my tongue, sweet even.

“Intruders,” said Sebastian, his voice dark with scorn. “Men foolish enough to believe they could steal you away from us.”

I laughed at the notion that anyone thought they could steal anything from underneath Mother’s nose. She was all-powerful. “Did they have names?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Most likely. I believe your mother knew one of them, or she seemed to.” He leaned closer and said, “I don’t believe theirs was a pleasant kinship.”

“Hmm, doesn’t look like it would have been,” I said with a laugh. “Considering she wanted me to kill them both.” I took a long drink of my tea. Few of Mother’s relationships were cordial. The water scalded the back of my throat and I sighed happily, relishing the popping vibrations as the skin knitted itself back together and the pain vanished. “What were their names?” I finished.

“Bram and Knightley,” Sebastian answered before he faced me expectantly, as though he thought I should recognize the names. I didn’t. I shrugged to tell him as much, and he beamed broadly. “Is there anything else I might do for you?” asked Sebastian. He was the only one in the house not dressed in bizarre regalia, the only one in an honest-to-Hades black and white suit. Perhaps that was why he stood out to me.

I looked him up and down, taking in the curving pectorals and the swells of his biceps that were barely concealed beneath his clothes. “Maybe later,” I said, wiping a drop of tea from my mouth with my thumb.

Sebastian grinned. “Ring if you need me.” He stepped back and disappeared into nothing with a sound almost like a scream.

“Showoff!” I said with a laugh. I had to bite my tongue and cross my legs to keep myself from going after him.

With a deep breath, I forced the fire—which had quickly become a ravenous inferno—away, sighing until the urgent sting in the pit of my belly disappeared. It was quite the endeavor, not helped by my mind’s insistence on picturing what I kept trying to ignore… for now, anyway.

Standing, I walked onto the terrace, toward the great, white French doors, which were open wide to the impossible night. A vast, black forest blanketed the earth, its thick shadows full of curious noises and hidden monsters. My wings, paper-thin flaps of gossamer green, flowed back and forth languidly at my back, tasting the frigid air. Clouds and smoke obscured the sky, but through the gloom I could see the barest trace of the moon. It was a thousand times closer here, bigger and bolder, tearing the seas to pieces with its incessant gravitational pull. I felt a kinship with the sea that I didn’t expect, but the feeling that we were the same somehow continued to intrigue me.

Somewhere below, I heard the snapping of a forest beast, a chimera or a burish ferret’s crackling breath. Suddenly, a purple flash of fire appeared between the trees, overlapped by a surprised squeak, and seconds later came the sound of breaking bones. I sipped my tea and listened, closing my eyes to focus on the sound of long, ivory tusks tearing through skin, the starving snarls of a beast half-crazed with hunger and the fading heartbeat of its unfortunate snack.

The door behind me made no sound, but I could feel it when it opened—a subtle vibration in the floor, and the slightest shift in temperature as the warmer air from the body of the house swept into the room. I turned and beamed at the entrant, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug in my hands.

Mother strode through the doorway with blood on her hands and a broad smile on her face. Rivulets of red flowed from her mouth down her chin, staining the white of her blouse. She seemed at ease, but there was a severity in her eyes I couldn’t fathom.

“Are they dead?” I asked. Antoine had not returned with her, so I assumed he was disposing of the bodies. I hoped he was enjoying himself.

“Yes, princess,” said Mother, removing her black blazer. “Thank you, my darling. The danger is gone.” She put her hand to my cheek. “You were very brave.”

I sighed my relief. “Sebastian says you knew one of them?”

Mother’s smile softened, and she laughed. It was a harsh noise. She moved to the edge of the balcony, laying her hands flat on the alabaster banister. “Yes, I did. Long ago.”

I wondered how long “long ago” meant for someone as old as she. I moved next to her, entranced by the way the moonlight made her skin glow. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever beheld. “How long ago? Sebastian said your relationship with him was unpleasant.” For Mother, that could mean any number of things. An ex-lover, perhaps, or someone she tried but failed to kill.

That thought gave me pause. There were not many creatures capable of besting Mother.

She scoffed. “Unpleasant. That’s one word for it.” Her face fell, and the expression she offered me next was grave. “He is the man who killed your father.”

I stiffened, nearly crushing the ceramic mug between my fingers. Yes, I remembered the man now, standing over Father’s body, dragging the blood from Father’s limp form. A vampire like Mother, but younger, and very arrogant.

She laid her hand on my shoulder, comforting and cold as ice, and I felt myself relax. “I know you hurt,” she said softly, sitting on the bed beside me. “I know, princess. Don’t worry. He will pay dearly for it.”

“Will?” I said, my throat tightening. “He isn’t dead yet?”

“He is,” Mother said, squeezing my hand. “And this time, he will stay that way.”

I nodded and leaned into her. “I love you, Mother,” I said, and I meant the words with everything inside me. I didn’t know where I would be if not for this beautiful creature.

I felt her smile. She rested her chin on my head and stroked my hair.

“I love you, Dulcie,” she replied. She pulled back and brushed away a strand of my hair, tucking it gently behind one of my pointed ears. Her smile was the most captivating thing I had ever seen. I could only smile dumbly up at her.

“Dulcie,” she said. “Sweet, sweet Dulcie. You want to protect me, don’t you?”

I was appalled that she could even ask me such a thing when the answer should have been obvious already. “Of course!”

Mother smiled again, and I relaxed.

“Good,” she said. She took her revolver from the holster at her hip and flicked open the cartridge, examining the shining steel bullets within. They glittered like stars, like blood in sunlight. “Because there is something I need you to do for me.”

TWO

Sam

The ANC was a scene of absolute disaster.

The holding cells were in pieces. Rebar and concrete had pierced through every wall, breaking windows and smashing cars parked too close to the door. The pixie and the two werewolves we had in custody were in the ICU with twenty broken bones between them, and the pixie was threatening to sue. Yellow caution tape was strung up around the crater the wormhole had formed, with half the building and most of the side lot folding in on itself. The hole was a hundred feet deep and half as wide, swarming with witches testing the air and the earth, trying to figure out where the wormhole came from—and where it let out.

Okay, let me explain.

My name is Samantha White. I’m a witch in the employ of the Association of Netherworld Creatures, and for the last week, I’ve been conducting a massive investigation into the disappearance of Dulcie O’Neil.

Two weeks and three days ago, the head of our ANC, Knightley Vander, brought in a prisoner. High profile, extremely dangerous, disgustingly slick. His name was Jax—if he had a last name, no one told me. Jax was here for less than a day before he broke the entire fucking building.

Jax turned himself in, telling Knight that he wanted out of the game, that he was ready to confess and share intelligence, blah blah blah. According to Jax’s story, every potions smuggler and their grandmother had it in for him, so Knight needed to get him somewhere safe ASAP. That’s why Knight brought Jax here—to the ANC headquarters in Splendor, California—hoping that, since this was a lesser base, nobody from the Netherworld would think to look for him here.

Big mistake.

Apparently, this was Jax’s plan from the beginning—his mission, actually. He had orders from somewhere way up the ladder to get to Splendor, kidnap Dulcie by acting as the anchor for a wormhole (one of the most volatile methods of travel in existence), and take her … somewhere.

Later, Knight found out that Bram, a vampire who’d spent his life riding the line between good and bad, was responsible. Bram oversaw the criminal rings, second only to somebody called the Darkness. Under the leadership of the Darkness, the potions rings were banding together to overtake the ANC. Apparently, Bram was caught up in all of it but wanted Dulcie’s help to thwart the Darkness, insisting that his plan was to dissemble the evil organizations from the beginning. In Bram’s words, “it was in the best interest of the Netherworld to maintain the balance.” That probably meant Bram was losing influence and needed an escape because Bram was only out for Bram and nobody else.

Now Dulcie was missing, the Brokenview ANC was a base of operations for the Darkness, and both Bram and Knight had gone radio silent.

Just another Monday, I thought, cracking my knuckles while reminding myself that it was now one o’clock in the morning on Tuesday. I’m losing my fucking mind. My joints popped hard, and I winced as I began the steep descent into the crater.

The dirt had been burnt by the wind until it was hard as concrete, and the sheer suction of the wormhole compressed everything within a hundred-yard radius into stone. A week later, the ground was still smoking, and whatever was left of the magic that brought the wormhole here was now seeping out of the calcified earth. Cracks deep enough to be ravines radiated from the center of the bowl, flooded with rainwater. And every now and then, the earth around it would shake. Violently. None of which boded well for the people who went through it, but I was trying to be optimistic.

“Anything?” I called out.

The witch closest to me, a small woman with red hair and freckles, looked up from her clipboard. She pushed her glasses up her long nose and sighed, shaking her head. “Whoever brought it here, they covered their tracks. There’s no ephemeral residue, no spiritual fingerprints, no alchemical signatures, nothing. It’s like it was never even here.”

That meant there was no way to tell who sent the wormhole, how long it was here, and, more importantly, where the other anchor was. They’d been telling me this for days, and every time I heard it, I lost a little more patience. “Thanks, Gelvie,” I said, suppressing the rising urge to curse and scream and set something on fire—which, if I didn’t get a lid on my anger, might have happened on its own.

There must have been fifty witches or more, brought in from Moon and Estuary and every city that could spare them. Each one carried a wand or an enchanted metal tablet in their hands—finding materials that can contain the spell-equivalent of an entire lab is tricky. Most of the tablets and the wands were glowing blue, which, unfortunately, meant they had nothing.

Not that I was surprised. At this point, I was seriously entertaining the idea of getting a mug with Nothing new? printed on the side of it. I imagined myself taking passive-aggressive sips out of it while my employees debriefed me. But maybe that wasn’t such a great idea; Hades knew I was already drinking more than enough coffee as it was.

Gelvie gave me an apologetic shrug and assured me that I would be the first to know when they found something. I nodded curtly, my fingers curling into fists at my sides.

Gelvasra Henthres was the head of the Magical Anomaly Detection Committee—the crime scene investigators in the employ of the ANC. Witches, mostly, with the occasional empath or Valkyrie skulking around, looked for ghosts, spell echoes, and “emotional insurgencies,” whatever the heck that meant. Maybe they were hoping the person anchoring the wormhole on the other side was angry enough to leave a footprint.

Not that it mattered now. Wherever the hole took them, Dulcie and Jax weren’t there anymore. They’d gone from some forest in the middle of nowhere to one of Bram’s numerous mansions and later to the overturned ANC in Brokenview, where a witch had recognized Dulcie and sent word to me.

Oh, did I forget to mention? The Netherworld had control of, like, half our ANC bases, and I could only imagine that number rapidly growing.

So, that’s about how my week was going. I walked around the hole for a little while longer, hoping that lightning would strike somebody and we’d suddenly know where Dulcie, Bram, Knight, and Jax were. I was trying desperately not to think of them as missing persons, but as time passed, that conclusion was getting harder and harder not to draw. It had been—what? Three days since Knight and Bram went looking for Dulcie? And they hadn’t radioed in. Nobody had, but that was mostly owing to the political upheaval currently going down in the recently usurped Netherworld. Caressa was probably even more stressed out than I was.

I went back to my office—what was left of it, anyway. Three of the four walls remained, striped in beige where the wormhole had violently ripped my pictures and certificates away, even dragging the paint off with them. The carpet was soaked through with rain and mud and coffee. Everything smelled like gas and wet dirt.

I ambled over to the Mr. Coffee plugged in to the only remaining outlet this side of the building. The machine gurgled and spat, then a thin, black line poured into a green mug with an angry face stamped into the side, proudly declaring its aversion to Mondays. There was creamer somewhere, but it was one o’clock in the freaking morning, which meant I didn’t possess the wherewithal to even try to find it. Instead, I downed the bitter, black liquid like bad medicine, screwing up my lips at the virulent taste. I was half-tempted to get some mandrake out of the confiscated potions vault—mandrake being a potent, highly addictive, Adderall-like substance mostly used by college students during desperate cram sessions and deadlines.

But I knew I wouldn’t do that. As an officer of the law, I decided not to drink the evidence. So black coffee would have to do.

Please let Dulcie be okay, I thought. Let them all be okay.

Something fluffy brushed against my leg and I smiled, looking down. A half-grown golden retriever sat on the carpet, its tail wagging and tongue flopping: Dulcie’s dog, Blue. He was a gift from our old boss (who also happened to be on a long list of people Melchior O’Neil was blackmailing into working for him, but that’s another story). She’d brought him to work with her the day the wormhole sucked her and Jax into the ether.

“Come here, boy,” I said, and Blue jumped onto my lap, whining and licking my face. His collar shone in the low light, iron meshed with Celtic braiding that winked when it caught the light around his throat. It was enchanted, every braid painstakingly imbued with physical and magical wards, replicating a bracelet I’d given Dulcie to protect herself when she was neck-deep in the potion game. Hades only knew if it worked, but at this point, I had to take any reassurance I could get.

I wrapped my arms around Blue and gave him a good squeeze, burying my face in his soft fur. For ten seconds, the feeling like I was about to explode vanished. Maybe everything was going to be all right. Maybe they’d lost their phones or had no reception. Maybe Knight had finally found Dulcie and they were fucking each other into the next life. The idea made me feel a little better. If they had each other, that was a thousand times better, regardless of where they were.

The phone rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Hello?” I muttered.

“Samantha?” said the caller.

I nearly spat out my coffee. “Caressa!” I leapt out of my office chair, hard enough to send it skidding back into the wall. Blue tumbled to the ground and looked up at me in confusion. “Have you heard from Knight?”

There was a split second of silence and a soft clicking sound: Caressa clucking her tongue. I swear I could feel her grimacing through the phone. Caressa was one of Knight’s oldest friends—and an old flame, too, if the rumors held water—so a grimace and a clucking tongue probably meant she had about as much information for me as everyone else on my team. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

“I’m guessing that’s a no,” I said, sitting back and forgetting my chair wasn’t there to catch me. I sat hard on the wet ground and didn’t bother getting up, letting the icy rainwater soak through my skirt and freeze my ass.

Caressa sighed and I heard a thunk! It sounded like an elbow on a table, followed by a rattling, like pens in a cup. It might have also been bullets, but I was trying not to think about that. “Yeah. Sorry.”

I sighed too, running my free hand through my hair. “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“Anything on your end?”

I couldn’t suppress a snort. “What do you think?”

“They’re doing their best, Sam,” Caressa replied, almost sounding defensive.

“I know,” I said, “but it’s been like this for days. I mean, who knows where they are by now?” With the Brokenview ANC portals at their beck and call, they could literally be anywhere on the planet. Hell, they might have even been in the Netherworld, as slim a chance as that might be. For Dulcie’s sake, I hoped she was here. Her magic wouldn’t work in the Netherworld. And on the other side, her wings manifested. Big, translucent fairy wings that she had no clue how to control. Knight assured me it was hilarious, but they were no advantage to her when she was trying to escape.

“You still there?” Caressa asked.

I snapped myself back to the present and coughed. “I’m here. Sorry.”

“… and Dia hasn’t found anything?” she continued hesitantly.

Dia Robinson was the head of the ANC in Moon, California. Most of the witches on staff were hers, but I hadn’t heard anything from her in days. “MADC said there was nothing to find.” Nothing but a giant hole in the ground. My throat tightened and I felt my eyes watering. “Nothing,” I said quietly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Caressa said, her voice much softer now. “I promise.”

I laughed bitterly and tried to smile, even though she couldn’t see. Blue came up and started gingerly licking my cheek, his big, black eyes awash with concern. I scratched his head and felt the hot tears flowing soundlessly down my face. Blue kissed them away.

I took a deep breath and sighed. “I know,” I said, even though I didn’t. “Caressa, I’m not getting paid enough to worry this much.”

Caressa laughed. “Me neither, sweetheart, believe me. Listen, I’ve got to call General Maxwell and see if we can’t get his garrison out of the mountains.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. General Maxwell was a dark elf, a Netherworldian Army man of significant repute. He was as bull-headed as they come, and absolutely convinced that Melchior was still alive. He feared Caressa was trying to lure him out of Fort Blaster in the mountains to kill him and all of his force. “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks, I’m gonna need it. Listen, if you need anything—”

There was a beep, and then silence. I looked at my phone and saw it was roaming; all the bars had vanished. “Caressa?” I said, but she was already gone.

“Shit,” I grumbled, throwing the phone across the room. It hit the wall and the back broke open. Blue cocked his head and pounded his tail against the carpet, letting out a low whine. My stomach was tying itself in knots again, sheer panic rising from the pit of my stomach. That’s what you get, I thought, remembering the eight other cups of black coffee I’d drunk in the last forty-eight hours. Too much caffeine, if there were such a thing.

Not when you’re at war, I thought. Which wasn’t entirely true, not anymore, but it sure felt like it. This war was colder, though, looming like mountains in the dark. The Netherworld was gathering under the Darkness, sure, and Dulcie was missing, that was a given, but it felt like I was overlooking something. If I’d been anybody else, I would have written the feeling off as nerves. But I’m a witch, and that means my hunches are rarely unfounded.

I ran my hands over my face and pushed myself roughly onto my feet. My desk was scattered with papers and reports, most of them utterly useless in our search. No one at any ANC from here to Dubai had heard a word about the Darkness, and no one could seem to locate any of the big names in the potion world. Larx Manthrey from Crossbones, Henrick Torgiono from Mayhem, to name a few of the older players, and Jax. Hades only knew where he was. Dead, if we were lucky, or dying, and hopefully, very slowly.

“Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?” I muttered, sifting through the papers without reading them. I’d been through them already a thousand times, all the collective information we had about every bad guy in the business, and there was nothing there I could use. Of course, it was extremely likely that a hundred or more reports had been redacted or destroyed when the Brokenview ANC went down.

The lamp by the wall flickered and went out. There was a sound like a trombone being thrown down a flight of stone stairs, then the lamp came back on again—the backup generators kicking in.

I frowned and walked out to the hallway, peering left and right. Nigel, an air spirit, came floating down, transparent, ghostly, and ravenously handsome. I’d sent him to do recon on the power outage—mainly to find out where it began and where it ended, along with anything else he could tell me.

Then I had a thought. Wormholes are typically generated by extremely powerful magical entities—extremely powerful, meaning: nothing short of a very angry demigod. They could, in theory, also be created by inducing extreme electrical surges in a place with highly magical concentrations in the air or water. Places like nymph lakes and ancient, giant fortresses in the mountains, where they first mined the magic ores used in mood rings. If that were the case, the resulting power surge would have been enormous and bright enough to see from space, causing a blackout the size of Texas. Maybe we could track them that way.

“Miss Samantha?” Nigel’s mouth didn’t move, and he spoke in a stage whisper.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “Out of it. What’s up with the power?”

“Citywide blackout,” he said.

“Citywide?” That didn’t sound good. “What caused it?”

The apparition shrugged. “They’re looking into it. Seems to be a total grid failure.”

“Grid failure? What does that mean?”

“Mass malfunction,” he breathed. “Enough lights go out, the whole system flips.”

“Uh huh.” I nodded, biting my lip, and Nigel drifted away.

I turned back to my office, kneading my temples with my knuckles. I had to sleep. The ground wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was flat and, thankfully, not on fire, so I lay down on my back and closed my eyes. Everything shut down immediately, my whole consciousness going luxuriously black.

When I opened my eyes, the sky was still black, and all the stars were present and accounted for. I sat up and rubbed my head, groaning, feeling less like I’d slept and more like I’d just been roundhouse-kicked by a Titan.

I looked at my watch; fifteen minutes had passed. Probably as much of a reprieve as I would get for a while, at least until the twenty gallons of coffee drained out of my system.

“All right,” I said, craning my torso to the left to pop my shoulder. “Back to work, I guess.”

I stood, brushing my fingers through my short, brown hair and trying to look at least a little bit awake. Everybody was tired, and ready to punt a small goblin through a wall, but I was in charge. If anybody needed to pretend they were unfazed, it was me. Even if I were falling apart.

I stood up, cracked my neck, and popped my knuckles. Then I noticed Blue standing by the missing wall, his hair standing on end, growling into the dark.

“Blue?” I said. He didn’t respond, standing stock-still, hackles raised, throat rumbling.

“What’s the matter, boy?” I knelt beside him and tried to pet him, but the growling got louder. He crouched and bared his teeth at nothing.

Three seconds later, I felt it too. A sharp energy wafted in the air, a smell like burning grass and a subsequent tingling that gave me goose bumps.

I grabbed Blue and dove under the desk just as the explosion rocked the building.

Yellow-black shadows were cast by the billowing fire, and I felt the walls and floor crumbling with the force of it. The sound was muted at first, then it shifted into a high ring, and I realized I’d whacked my head on the table when it first went off. I reached up to touch my throbbing skull, and my hand came away red with blood.

“Shit,” I muttered, barely hearing myself. The hair on Blue’s neck was still standing on end, and he hadn’t stopped growling.

For ten painful seconds, there was nothing to observe but silence and smoke. The smell was acrid, strong enough to burn the back of my throat. I heard sirens, the human fire department rushing to our aid, and I had the fleeting thought that we needed to call them off.

Then I was dimly aware of a rush that sounded like water, then shouting and a sound like hail—bullets, I realized—followed by the crimson and gold flashes of defensive and offensive magic.

I crawled out from under the table and tried to stand. The whole room turned upside-down, and a second later, I was face-down on the ground. I felt Blue nudging my shoulder with his nose, whining and growling, even barking now too, but I couldn’t see at what.

Get up! I thought furiously, and I did, hauling my body onto my feet, bracing myself against the table and taking deep, slow breaths until the world re-stabilized. The walls were gone, all of them, reduced to piles of grey-white rubble. The sky was awash with all the wrong colors, green lightning and the blue tinge of a witch’s hellfire. White flashes like grenades, along with yellow bursts in the barrels of countless automatic weapons seemed to be everywhere. I could see the parking lot now, swarming with rescue personnel and witches, half running for their lives, half returning fire on a massive group of gun-wielding silhouettes that could only be here for one reason.

The ringing stopped, and suddenly, that was all I could hear—the incessant chittering of machine guns firing four hundred rounds a minute, only marginally covered by a very loud scream.

“Come on!” I shouted to Blue, drawing my pistol from my belt—an Op 7, the magical equivalent of a Glock, loaded with bullets spiked with highly toxic dragon’s blood. I pressed myself against the wall next to the Mr. Coffee, which now lay on its side on the carpet. My Monday-hating coffee cup was in pieces too, scattered at the base of the desk. The angry face stared up at me accusingly.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus, if only to get my frazzled brain to locate the site of the explosion. Sniffing the air, I could identify the burning asphalt and melting rubber, as well as a stench, like wet feathers and water boiled dry.

“Shit!” I ran—ran being a very loose term, since it was more of an urgent waddle—into the hall and toward the front of the building. I headed toward the lot and the cars and the wormhole as well as nearly half of my employees.

The closer I got, the louder the screams were. And the sound was changing. It started as fear, but now it was more urgent, like a desperate battle cry, the shrieking of someone on their last magazine. Some part of me thought power outage, and I realized this should have been obvious. Of course the outage wasn’t a natural malfunction. But I didn’t have time for that now.

Suddenly, Blue grabbed my skirt between his teeth and dragged me to one side, behind one of three walls left standing in the whole structure. A hot flash of fire and force drove me to my knees, kicking up a cloud of black dust.

I got back to my feet, panting, looking over my shoulder at the black scorch mark on the ground where I’d been standing only seconds before. “Thanks, buddy.”

Blue obviously didn’t reply, but kept looking behind me at the smoke cloud that was rising up like an angry wave. He started growling, taking very slow steps backwards, and I realized he saw someone or something inside it. A silhouette began to take shape as I watched and stumbled across the ruined floor, coughing.

I started to level my gun at the shadow. But a different kind of shadow coursed through me, a lead-heavy sense of fear and dread, and I pressed myself against the wall. Blue did the same, hunkering down at my heels. He sniffed the air and released a low whine. I looked down and saw his tail start wagging. He scratched at my foot, his mouth open, and tongue lolling out over his teeth.

“What?” I whispered. “What is it?” Maybe the shadow belonged to Gelvie or one of the other witches; or maybe it was Elsie the secretary.

Rocks and dust shifted around the corner, and the silhouette loomed into view. It was too short to be Gelvie and too thin to be Elsie. The shadow in the smoke was encased in fire from head-to-toe, wearing the flames like a mantle and its shadows like a crown. The face was obscured, but I saw a long, black dress and bare feet. Her skin was red with the heat of her own magic, and blood streamed down from a gash in her chest that she barely seemed to notice. She flicked her wrist, and a small, white ball of hellfire flung itself into the ground twenty yards away, exploding on impact. I closed my eyes at the pervasive light, violent and hot, bright as burning magnesium. When it faded, a plume of silvery smoke hung in the air, three stories tall, slowly settling over the ruins. There was a gaping, black hole at its base with a table on its edge, half of it completely vaporized.

The shadow stepped forward, and then she had a face.

I sucked in a breath. “Dulcie?”

THREE

Sam

Dulcie stood in the ruins of the ANC, blood all over her face and hands, ash sticking to her sweaty skin. She was something out of a story, Hades’s mistress, pale as paper and dressed in the colors of death.

What is wrong with her? I thought. Fucking Icarus, what the hell is she doing?

I heard footsteps, and a horde of gunmen ran past her, trolls and ogres, along with a hodge-podge of other unsavory creatures armed to the teeth. Several nodded their deference to her as they bounded past, saluting or stopping to bow, while some even shouted, “For Dulcie!” before they unloaded their steel magazines into the empty air. My heart fell into my heels as Dulcie beckoned them on, watching passively while they ignited what remained of the offices and storage rooms into a blazing fire.

One of them stopped. He was bigger and taller than the rest, with a single red stripe sewn into his bulletproof vest, maybe a sign of his station. He said something to Dulcie that I couldn’t hear, and she gave him a broad smile.

“Make it hurt,” she said, and the man ran off.

I must have gasped, or tripped, or maybe she could hear my pounding heart, but whatever happened, Dulcie turned her head to the right and found me. Her eyes, green as summer meadows and glowing with excitement, narrowed. I didn’t have time to move.

The way she looked at me seemed like she couldn’t see me. Of course she could, but she couldn’t see me. She couldn’t see who I was, what I meant to her, or how much we’d been through together. She was looking at me like I was no different than any other unfortunate asshole who happened across her path.

The wall burst apart and I was flung forward with Blue, my gun flying out of my hand. We landed hard on the cracked, stony ground and rolled before slamming to a halt on a mound of broken bricks and floor tiles. I pushed myself up on all fours, swallowing hard against a stabbing pain in my side. My hands were covered in soot and deeply scratched, already starting to sting.

Dulcie laughed behind me. I turned my head and watched her through bleary eyes as she strode forward, elegant and terrible, her dress sweeping through the ash that was still settling onto the floor. The fire that wreathed her was silver now, throwing embers white as stars into the sky. She blinked slowly at me, totally without recognition.

“Dulcie?” I started, hoping she would recognize me, and in doing so, snap out of whatever the hell was holding her mind and memory captive.

She flicked her wrist, and I went flying. When I hit the ground, a searing pain ripped through my side—breaking a rib. It punctured something, maybe a lung—yes, definitely a lung. I inhaled and coughed, tasting salt and iron. The pain was unbearably hot and almost indescribable, but my difficulty breathing was what concerned me the most.

“Did you think we’d forgotten you?” she said as her eyes narrowed on mine. Her voice sounded wrong; it was much deeper and broader than it should have been. “Did you think we would forgive you?”

Forgive me? We? What the hell was she talking about? “Dulcie,” I croaked, but it wasn’t much of a word—more like a strangled squeak. “Please … it’s me …”

Then Dulcie approached me, the heat of her silver fire beating down on me. She touched my sleeve and it instantly caught fire. Her expression turned dark, more vicious. Vengeful. I fumbled for my gun and saw it across the room, stuck under a slab of rubble from the foundation wreckage. Shit.

In the lot, where the wormhole crater was, came a wave of gunfire, a scream, and then silence. Someone laughed with a deep, bellowing sound. My blood turned to ice.

Dulcie leaned down and grabbed my face as she turned me back toward her, and hatred swam in her eyes. I glimpsed a hatred I had no clue she could have possessed.

“This is for my mother,” she whispered. “This is for the old way.”

Dulcie’s mother is dead, I thought, but I dared not say it aloud. Her fingers wrapped around my throat and squeezed, burning my skin like branding irons. I pulled at her hand, trying to scream, but her grip was an iron vise. Her teeth shone against her fire, glittering like jagged gemstones. There was blood in them, dried between her gums, but it wasn’t hers; it couldn’t have been. This blood was red, and fairies bleed gold.

“Dul … cie … it’s … Sam …” I grabbed her wrist and thought of arctic winds and glaciers, as well as every other cold thing in the world before a frozen wind began to sweep through me. Dulcie’s white skin turned blue around my fingers, cracking and splintering, but she didn’t flinch. A black fog crept into the edges of my vision, and my lungs screamed for air.

She was just so strong. So damned strong.

And then Dulcie was gone. Her nails raked against my throat before she was torn away by a tall, black shadow, plunging its hands through the fire and grabbing her by the shoulders. It flung her away with all its strength, and I couldn’t see the rest. I was on my side, coughing up blood and gasping for air, my broken body doing what it could to survive. My head was throbbing, and every time I moved, it got harder to breathe.

A wet, black nose pushed itself into my face, and Blue started licking my cheek, whining softly. Walls of fire exploded around me, and I saw Dulcie on the ground, hoisting herself onto her feet with a murderous look in her eyes. The shadow that tore her away was running toward me, shouting something I couldn’t hear.

Then he got closer, and his words took a shape. “Let’s go!” he yelled, grabbing me by my arm and heaving me up. I screamed as my ribs rubbed together, the searing pain completely engulfing me.

“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t sound very sincere. He lifted me in his arms like a small child and turned away from the flaming Dulcie, running headlong through a gap in the fiery, white walls. Blue followed at his heels, barking like mad.

I looked over the man’s shoulders. Dulcie was on her feet now, lifting her hand and muttering under her breath—a spoken spell. Whatever it was would be a hundred times more powerful than the explosions she’d been conjuring on a whim. There was anger behind her intentions now, and her rage would only make her that much more powerful.

I muttered an incantation, forcing myself to concentrate, trying to ignore the thrumming pain emanating from my broken rib and pierced lung. I imagined shadows and water, wind whistling through cracks in stone walls, rivers unimpeded by rock. The man and Blue and I felt it all at once: a vibration that started in our feet and went all the way to our throats when the magic took hold. Dematerialization was a touchy spell, and ideally, not one to use in a pinch, but I was out of options. Shadows swam in from nowhere, glittering like black ribbons full of stars, wrapping themselves around us and turning us into ethereal darkness.

In the last second before we disappeared, the spell died in Dulcie’s hands, and I swear she mouthed, “Sam?”

FOUR

Knight

I woke up. That alone was weird, because the last thing I remembered was getting shot in the heart. I tried to sit up, which, predictably, was a mistake. Bolts of pain jolted through me, hot as branding irons, a violent sting I could feel all the way down in my bones. I opened my mouth to scream, only managing to whimper a faint whine. I closed my eyes in exhaustion as I attempted to drum up any residual strength I could muster. Which wasn’t much.

I spent a moment breathing, letting the pain fade into a dull throb. When I opened my eyes this time, I looked around before I tried to speak again.

I was lying on the cold, hard floor inside a room that was small, quaint, cozy, even. Striped, beige wallpaper, plain molding, a full bed, a chair, and a table by a window. It was crosshatched with fire wards that would vaporize me if I got too close. I could smell it from here, a vague, burning haze hanging around the edges of the room, imbued into the walls, the floor, and even the fucking ceiling—as though I intended to punch my way out of here! Or try to shimmy my very large self through the heating vents.

Here, I thought. It took me a second to remember where that was.

The pain returned with shallow waves as I strove to remember everything in frustratingly blurry detail. I’d found Bram, prostrate and dying … Together, we located Dulcie in the Netherworld, secreted inside a mansion in the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where? Someone was with her … I shut my eyes, twisting sideways, and a boiling shock ran the length of my body, my mind rejecting the memory with everything it had.

The Darkness, I thought, Dulcie was taken by the Darkness. By Jax …

Then it all came back. The memories the witch in Brokenview had filched from Dulcie’s mind suddenly replayed for me. The blood and bruises, Jax’s fists hammering into her skull, his eyes on her bare body, stripping her down to her soul. Bram, blood-starved, catatonic, drinking from her until everything went black.

Rage began to instantly overtake me, and with it came resolve, as well as strength. I had to get the hell out of here so I could get Dulcie and steal her away from the Darkness. More memories suddenly invaded my already overrun mind.

A mansion. Bram’s mansion. The silhouette of a massive house, wreathed in trees and darkness. A broken window and stairs. It had been way too easy to break in; something was wrong …

Dulcie, I thought, digging my nails into my arms, I saw Dulcie. I felt like I was going to be sick. Dulcie in a black dress … Dulcie with a gun.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. I opened my eyes, not even realizing I’d closed them. Now I was panting. “Oh, what the fuck?” I muttered, reaching up to move the matted hair from my eyes. My chest rose and fell with deep, heaving breaths. Dulcie shot me, I thought. She shot me, and she was even smiling when she did it.

But, no, I shook my head. That makes no damned sense! Dulcie wouldn’t shoot me! Dulcie …

But I knew the truth in my own words. She had shot me, and she’d intended to kill me.

I rolled to one side, pushing myself up with one arm. The pain was nothing less than excruciating. It might have been a better idea to just lie down and stay there until my body stopped telling me to go fuck myself. At this point, I was just being spiteful. I pushed myself up with a roar—more of a girlish squeal, actually—and felt something in my chest tear open. A half-open wound appeared like a seam that was ripping itself apart. Something warm and wet flowed down my chest: blood. Lots of it.

Well, fuck, I thought as I looked down.

I discovered two things at that moment. First, I was shirtless, and, as I mentioned before, glistening with sweat. The room was ripe with a smell like sickness, rotting flesh, and bile, which I realized was me. Sweat, sure, but the smell was coming from my blood—which, for whatever reason, wasn’t red. That was the second thing. It was orange, almost yellow, and flowing too thick, almost like syrup. The smell took a seat on the back of my tongue and I feared I would vomit. I collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily, but couldn’t get any air.

Whatever was in that bullet, I wasn’t handling it well.

Then another thought altogether. I actually felt the dragon’s blood entering me, the thickness of a poison your body knows shouldn’t be inside your veins. I shouldn’t have felt sick if it were draconic, I shouldn’t have felt anything. Dragon’s blood is toxic in the extreme to any Netherworldian creature it comes in contact with, but not humans. Any creatures with touches of magic were especially susceptible to it. Creatures like me, a hellfire-forged guardian from the realms of Hades. But for all my abilities, I was still susceptible to dragon’s blood, so it naturally followed that since I’d been shot with a bullet soaked in dragon’s blood, I should have been dead right now.

Maybe … my head throbbed as I groped for the memory. A white-hot stab of pain in my chest, darkness, fire … a silhouette standing over me. The taste of something hot and sour in my mouth, flooding me with all the wrong kinds of energy.

Blood. Vampire blood. Bram’s, probably, but even that seemed a bit farfetched. Bram’s blood could bring someone back from the brink of a lot of things, but firenza draconia poisoning wasn’t one of them. Maybe Dulcie had a change of heart in the aftermath and used her almighty fairy dust to fix me. If she had, however, I wouldn’t still have a wound to bleed from. Even Dulcie couldn’t fix everything, despite whatever she might tell you. Assuming she tried at all …

Then I saw her standing before me, smiling pleasantly, a gun in her hand, her wings dutifully pinned at her back. I didn’t understand because I hadn’t heard or seen her come in. It was as if the air just spat her out.

Dulcie, what the hell happened to you? I thought because I still couldn’t speak. My stomach roiled and I curled up like an embryo, feeling lost and small.

“What have you done to yourself now?”

I blinked, failing to recognize her voice. When I looked up, Dulcie was gone. Standing in her place was a woman with her arms crossed. Tall, lithe, extremely pale. Eyes red as roses and hair black as pitch, framing a face that might have been smiling.

I’m not doing well, I thought to myself as I shook my head. How could I have thought this awful woman was Dulcie? Clearly, I was hallucinating and confused.

“You,” I said as I glanced up at her again, just to make sure she was really there. Unfortunately, she was. I recognized her now. I knew who she was. Meg, Bram’s maker and Dulcie’s captor. And now, apparently, she was my captor too, or so I guessed.

“Me,” she said, closing the door. She waved her hand and the wards clicked into place around the locks; the liquid latticework threading itself through the wood and metal, ready to incinerate anyone if they tried to leave.

“What do you want?” I asked, practically growling. I had to clench my eyes shut against the pain caused by speaking. I wasn’t sure how my voice was even coming out, but it was, all the same.

Meg raised her brow. She lifted her wrist to her mouth and bit down, hard. “Drink,” she said, holding the open wound out to me.

I scoffed and looked away, shaking my head. There was no way in hell I would drink whatever flowed through her veins. I’d rather be dead. I briefly considered attacking her, but just the thought of moving sent a feverish shiver through me. I was way too weak. I could barely manage to flinch.

“Hard pass,” I said shakily.

Meg pulled up her spine, attaining her full, considerable height. Her eyes darkened. “I’m trying to help you!” she snapped as she glared at me. I tried to hoist my knees up so I could achieve more of a sitting position, but my legs wouldn’t comply.

“I don’t need your help,” I seethed, even though my body was screaming at me that I did.

Meg leaned down and ran her hand across my chest. I didn’t have the strength to move away. Her palm came away all orange and sticky. She tasted the corrupted blood and made a face.

“I beg to differ,” she said. When I didn’t move, she groaned and stood back, crossing her arms.

“You have questions,” she said. “Drink, and I’ll answer them.”

“My questions aren’t worth whatever filth you’re trying to feed me.”

She smirked, turning up her chin. “Allow me to remind you that all of this,” she waved at me and then to herself, “is merely an act. You are nowhere near as powerful as I am, therefore, if I want you to drink from me, you shall.”

I laughed. Loudly. The sound that came out of me was more of a snorting squawk that sent another burst of blood streaming from me. I kept laughing even though it hurt. It was my way of defying her despite her speaking the truth.

“I am a patient woman so we can continue with this back and forth,” Meg said as she smiled at me knowingly. “At least for a good while longer.”

I looked down at the wound—wider now, and spilling pus—and the laughter cut itself short.

“Are you finished with your silly games?” Meg asked as she dropped to her knees beside me, and I just faced her blankly.

I wasn’t going to win this one and I knew it. Truthfully, I wasn’t ready to die yet. Not when I still had Dulcie to save and Meg to destroy. I did the only thing that I could.

I drank. Albeit reluctantly, and with a lot of gagging. The taste was, as always, like stomach acid and freezer burn. I forced myself to swallow it and struggled hard not to immediately retch it back up again.

Meg’s blood started to work only seconds after passing my lips. My body began to knit itself together, open muscle scabbing over and painting itself with new skin. A wash of cold air went through me, driving out what was left of the dragon’s blood, or whichever toxin remained in my system, and replacing it with the cold blood of a master vampire. I was swimming with an electricity I had no clue how to receive.

“Okay,” I said, sitting back, wiping the blood from my mouth. I felt stronger and much more like myself. I glanced up at Meg and leaned against the bed. I still wasn’t strong enough to get onto my feet. That would take a bit longer. “Where the fuck is Dulcie?”

Meg tutted. “So brusque. Try again, only nicely this time.”

“Where the fuck is Dulcie?” I repeated. My muscles pulsed, absorbing Meg’s blood, practically begging me to pounce on her and tear out her stationary heart. But even I could tell, although tired and borderline hysterical, that she was formidable. To say the very least. There was something in the way she stood, and the tilt of her head, and the casual slyness in her smile that reminded me of Bram; no, something worse than Bram, something much more powerful than Bram.

Meg was the fabric of nightmares. A creature that had walked the Earth for a very long time, and who was very accustomed to getting whatever she wanted. Attacking her would be ballsy at best, fatal at worst, but either way, stupid. And it probably wouldn’t go well—being Bram’s maker indicated she was many centuries old, an impossibly long time for something to be alive, even a vampire. Her age and race endowed her with a spectacular strength.

She inclined her head and offered me that shark-toothed smile, her fangs glinting in the dull light. “Dulcie is … shall we say … elsewhere?” she replied, and her response seemed to amuse her. Probably because it wasn’t technically a lie.

I scowled. “And where exactly is elsewhere?”

“Somewhere away from here,” Meg replied, looking like she was trying not to laugh. Her eyes flashed with a bad light, yellow and unseemly, the decaying remains of her humanity and her sense of humor.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I said, my temper flaring the second I found the energy for it. “If you’re not going to give me a straight fucking answer, why are you even here?” Most likely, to screw with me. Bram enjoyed his asinine little games, so it stood to reason his maker did as well.

“Dulcie is tending to her other duties,” Meg said, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. There were strands of silver in it, practically glowing, braided thinly beneath the black so she virtually glittered whenever she moved. I wondered if the discoloration came from the near-death experience she suffered at Bram’s hands. If only he’d double-checked his handiwork.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I demanded.

“It means, she is taking care of the business in which I have instructed her. She has a purpose to fulfill, and she is seeing to it.”

“Her duty,” I repeated blandly. That doesn’t sound good. “What did you do to her?”

“I reminded her of who she is. And what she is.” Her lips puckered, full and red. I blinked at them, and for a second, I couldn’t look away. “I simply allowed her to become everything that she was meant to be.”

I swallowed. The blood wasn’t sitting well. “And what is she meant to be, exactly?”

Meg giggled. The sound struck the walls and fell flat, like a broken bell—but when it stopped, there was one terrifying second where I wanted nothing more than to hear it again. I didn’t understand why. Maybe she was glamouring me. As a Loki, I shouldn’t have been susceptible to being glamoured, but stranger things had happened, I supposed. Now it would be in my best interest to try to fight whatever power she was raining down on me.

“More,” said Meg. Her tongue snaked across her frightening teeth.

“More than what?” I said. My words came slowly.

Meg made a show of considering it. “More than she was,” she said at last. “More than anyone has ever been before.”

Power, I thought. Power and a glamour strong enough to force Dulcie completely out of her own mind. Doing her duty … I didn’t want to think what that might mean, but I suspected it involved violence.

“More than you?” I asked.

Meg snorted. “Yes. More than me … and more than her father.” She looked at her hand, turning it over as though she could see Melchior in the fine, white shadows of her knuckles. She offered her hand a disdainful smile and shook her head almost sadly.

Turning away then, she walked to the window to peer out into the colorless slab of night. She looked back to face me and smiled, and for half a second, she almost seemed happy.

It was gone an instant later, if it were there at all. “Dulcie has …” Meg drew her hand across the windowsill, letting her nails drag over the glass, “acquired her destiny.”

“Acquired?” I repeated. I couldn’t take my eyes off her hand. Long, slender white fingers, nails just long enough to break skin. They moved like a spider, swift and agile, strangely enthralling.

I swallowed and realized I was gaping. “Acquired her destiny?” I sounded hoarse so I cleared my throat. “What the hell does that mean?”

Meg stopped and shrugged. “Perhaps one day I’ll tell you.”

“One day?” I said. So she intended to keep me alive. But what the hell for? “And you’re not killing me now because …?”

Meg turned to me and walked across the room slowly, leaning in close enough that I could feel the chill of her breath on my throat. She drew her nail down the side of my face, leaving a warm, red line in its wake. The blood raced down my cheek. I refused to move, balling up my fists at my sides, staring her in the face. I wouldn’t blink; I refused to let her cow me.

I know, I know. Stupid Knight, looking the vampire in the eyes. I never said I was a smart man. Defiant, yes. Stubborn, yes. Angry, yes. Smart? Well, not at that moment.

But her eyes didn’t change. They stayed the same burnished orange they’d been since she walked in. They didn’t shrink or grow either, or pulse with the unwashed magic of the places where dead things walked. She just looked at me. Not with tenderness, but something very close to it. Something almost like pride. It was weird, and I began to wonder if maybe I was hallucinating again—imagining this whole exchange.

“I’ll leave you to recuperate,” Meg said softly, and she stepped back. As she pulled away, I became aware of her smell, rotting roses and wet dirt, a cloying sweetness strong enough to choke me. She bit her lip with her fangs, drawing blood. It dripped down her chin, the brightest red I have ever seen. I followed it down her face, her throat, into the dip of her collar, over her breasts.

I pried my eyes away, head pounding, and by the time I managed it, she was already at the door. She waved her hand, pulling back the magic strings before opening it wide. The wards around the frame twitched and sizzled as she held them back by sheer force of will.

“Oh,” she said, halting, “I almost forgot. Antoine?”

Her servant didn’t enter the room, but I heard a scraping noise in the hallway. Shoes scuffing against the polished floors, the muted thumping of a lost fight, the distant whimpering of someone begging for his life.

For a second, I thought it was Bram. But Bram didn’t beg; he insulted or threatened. And I seriously doubted she would want us in the same room, braiding each other’s hair and plotting our escape.

Meg stepped aside, and a man was rudely thrust into the room.

I blinked at him, stunned. His hair, long and brownish gold, was slick with sweat. Scratches and punctures from, I assumed, his encounter with Antoine. A wild panic shone in his eyes. He looked at me and paled.

“You,” I said, suddenly feeling a rush of health warming me. My strength seemed as if it doubled as I slowly got to my feet, my hands curling into fists. Renewed rage was brewing inside me, rage that was fueling my strength.

“Him,” Meg agreed.

Jax.

My humanity instantly shattered. Hades’s fire came flaring to life inside me, the ancient power that gave me sway over everything corporeal. It reached across the room, silent, invisible, searing the air as it went—probing him, examining his mortality, looking for the edge of his soul, or whatever remained of it. I was searching for some leverage I could use to drag it off his bones.

Jax was a Loki, too, and he could feel the fire when it invaded him, recoiling from it. The authority that once comprised his life’s blood was now toxic to him. He strayed from his purpose. He pissed on his divine ordinance, and I could taste it in his soul—Hades’s derision, his anguish, his wrath.

Meanwhile, in my own blood, I felt his blessing. His sanction. The green light to destroy the man who violated Dulcie—and to do it however I damn well pleased. Jax didn’t belong to the old fires anymore. He was no longer a Loki in my mind. Much less anything to care about.

“Vander,” he squeaked, casting a desperate look back at Meg, while realizing this was a death sentence. Hades had abandoned him long ago, but even now, with his magic decades cold, he could sense the blaze inside me. The divine furnace, hungry and betrayed. Eager, almost desperate, to unmake him. It scalded his essence, and he nearly screamed.

Meg graced us with her smile, an impossibly white line of perfect, yet ominous, teeth. She could feel it too, she must have. She lifted her hand and her fingers curled in the air, wrapping around the invisible, orange ribbons stretching between us.

“All yours,” she said to me. “Consider it a gift.”

She left and closed the door. The wards clicked back into place.

And then it was just Jax and me.

FIVE

Sam

I woke up. Eventually.

Hades only knew how much time had passed. It was dark and I felt groggy, heavy, like I’d been out for more than the three hours we had to wait until sunrise. The sky was starless and the room was black, suffocatingly dark—

Wait, hang on … my eyes were still closed.

I opened them. Slowly, agonizingly, wrenching myself from sleep. The sky was cobalt-grey above me, clouds and smoke and straggling stars. The sun was poking up from behind the horizon somewhere to my left. The wind was cold, but after the blazing fire, I welcomed it.

I could still smell smoke and hear sirens, so we couldn’t have gone too far. Not that I’d intended to. Dematerializing yourself any distance is a taxing exercise, let alone moving two people and a dog, and trying to accomplish all of it with a punctured lung.

The muted sirens were distant, and the burning smells grew fainter. I felt grass underneath my back. My guess was that I’d gotten us as far as the park on Seventh Street. We were several blocks away, and probably a good twenty stone buildings lay between us and them, and by now, I hoped, the National Guard too. Groaning inwardly, I knew this would bring the human government oversight down on us fast. Once they learned Caressa had deliberately kept the extent of the insurgency from them …

Suffice to say, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

A man loomed over me, derailing my train of thought. I squinted up at him. The light was dim, but I could make out most of his features. Sharply focused eyes, dark hair, square glasses, and a rather disarming grimace. He wore suit pants and an ash-coated, blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was a little ruffled, a little lanky, and not much taller than me … Frankly, he seemed a little nerdy, but in a sexy way. He had the kind of face that could look in or out of place at the back of a library. Pretty ripped, too, from what I could see. His shirt was slick with sweat, plastered against a well-toned body.

But that observation wasn’t important at the moment.

“You’re awake,” he said, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” I answered as I started to sit up.

He put his hand on my chest and gently pushed me back down, cradling my head as he did so. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, gesturing to my side. I looked down and saw a swathe of white bandages wrapped around my exposed midsection, which was stained cranberry red around my ribs. I moved myself left and right experimentally and didn’t feel anything poking at my lungs anymore. Things were looking up.

“Oh,” I said, unable to think of anything else appropriate.

“Oh,” the man echoed, sitting back in the grass as he smiled at me. We were behind a cluster of dwarf holly bushes, in the shade of several sparsely leaved trees. He leaned against the trunk of one of the closest trees, looking like he’d been kicked by a manticore. Cuts and bruises covered his face, black soot stains on his shirt … and what appeared to be gloves of liquid red were crusted into the skin of his hands …

And yet, yeah, this guy was still pretty cute. Even with the nerdy glasses and all the dirt. Then I remembered my bandaged body. “How’d you know how to do that?” I asked as I indicated my ribs.

He shrugged like it was no big deal. “I’m a field surgeon.” Then he glanced at my bandages. “That’s an extremely temporary fix, so try not to move too much.”

Even as he said it, I could feel the broken bone grinding against its sisters, held together by paper-thin strands of desperation—mortal magic, or what little they could muster as a race. I felt my eyes narrowing in confusion, but failed to find the wherewithal to ask about it. Besides, I lacked the strength—the blood supply, specifically—to examine the strands more thoroughly and get the answer on my own. Either he was the lamest warlock in the history of magic, or a human with far more power than he should have possessed—which, granted, wasn’t much, but it still gave me cause for pause.

“Um … thanks,” I said. “Thank you.” Shoddy work, but whatever he’d done would have to hold until I could get home and fix myself properly. That is, assuming I could go home. I feared my neighborhood was swarming with Darkness employees.

“What the hell happened back there?” the good doctor asked, snapping me out of my daze.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “The power went out right before an explosion …” It all came swimming back, the fire, the screaming, and Dulcie … Then, a small, rational part of my brain kicked back on, and I added, “I have to call Caressa.”

The man pressed his lips together, and I could tell he was fighting the urge to look away. He fastened his eyes on mine and said, “I already tried to contact Splendor ANC in the Netherworld.”

I swallowed. “Tried?” That sounded more than just bad.

The man nodded. “I called Brandenburg’s direct line, and Caressa wasn’t the one who answered. I was told she had taken administrative leave …” He frowned at me. “I’m guessing that isn’t true.”

I shook my head, feeling like I’d been sucker-punched. All the breath went out of me and I squeezed my eyes shut, struggling to resist the rising urge to hyperventilate. The world swam in a circle around me and I closed my eyes. Blood leached out of me into the bandages, and the accompanying dizziness sent me spinning.

“What?” I could barely get my voice to work. I swallowed, cleared my throat, and forced the vocal cords to vibrate. “What about?” Hell, every word I said trailed away into gasp. “Dia?” I was way too weak to try to heal myself, another bitch of a realization. What I wouldn’t have done for a proper witch and a few shots of vodka right then …

“The Moon ANC experienced a breach much like this one,” he replied, “although they did not include your flaming friend.”

My flaming friend, my numb mind parroted. I sat up, despite his protests, and backed myself into another tree. By the time I was still again, my vision had gone all fuzzy and I was panting.

“Be careful,” he said with a note of concern in his voice.

I grimaced, but not at him. I was suddenly extremely aware of the soreness in my side; the muscles were protesting their stitches and whatever he’d used to support the displaced rib. The bone itself felt sore, throbbing all the way down to the marrow. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep, long breath until the pain finally subsided.

All at once, my eyes shot open. “Blue,” I said, panicked, “where … where’s Blue?”

“Blue?” he asked before his confusion cleared. “Oh, the dog’s keeping watch.” He jerked his thumb to the left, and I saw a fluffy golden tail poking out from behind a nearby tree, thumping languidly. I breathed a sigh of relief and almost started crying.

“Blue, come here,” I said, my voice small and tight. My eyes watered as Blue stood up and came padding over to me, licking my face and nuzzling my shoulder. I winced, but didn’t even try to stop him, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his soft fur. For a second, I was back inside my office, worrying about Dulcie, and the ANC wasn’t in shambles.

My shoulders started shaking, and I let the tears fall. Too much, this was all just way too much. I couldn’t do it anymore; this was never supposed to be my job. I was never supposed to be the one to save the world! What the hell was Knight thinking by leaving me in charge? And now everyone else was gone, everyone was gone, and I was it. Just me and Blue and this guy with the glasses and dirty smudges all over his face. That was all that remained of the ANC.

Panic sank its teeth into my shivering skin, and for a solid minute, I forgot to breathe.

Dulcie … I couldn’t even form a question to go with my thought. I was just confused and angry but, more than anything else, scared. My eyes stung with tears, streaming soundlessly down my cheeks.

I should have known, I thought. I should have known the power outage wasn’t any accident, and I should have been worried when Caressa’s call dropped, but I was so tired and … And none of this is my job! Still, I should have known, I should have sensed something before it happened, a surge when they used a portal, a disturbance when full-metal Dulcie arrived, I should have known, I should have known …

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see a pair of warm, brown eyes very close to mine. I didn’t realize I’d been saying all of that out loud until I stopped talking.

“My name is Special Agent Casey James,” said a soft man’s voice, reaching down and squeezing my hand. “I’m with the FBI, Preternatural Division. I’m here to help.”

Special Agent. Human Special Agent. Government agent, government help. Government reprimand, too, but there’d be plenty of time for that later. I nodded slowly. Something in his eyes drove the panic out of me. Damn, this man was pretty even if he were human. Then I remembered that whole shoddy magic bit. “Are you …” I whispered.

“Human?” he finished. “Yes, I am.”

I nodded. I didn’t want him to look away, although he didn’t seem like he wanted to either. Or maybe that was just my imagination.

“What are you?” He sounded so calm, like we were just having a normal conversation at a coffee shop.

“Wiccan,” I answered. He nodded as if he weren’t the least bit surprised.

“A witch,” he said. “A spellcaster?”

“Sometimes.” Potions were easier than spells, but occasionally you did whatever you had to do. Like the dematerialization thing. Probably why I was unconscious for so long, I thought, and didn’t wake up when he was performing impromptu surgery. I was suddenly very grateful for that.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

I reached up to dry my eyes on my sleeve, only to find that the bottom part of my sleeve was burned away. “Sam,” I replied, wiping my tears with the heel of my hand instead. “Sam White.”

“Short for Samantha?”

I nodded.

“All right, Sam. We’re going to figure this out, okay?” He gave my shoulder a light squeeze.

“Okay,” I said. My breathing slowed and my voice returned.

“I’m looking for a fairy named Dulcie O’Neil,” he continued. “Do you know where she is?”

The tears threatened to spurt again, and I had to look away to catch my breath. “She was …” I sniffed. “She was the one throwing around all the hellfire.” The one way more powerful than she should have been, even on her best day. Dulcie was many things, but a Netherworldian war machine was never one of them. Casting that much hellfire, and that kind of hellfire, should have knocked her out cold, but seeing how strong it was … Normally, hellfire was little more than a fancy flamethrower, blue in passing, green when the caster knew what she was doing. I’d never known anyone to cast white fire or use it like a fucking grenade.

Casey’s face fell. “Ah,” he said.

I swallowed. “Yeah.” I shook my head. “Something’s not right. Dulcie would never do something like that. She was a Regulator for the ANC,” I continued as I glanced up at him, wanting him to understand that whatever he’d observed from her wasn’t really my best friend. “She was the best at what she did.” I realized I was shaking and squeezed Blue a little harder. He wriggled out of my arms and turned to start licking me in the face. I smiled and ruffled the fur on his back.

“So I’ve heard,” he answered, but he didn’t sound convinced, which, of course, made sense, given what he’d just seen.

I sighed. “What was the reason you were looking for her?”

Casey started petting Blue too. “To ask her some questions about her father.”

“Why? He’s dead.”

Casey nodded. “That he is, but his network is still very much alive. We hoped Dulcie might tell us something about his colleagues, since she was briefly on the inside.”

“Um … with all due respect, Special Agent,” I started slowly, “Netherworldian crime lords are the sole responsibility of the ANC. Aren’t they?” They were unless the American government just decided to up its game in light of our recent failures, which I couldn’t blame them for.

“When they are contained to the Netherworld, yes,” he answered. “But now, your ANCs belong to dangerous creatures, and they’re putting Earthly civilians at risk. That’s when it becomes my job.” He looked like he expected me to start yelling at him or something, but I just nodded. We’d been defeated, I already knew that. Our ANCs were mostly, if not all, now under the power of the Darkness. Knight and Bram were missing, and I was three blocks from a building Dulcie O’Neil had razed to the ground with powers she never had before. We were clean out of our league and then some.

Casey got a look in his eyes then, a sense of cold, hard determination, the likes of which I’d only ever seen before in Knight. “Sam, we could be just a two-person army here. None of our agents in any ANCs located on the western seaboard have reported back in weeks, some have not for months, and half of your lower administration is dead. If we’re lucky, Caressa’s ANC is still standing, but I sincerely doubt that. This ANC was a final blow somehow. It was big, it was loud, and it was flashy. Your people won’t be able to help us. I’m all you’ve got right now, and you’re all I’ve got, so we’ll have to work together.”

The word alone hammered itself through the empty space in my skull. I nodded before asking shakily, “What do we do now?”

Casey looked confused and pushed his glasses up higher on his nose as he frowned at me. “Really?”

“What do you mean ‘really’?” I answered with a shrug and a frown.

“Sorry,” he said with a lopsided grin that made him look all of twelve years old. “I just … I was expecting a little opposition. Our departments typically don’t get along particularly well.”

I smiled sadly at him. “I think it’s a little late in the ‘Darkness Takes Over the World’ game for a pissing contest.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Tell me what you already know,” I said, barely managing to keep my voice steady.

Casey sighed, running his hand over his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a while, which was probably the truth and then some. “The Brokenview ANC has been compromised,” he said, “taken down from the inside by the insurgents Caressa was fighting for the last few months. Agent Knightley Vander isn’t taking my calls, and more than half of our agents in the ANC have gone dark, suggesting to me that every American-run ANC is no longer under our control.” He paused. “I can’t comment on our foreign ANCs at this time.”

Well, shit! “Knight isn’t answering your calls because Dulcie was kidnapped by the Darkness more than a week ago,” I said. “I haven’t heard from him either.”

Casey frowned, but he looked anything but surprised. “Why didn’t he call that in?”

“He abandoned his post to go looking for her himself,” I answered. “He probably didn’t want that on the record. And we didn’t know the Darkness was responsible for Dulcie’s disappearance until after Knight located Bram, and by then …” I grimaced. “By then, there was no force in hell that could have persuaded Knight and Bram to turn around.” I prayed their recklessness hadn’t cost both of them their lives. “They’re both stubborn, to say the least.”

Casey shook his head, grimacing. “Vander always has to be the hero.” He sighed. “So, Dulcie—she was the one throwing … hellfire?”

“Drawing on the original inferno in the Netherworld,” I said. “Supposedly. It’s just a name for the spell.”

He nodded, but only looked more confused. “Do we have any idea what the Darkness wants with Dulcie? Does Dulcie have any information they would find valuable?”

“Well, she was Melchior’s daughter, but that’s her only connection. And it’s not like her father played much of a role in her life. So basically, no, she wouldn’t have known anything.” I sighed, long and hard. “If all the ANCs are gone …” Fuck, that hurt to say. I swallowed. “Then the Darkness wouldn’t have needed her to secure the portals. Maybe they think they can use her somehow to unite her father’s people? I don’t know.” I frowned. “But …”

“What?” Casey asked.

I bit my lip and shook my head. I hadn’t and still couldn’t make sense of this next part. “She, Dulcie said she was doing all of this for her mother, but her mother has been dead for more than a decade. And she mentioned something about the ‘old way.’ I don’t …” My head started throbbing and I cut myself off, groaning. “None of it makes any sense, to be honest.”

“It appeared she was working directly for the Darkness,” Casey said flatly.

“I know,” I answered as I shook my head. “But she isn’t with the Darkness, I know she isn’t. She would never do that.” The silent argument that she had done exactly that throbbed between us.

“She’s worked with their kind before,” he said.

“Strictly under duress,” I replied, trying to obliterate any further doubt, but I couldn’t muster the anger it required. All I could think about was Dulcie, wreathed in silver fire with her hand around my throat. “I don’t understand, she, she would never …”

“I know,” he said slowly, looking pained, “I know. Sam, Vander’s told me a lot about Dulcie, and if there’s one thing I believe for certain, it’s that she does catastrophically stupid things to protect the people she loves.” He sighed. “So, yeah, this doesn’t exactly fit the bill.”

I nodded, trying to keep my growing panic at bay. “After six years of working with her, I’d say I know her pretty well. Not only that, but she’s also my best friend.” Or she was.

“Do you think maybe Vander went rogue and Dulcie is protecting him?” Casey asked as I immediately shook my head.

“Knight wouldn’t go rogue. He’s as dedicated to his position as Dulcie is. And even if I agreed with you for the sake of this argument, Dulcie tried to kill me. Protecting Knight, if he did go rogue, and trying to kill me just don’t add up. So, no, I don’t believe she’s protecting Knight and, no, I don’t believe he’s gone rogue either.”

“Okay, argument made and won.”

“She had this look in her eyes like … like she didn’t even know who I was. Like she was …” possessed was what I wanted to say, but the word stayed lodged in my throat.

Casey nodded slowly. “Any idea what might have caused that?”

I sighed shakily. “A hundred things. Arsonflower overdose, prolonged exposure to belisdra ordum or any of its sister flower spores, pseudo-physical magical influx, a bad reaction to a different creature’s blood in her system … But any of those would just inhibit her memory; they don’t explain how the fire …” I trailed off, reserving my comment that she looked like something straight out of Poltergeist to myself.

“What do you mean?” Casey asked, leaning forward.

“Hellfire is supposed to be blue,” I responded, “and sometimes green if you’re dealing with an extremely capable wizard. Dulcie’s was white, which means her magic was strong enough to burn away all the color, and the only creatures powerful enough to do that are either in permanent hibernation or dead. Dulcie couldn’t be that powerful. She’s a fairy, not a freaking goddess. She isn’t capable of any of the things she just did; it just isn’t possible.” Then I swallowed. Hard. “Unless …” It almost didn’t deserve my consideration, but after everything Dulcie had ever done to protect us … Dammit! Maybe it wasn’t so farfetched. If Knight were still missing, and Dulcie was here setting Splendor on fire …

“Unless?” prodded Casey.

I swallowed. “Unless she’s done something catastrophically stupid,” I said. Like giving herself over to the power of an endo-ethereal demon from the original inferno. Or fusing with another equally powerful creature. Or even by drinking diluted ichor from one of a hundred goddess pools in the wild, things that would definitely kill you if you didn’t have some extremely powerful help. “The Darkness must have made her do something,” I said, and I felt my throat closing up. “I, I don’t know what, but if this is what she can do, it’s really bad. Like, nuclear meltdown bad.”

“That sounds really bad.”

I almost laughed, but the gurgle that came out of me was full of panicked bitterness. I could feel myself teetering on the edge of total hysteria as I took a deep, long breath, digging my fingers into the loose dirt beside me. “It is,” I said, drawing out each word, forcing myself to be calm.

“Are you okay?”

Oops, apparently that wasn’t working. I opened my eyes and found Casey’s fascinatingly warm brown eyes fixed on me, brimming with concern. I noticed his five o’clock shadow which I hadn’t realized before. I imagined him with a full-fledged beard and couldn’t stop myself from laughing when the image I conjured looked like a lumberjack flip-calendar.

“That’s a no,” he said, and I realized I was cackling like, well, like a witch. I couldn’t seem to get hold of myself, even long enough to tell him I was fine (which I wasn’t).

Great, I thought, now I’m going insane. I guess stress, sleep deprivation, too much caffeine, and nearly being murdered by your best friend will do that to you. Who knew?

“Do you think you can walk?” he asked. I realized the sirens were getting closer, and, on further inspection, so was the fire. I felt a cold jolt of electricity creeping up my spine that meant somebody was using an unanchored—and therefore hilariously unstable—portal.

“No,” I said, “but we need to get moving.” I started to push myself up, digging my nails into the bark of the tree. My side screamed in agony and I felt a fresh supply of blood soaking the underside of my bandages. I collapsed back into the grass. “Fuck,” I muttered, sucking in the air through my teeth.

Casey was on his feet a second later, looping my arm around his neck. “Come on.” He stood up slowly. My muscles stretched and groaned, but the nerves around my ribs seemed content to bitch about it more quietly.

“You good?” he asked.

“Fan-fucking-tastic, let’s move,” I said, and Blue followed right behind us. He rolled his eyes and we started walking—shuffling like drunken disco dancers, actually, but that’s not the point. No, the point was the rush of unnamable energy that struck me from nowhere, and the sharp pulse that followed.

It slammed us both to the ground. A wind overwhelmed us like a tsunami with unmitigated power streaming out in all directions. I heard glass shattering, stone breaking, and something piercing my side, digging through the bandages like a dagger. I felt the stiches splitting, and saw my blood flowing onto the ground, staining it black. The buildings around us trembled and cracked, while the bark of hundred-year-old trees split down their centers. From everywhere came the sounds of metallic screeching of cars that were swerving and braking to avoid the irregular shafts of concrete thrusting up toward the sky.

Trying desperately to ignore the pain, I propped myself up on an elbow. Only after I was sure that Casey and Blue were both accounted for and alive, did I dare to look over my shoulder. A grey cloud full of liquid fire billowed up from the ANC, flattening itself beneath the underside of the sky. Colorful flashes like lightning illuminated its insides, and the reds and yellows and cobalt blues of highly flammable potions went up in smoke.

My stomach twisted in on itself. If the building hadn’t been gone before, it sure as hell was now. Power surge, I thought, but for a moment, I couldn’t connect it to anything. It just stuck in my brain like a painful thorn, shouting something through a bullhorn I couldn’t understand. Power surge, I thought again, and then, wormhole. Power surge, wormhole. Maybe … I couldn’t concentrate long enough to start the thought, so I had to forget about finishing it.

“Oh what the hell,” said Casey. He was on his knees, looking around at the fresh carnage and up at the steadily rising black smoke. For a long time, the only sound was that of the breaking earth and car alarms, along with rushing water that streamed from all of the demolished hydrants and hissing steam from the ruptured pipes.

“What was that?” he asked, but the way he said it made me think he didn’t really expect me to answer. It was a question to the universe, a general what-the-flying-fuck-is-going-on? addressed to no one in particular.

For whatever it was worth, I knew what was happening. The spell was called Singularity, and it did exactly what it sounds like it might do—compress massive amounts of energy into a fine point, and release that energy in an unmitigated expulsion of force and fury.

We limped away. Blood streamed down my forehead and face, coloring everything I saw in a sticky, watery, cherry color. I stared at the ground, watching the cracks in the road, the ravines swimming in sewage and grass and stone, the shadows of metal and rubber and smoking steel, the stench of burning skin coupled with the broken voices that continued screaming without any intelligible words.

I didn’t lose consciousness, not completely. I kept moving, and my mind became an objective observer. I saw everything without being there, all the darkness our world had inflicted here imbued me with a hollowness I’d never experienced before. A deep, yawning blackness in the pit of my stomach wound its way like smoke and felt like acid ink when it climbed up the back of my throat.

I scoffed when I realized what it was. The acceptance of defeat. The realization that we underestimated the enemy, that our mistake has cost everyone we know their lives. Your body is ready to finally clock in for the end of the world. I felt like Atlas, struggling to support the whole world’s incompetency, which was now settling on my shoulders. Of course I couldn’t do this. If Caressa and Knight and Christina and Dia and Dulcie fucking O’Neil couldn’t do it, then of course, neither could I.

Gelvie’s dead, I thought. Along with everyone else, but hers was the face that haunted me in my head. I didn’t know why.

SIX

Dulcie

Standing in the ruins of the ANC, I savored the smell of burning skin still hanging in the air. An officer in a red uniform, a fireman, and several of his crimson compatriots ran past me with hoses and water buckets and axes. Fire blazed around them, broad walls of liquid red reaching for the stars. Between the shattered glass and busted stone of collapsed buildings, people ran and screamed, but their yelling was fainter now than it had been before. Most of the people making the noise were now dead, leaving Splendor in a state of sublime silence.

The last sounds that remained were the ones that only I could hear: the labored breathing of men dying under slabs of concrete set to the misty haze of busted fire hydrants. I spotted the quivering excess of the scar the wormhole left in space and time. I could see, if I squinted, a transparent white line strung across the sky. I could have opened it, if I wanted to, and let the emptiness swallow whatever remained.

My fingers twitched at the idea, but I resisted the urge. Mother said to wait, so wait I would. There would be plenty of time for more carnage when all of this was over and done.

A line of blue and white cars pulled up to the curb—the police, detectives, and other crime scene personnel had apparently survived the collapse of their station. I watched them exit their cars with obvious disinterest, illuminated by the fire and the blinking red and blue lights. They pulled things out from their bags and car trunks: guns and clipboards and equipment, but what they thought that could learn from the flattened earth around me, I had no idea. They all knew there was magic, and would have been interested in little else.

Fine. Let them wave their toys in the air, let them confirm what they already suspected. Maybe it would speed things along. I intertwined my fingers together and let my arms hang limp as I observed the scene.

The whole world was a rather unseemly grey, as though a storm cloud had fallen from the sky and imbued its color on everything it touched. Smoke was everywhere, the thin, dispersed fog of a thousand different fires burning across the city. Bodies littered the broken concrete, the only other color in the whole world. Among them was a woman, a slight creature with a clipboard clasped tightly in her crumpled fingers and the look of petrified shock on her face. Red hair fanned out on the ground behind her, singed at the edges. Her skin was charred, her clothing burnt away to nearly nothing. I tilted my head and knelt before her, touching her freezing skin—which was almost warm, compared to mine. The stillness in her veins filled the air around her, turning it cold. It was a rather curious quirk of witches’ blood that I’ve never fully understood.

The poor creature had a name tag. The only legible word on it, however, was Moon. A transfer, a call-in, perhaps to examine the air around the wormhole Jax used to save me. Though I could not explain it, something in my heart suddenly shattered. Then, the name Gelvie began to drum between my ears incessantly.

Gelvie, I thought, although I couldn’t place her name nor where I might have met her before, much less why I should have cared that she was dead.

I closed her eyes, troubled by my inability to explain the feelings coursing through me and nearly threatening to choke me with their intensity. “You weren’t supposed to be here,” I said, hoping she’d escaped my last command—but the burns at her throat and the long red lines in her legs told me she hadn’t. I could feel the remnants of her pain, and I heard the echo of her scream, both of them slicing across my spine like dull razors.

I shook the sounds away. No matter.

The officers ran past me, ignorant of my presence. I watched them putting out the fires and carting the bodies away, consoling the small number of surviving souls with blankets and whispers, and I waited. I wasn’t concerned that any of these humans would bother with me. Why? Because they couldn’t see me. I decided to use an invisibility shield to avoid the numerous questions that would no doubt follow as soon as anyone saw me walking amidst the rubble completely unscathed. Who knew? Maybe some of them would realize I was the one responsible for all the carnage in the first place.

Where are the rest of them? I thought. And then, as if responding to my inquiry, they arrived.

A long line of black vans, seven to be exact, and each filled to bursting with agents in suits and ties and sunglasses, all of them armed to the teeth. They leapt from the caravan with practiced ease, the polished veneer of a long career, instilling a calm they didn’t feel. Several hulking figures walked among the state officers, snapping orders and asking questions, flaunting warrants that gave them complete sway over the case.

Finally, I thought. With luck, they’d discover us and we’d make the morning paper—in a town that still had one, of course.

I closed my eyes and muttered a spell, splitting the world before me. Splendor undid itself in a swirl of blue and blistering red, twisting into nothing as the portal wove itself through numerous dimensions.

“Home,” I said, and that’s precisely where it took me.

***

We lay in bed in the room where the two men died, Bram and Knightley, I think their names were.

Sebastian’s hands gripped my waist, his glassy eyes plastered to the ceiling. I could not figure out what I was supposed to do with my own eyes. Closing them felt too impersonal, but I couldn’t connect my eyes with Sebastian’s. I wasn’t sure why. All I could do was to stare at the black headboard. I rocked back and forth, twisting myself around his erect friend, trying to find my own G-spot—which, as it turns out, was damn near impossible.

At least Sebastian was having fun.

I felt my legs trembling with exhaustion and, as I dropped myself down, Sebastian erupted into a spasm—whatever I’d done, he apparently liked it and then some. Vampires don’t have any sperm to speak of, but I could feel his body going through the motions of the expulsion, pulsing and throbbing before becoming stiff when he realized he had nothing to give. The glassiness faded from his eyes and he blinked, gasping for unnecessary breath he didn’t need.

He looked at me. “That,” he said, “was brilliant.”

He had the good sense not to ask if it was good for me, too. I wasn’t in the mood to lie. I rolled away from him, my expression flat. I was previously debating and subsequently refusing to mimic his breath, if only to pretend he’d done something moderately useful in the last two minutes.

More like a minute and a half, the jaded part of me thought. It was better than nothing, I supposed.

“Perhaps you’d like some refreshment?” he asked.

I’d like some decent sex, I thought bitterly, but I ignored that thought and smiled up at him instead. “That sounds great.”

“Tea, princess?”

“Scotch,” I answered. At the very least, I intended to get drunk tonight.

Sebastian rose from the bed, clothing himself to the best of his weary ability, and bent the world around him until he disappeared. When he was gone, I groaned and flopped back on the pillows, bemoaning Sebastian’s pitiful state of affairs. So much buildup for so little payout. He was well endowed, to be sure, but the size of the sword was not nearly as important as the man who wielded it—and Sebastian was a very poor swordsman. It was most likely because Sebastian was merely out of practice. Mother seemed to fancy the other breeds of night creatures more for the last decade or so, leaving poor Antoine and Sebastian to practice on their own accord—not something they often found the time to do in the house of a fallen magister. So maybe he’d been gifted once, and merely rusted from disuse in the absence of a proper partner. No wonder he was so excited about me.

I sighed, resigning myself to give him another chance—another series of chances, actually. Sebastian was, bar none, the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes upon, and dammit, he was going to learn to fuck me properly if it killed us both.

We should be so lucky, I thought.

I frowned as soon as the thought left my head because I didn’t understand what it meant right away. Lucky to die? Lucky to kill, maybe, but never to die. The sudden thought of leaving Mother on her own nearly turned my insides over.

Lucky to be dead, the voice in my mind persisted, only this time with more vigor.

I shook my head, and the thought fell away, buried beneath a sudden, ravenous hunger. My stomach gurgled and my blood turned hot, prickling the underside of my skin. I could call Antoine and request something, but after Sebastian’s pitiful performance, I wanted nothing more than to be alone.

Somewhere in the woods, I heard the dismayed yawning of a chimera, casually patrolling the fence. I stood away from the bed, stretching, scanning the floor for my clothes. My black tights were fine, but the dress was in tatters—Sebastian made a poor lover, but his foreplay was pretty commendable. I walked to the vast black wardrobe at the wall. Inside were dresses of vermillion and mauve, deep burgundy and stark black—each one hand selected by Mother just for me. I ran my fingers across each of them, some soft silk, others plush velvet, and stopped at something long and green, a floor-length halter dress with a slit up one side, all the way to my hip. I smiled as I pulled the gown out, remembering Mother’s words.

You must always remember the simple power you have as a beautiful woman. That power alone is enough to persuade men to do your bidding.

I dressed and left my room. The hall outside was predictably empty—although several nameless servants piddled about, carrying cleaning agents and bloody rags, but they made no sound. The silence gave the house a vast, cavernous feeling, like a secret mansion hiding deep underground.

I walked the stairs with bare feet, absorbing the cold from the stone. My hand curled around the spinning banister, feeling every crack in the veneer. My teeth were sharper, my skin colder, but I still lacked the night vision that Mother’s kind possessed. Focusing intensely on small details, supposedly, would help me with that skill. I knew where the stain was splitting, and where the wood had been hammered flat, and where a bump existed where there once was a splinter …

Here was a shadow I didn’t know. And a voice to go with it.

Three of them were sifting through the vents with shadows in the den to escort them. One voice belonged to Mother—the other two were distinctly masculine, and one of them whispered with the hint of sibilance.

Right, I’d forgotten. Mother’s compatriots were dining with us tonight. How rude of me, I thought as I entered the living room, folding my hands, and offering the shadows a demure smile. Standing by the fire was a werewolf in a lavender suit. He was smoking a pipe and grinning lasciviously at Mother; while a draconian male in the flowing, red robes and yellow sash of an alchemical merchant stood nearby. They heard me enter and directed their smiles at me.

“Ah, and this must be our little Dulcie,” said the wolf, flashing his sharp teeth and cold eyes. The fire was making him sweat. He extended his hand. “Desmond Vosh. At your service.”

I shook his hand and he bowed deeply with a flourish, his eyes immediately landing on my breasts as soon as he observed my deeply plunging neckline.

“It’s a pleasure,” I said as I turned to address the scaled monstrosity beside him. He straightened his sash and his face twitched into what I could only assume was a grin.

“Sess vakal do’rim,” he said. “Lehl Sigurnd Thramn.” Greetings from the burning places. I am Sigurnd Thramn. I couldn’t understand how I managed to understand his tongue, but I also didn’t consider the topic for very long.

I heard myself reply, “Sesh vakan la’kin. Vogahn Thas vidamn.” Greetings from the green places. House Vogahn welcomes you.

Sigurnd’s grin widened, exposing two polished fangs, the red cords of his occupation burned into their enamel. He spoke to Mother, never taking his eyes off me. “What wasss that about blooming late?”

I felt Mother scowling behind me, and the air around her was turning hot. I looked back and she was smiling, her hands clasped together, her eyes burning with irritation. “She is … coming along.”

The drake clicked his tongue and took a moment to examine me, his eyes conspicuously lingering slightly too long on my shoulders—an odd place to covet, but Mother had already told me that was what the drake valued. Something about narrow feminine frames being rather hard to come by.

“I’d ssssay,” he said. “Ssskin’s cold, eyesss changed … ssshe hasssn’t much further to go, I’ll wager.”

“On the contrary,” said Mother, her voice cold as steel, “she has barely begun. Perhaps you gentlemen might like a drink?”

The pair of them nodded, and Mother dematerialized into a puff of black, glittering smoke—an unnecessary gesture, but sometimes, she just couldn’t help herself. Especially in front of such important guests.

“Ssso,” said the draconian, “Lady Vogahn.” A reptilic tongue shot out of his mouth, lapping at the hazy air.

“Lord Thramn,” I said. “It is an honor to host you in our home. And you as well,” I said, turning to the werewolf. He was of a lesser house, a bannerman of sorts, the captain of a ship he didn’t own—powerful, but hardly in his own right. The werewolves as a race were always subject to one rebellious faction or another, and always far too disorganized as a society to be autonomous without hurting themselves. They smelled putrid, even this cultivated specimen, despite being draped in colognes and scented fabrics.

I smiled at him, trying to keep my criticism at bay.

“You’re a pretty little thing,” said Vosh, with a deferential nod to show he meant it honorably. “Spitting image, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed,” said Thramn with a thoughtful hiss. “Ssstriking resemblance. Uncanny.”

“Forgive me, but I must disagree. I look nothing like Mother,” I said.

Thank Hades, thought the voice.

Quiet! I thought back. I felt my smile twitching as I wondered where this voice was coming from and why it had only cropped up most recently. It spoke in my own voice but the words sounded alien to me, so I had to wonder if they came from my own mind. Perhaps a Grenoo sprite had somehow managed to crawl into my ear and was now vexing me from inside my head?

“We aren’t referring to your mother, my dear, but to your father,” said Vosh. “The hair, the eyes … the ghost of Melchior lives in you, I swear it.”

The fucking hell he does!

Shush! I resisted the urge to shake my head again, contenting myself with tilting it slightly and letting my smile appear nostalgic. As soon as I was alone, I would burn that fucking sprite right out of my head! “But if I’d known him better,” I started wistfully.

You did. You put a bullet in his fucking stomach.

“Now,” said the draconian, leaning closer, wrapping a cold, scaled hand around my shoulder. “I don’t want to excssite you, darling, but it would appear that your mother hasss made a match for you.”

“A match?” I repeated incredulously. It was a bit early to be forming familial alliances—as we’d only just begun our attack on the human establishment. I frowned openly. “Whatever for?”

“Oh, a reward, I sssuppose,” said Thramn, waving a hand dismissively. “It won’t be until long after we’ve sssettled all thisss.” He gestured vaguely toward the room, and, I guessed, to the Netherworld in general.

“Whose reward?” Hades willing, they’d be better in the sack than Sebastian, poor fool.

Thramn’s words came slowly. “The … draconiansss …” His tongue escaped his mouth again in an excited tic, “… have been … mossst loyal, wouldn’t you agree, my lady?”

The draconians were, bar none, our most powerful ally, but it seemed impolite to say so in front of Vosh. “You have,” I replied carefully.

Thramn pulled back his arm, musing. “Dragonsss,” he hissed, “vampire, and fae …would make sssuch powerful children.” He traced the line of my shoulder with a single long claw, and I wondered not for the first time how draconian anatomy compared to humans. “The iron handsss of the next world.”

I tried to smile at Thramn, but there was something inside me that was rebelling against every word that emerged from his mouth. I couldn’t explain the feelings, but they plagued me all the same. “Our legacy?” I asked.

Thramn smiled. “Perhapsss … but we ssshall sssee.”

Antoine entered then, carrying a platter of wine glasses filled with lemons and ancient sangria. I thought it a touch casual for such honored guests—we’d have been better off with old bourbon and scotch—but Thramn and Vosh seemed delighted. Maybe they just didn’t know any better.

Nobody cares about your fucking wine etiquette.

“Hush!” I whispered, my heart starting to pound inside my chest as my palms grew clammy. Damn that sprite to the fires of Hades!

“Pardon?” said Vosh, swirling the dark wine in his glass.

“Ah, nothing,” I responded, perhaps a little too quickly. The world tilted and lurched, but I managed to keep my footing.

Thramn cocked his head and squinted at me. “Are you well, my lady? You look a bit … piqued.”

“No, I’m fine,” I said. “A little hungry, I suppose.”

Thramn nodded. “If your fangsss are mature, I offer you my blood gladly—although I must confessss I’ve been told it is rather coarssse.”

“Maybe later,” I said. My fangs weren’t sharp enough to puncture skin yet, let alone scales—and I certainly didn’t need Thramn having an orgasm he wasn’t ready for and falling into the fireplace. But that may have been why he offered in the first place.

Thramn nodded, downed his wine, and looked toward the door. There was a soft creak, a gust of cold wind, and the soft pop of impolite magic. “Ah! the disss-asss-ter himself!” Thramn said, walking across the room. “Maessstro, my friend, how have you been?”

I looked at Vosh, who shrugged, and turned to Thramn. The disaster in question was a man, a vampire, judging by his gait and pallor, frozen somewhere in his forties. The pop must have been him materializing. Good looking, as they all were, and conspicuously well endowed in his suit pants, he had dark hair, silver eyes, and a gentleman’s grin. He kept his hands in his pockets and his laughter in check, while his smile seemed to be a circumscribed thing stretching no farther than the width of his nose. Thramn clapped him on the shoulder with a massive, scaly hand—and the maestro didn’t seem to appreciate it, although he didn’t shrug him off.

“Welcome,” I said cautiously, hoping he came here invited.

The gentleman extracted himself from Thramn’s increasingly slurred conversation—draconians are comic lightweights—and came to me.

He held out his hand. “Ezra Sheen,” he said, leaning down. He was a rather tall specimen, and lanky, like a fit man who’s just past his prime. “It is a pleasure.” I took his hand and instantly felt a rush of something. Energy. Power. But there was more to it than that—something that spoke of his kinship with me, and with Mother.

He kissed my knuckles, his eyes never once leaving mine. “You are a vision.”

I smiled at Ezra, suddenly wishing I could have been betrothed to him instead. Thramn wasn’t exactly what I would have labeled a ladies’ man. “Thank you, sir.”

Ezra stayed where he was, my hand in his, his eyes delving into mine as those bizarre feelings of closeness continued to flow between us. “Hmmm,” he said, running a thumb over his lip, clearly thinking about something. Then his expression made a microscopic shift, his eyebrows lifted, and his irises relaxed, as though he’d found the answer to a riddle.

His smile expanded and he stood upright, dropping my hand. “Tell me,” he said slowly in a soft tone. “Where is Meg?”

“Mother is …” The sentence trailed away on its own. I blinked and swallowed, feeling confused. Ezra raised his brow, his fingers curling into each other.

“Mother?” he said, then his voice turned cold. “Ah. Yes. How could I have forgotten?” he drew his finger down the side of my face, tracing my cheekbone, my chin, my throat. “Little Dulcie.”

His stare was becoming unnerving.

He inclined his head slowly to me. “Dulcie,” he said, drawing the name out slowly and deliberately.

He looked toward the fire, drinking in its colors, and my wits returned to me in a rush. I cleared my throat—horribly rude, but I couldn’t seem to breathe. “If you gentlemen don’t mind, I, I think …” Stop stuttering, “I think I’ll go see what’s become of Mother.”

Vosh and Thramn nodded politely. “Very well,” said Vosh before he turned to Thramn, launching himself into a critique of his drink—which he seemed quite taken with. He was saying something about strawberries and a bitterness like winter. Ezra watched me when I left, his eyes boring into my back as he pretended to listen to Vosh.

I made it down the hall and around the corner before I allowed myself to relax. I slumped against the wall beside one of a hundred portraits of Mother, trying to breathe slower, my heart pounding. The dizziness was still overcoming me, and the whole world was swinging like a pendulum before me.

Just hungry, I thought. I haven’t eaten in a while, so that’s all it is. Just eat something. Anything.

I pushed myself off the wall with the full intention of killing someone in the kitchen, but a strange sight at the right end of the hallway stopped me. Mother, closing a door behind her, cut off a garbled moaning and the humming of some machine.

“Mother?” I said, approaching her. “They’re looking for you. In the den.” They weren’t, but it would have been impolite for her to be gone very much longer. They were, after all, her guests, not mine.

She smiled when she saw me. “Dulcie, my beautiful princess,” she said, opening her arms. “I meant to ask. How was your little excursion?”

The ANC. “Successful,” I replied, approaching her. She pocketed something, a key, and set her back against the door. The mechanical thrum was louder now, and overlaid by the clicking of gears. “Unless they’re completely incompetent, they’ll know us by dawn.”

“And they are all …?” she asked, tilting her head at me.

“Dead,” I said, perhaps a little too quickly. No, I thought, there was one, the girl, who got away. But as soon as that thought entered my mind, something repressed it, obscuring it until I couldn’t remember it anymore.

Mother nodded. “Good.” Her smile widened, but it seemed a bit stiff. “I hear you and Sebastian have become … better acquainted?”

“We have,” I said, but she already knew that. Why ask me now? “Though …”

“He lacks proper technique,” said Mother, clucking her tongue. “I’m aware of that. Don’t worry, he learns quickly.”

I didn’t doubt that, but something about the way she said it made me pause. Her posture was a bit stilted, and her eyes had a distracted look in them. The dim light of lamps suspended from the walls struck her face hard, drawing harsh shadows on her cheeks and jaw, carving lines of old anger into her skin. Whatever lay beyond the door was old and important, some ancient grudge that reeked of secrecy.

“Mother,” I said slowly, “what …” I looked toward the door, then at her, and thought better of my question.

But Mother knew what it was anyway. Her face shifted into an expression I couldn’t read, something between vacancy and irritation. It might have conveyed anything. Then she relaxed and smiled at me. “Would you like to see?”

Mother wasn’t one to share her secrets, but I nodded. She withdrew the key from her pocket and unlocked the door.

“I warn you,” she said, “this is an unpleasant thing.”

I refrained from saying I wouldn’t have expected anything less.

The scene within was … almost archaic. The walls and floor were dark, a shining black that wasn’t black, glittering with early morning sunlight, that spilled through the slits of a tall window. They seemed to concentrate on the far wall, where a man was slumped against the floor, shackled in onyx and silver, the consecrated metals that even Mother would have been crazy to touch. They burned and chafed his skin, turning it red and black and purple wherever it touched him. His skin was red and blistered wherever the sun kissed it, and steaming, and it really reeked of smoke. Like the flesh of an unfortunate animal cooking on a spit. His breath came in long, rattling drags. Glassy eyes, white as milk, stared at a spot of refracted light on the floor—the eyes of a vampire just beyond the brink.

“This …” I started slowly.

Mother nodded. “The vampire who killed your father.”

How strange. He didn’t seem particularly powerful. Certainly not potent enough to do in my father, not without significant help. His skin was pale, even for a vampire, papery white and dry as sand. He looked for all the world like a single touch would have broken him into a hundred thousand pieces. A papier mâché figure, brittle as sandstone. He moaned, vibrating with every breath, his body half convinced of its own mortality. He looked like he might have been handsome once, dark, chiseled, and irritatingly suave.

“Does he have a name?” I asked. I’m not sure why I wanted to know what it was.

Mother frowned and laid her hand on my shoulder. “He did,” she said. “Once, long ago. But it doesn’t belong to him anymore.”

“Who does it belong to?”

Mother took a deep breath. Her nails dug into my shoulder, drawing blood. I didn’t mind.

“Me,” she said. Her eyes burned—she’d been after his name for a very long time.

I didn’t know what possessed me to say what I asked next. “Did you love him?”

I felt Mother go stiff at my side. She slowly turned her head toward me, her eyes ablaze, dragging her nails down my arm with a systematic kind of rage. I blinked at her in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Have I upset you?” Some part of me—a deep, distant, carnal bit of my brain—was thrilled by the idea. I quashed it down the moment I realized it, horrified, trying my best to replace it with the fear I should have been feeling. Mother could tear me in half if she really wanted to, and I couldn’t imagine that as being a pleasant experience.

Tear her in half, I thought. Rip her in two and see how she likes it.

I recoiled from the voice. It was dark, angry, and feminine, but there was no way it was mine. I would never, ever hurt Mother. Yes, as soon as I was alone, I would banish that dreadful sprite from my head and tear it into pieces.

“It … is all right,” said Mother, releasing her hold on my shoulder. She wiped my blood away with the hem of her sleeve, and a few moments later, the wounds had closed themselves.

A muffled, deep voice came shivering down the hall. “Meg!”

“What was that?” I asked, startled.

Mother sighed. “An ungrateful houseguest,” she said. “I’ll take care of it …” She blinked, and smiled. “Actually … Dulcie. Come with me.”

She took me by the hand and led me down the hallway, toward a door laced with wards of fire. The cry of “Meg!” sounded again and again from within, only louder this time, and much more distraught. Beneath it was laughter. Antoine fell in with us from nowhere, matching Mother’s gait step-for-step.

Mother stopped outside the warded door, positioning me to the left of the frame. “Stay right here,” she said, “and be quiet until I call. All right?”

I nodded. I’m not a fucking child, I thought but shook the rude words right out of my head, afraid for mother’s reaction if I’d actually said them. Suddenly, I had to physically resist the urge to strike her.

No, no, be nice, be good to Mother, be respectful, I thought, shaking my head. Enough of this.

Fuck you.

Mother waved her hand, the wards snaked back, and she entered the room.

SEVEN

Sam

Splendor took the Singularity hard. Buildings that could withstand eight-point earthquakes were in a thousand pieces and damn near everything was still on fire. Governor Vance declared a state of emergency, and now the streets were swarming with rescue personnel—and even from here, inside my sanctum of wards and guards and spellworks, my impossible web of protections, I could taste the burnt-iron and blood of bad magic. Magic strong enough to cling like static to the people responsible for it. The streets swarmed with creatures carrying black clouds, choking auras as thick as ash, dark enough to sting anyone with the right kind of eyes from more than a hundred yards away. I could feel them even when I wasn’t looking. The overpowering heat combined with a bone-chilling cold, ice, and thunder, and the ropey tendrils of demons bound to lesser souls.

In layman’s terms, it meant the Darkness’s people—Dulcie’s people, I thought, although I was desperately trying not to—and they were everywhere. Had I been a judge of preternatural auras, I would have suspected they were looking for something. Probably me, but I was trying to be optimistic.

We went back to my house. It was probably a stupid thing to do—okay, it was definitely a stupid thing to do—but I was desperate for someplace familiar. And when I suggested it, Casey didn’t argue, although he looked dubious.

We approached the quaint, little, suburban dream with our hackles raised, Casey with his gun in hand, and me with a large stick I found in the yard. I held it up as best I could, trying to look huge and imposing, but the muscles around the stiches had cramped until they were hard as stone and would only move so far—which is to say, not at all. I got my elbow just about to my shoulder before I almost screamed.

Not that it mattered, since there was nobody there. I ran a cursory spellcheck on the house and its thousand wards (and I do mean thousand)—I’ve made a habit of compounding my spells after Dulcie’s initial run in with Melchior. I discovered not one of them had been breached. After opening the door with a key I’d hidden inside a false rock, I slowly shuffled inside, Blue darting past me to check for demons and any small animals.

Casey gave me a very strange look once the door was closed. “Oh, hell!”

“What?’ I replied. Then I felt the blood running down my side and I looked down. My shirt and skirt were stained red. The spirit strings were barely holding, but the skin seemed to find another way around them to mend itself. “Oh.” Now that I was looking at it, really looking at it, I could feel the stinging and burning of my nerve endings as they began to reactivate, desperately trying to kick my bones back into place. My body cried out for avocado oil, owl feathers, and sage, but when my head began pounding, I started to see stars. Damn! How long have I been bleeding?

Casey’s face twisted. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m not dead,” I said. “I just need …” I blinked. What did I need? “Oil.”

“Oil?” he asked incredulously.

“Potion,” I said. “To set the bone and … close the …” The world spun, and I barely caught myself on the wall, jarring my displaced rib. I gasped as a shock of pain ran the length of my body, making my bones vibrate. I was definitely in no shape to be working on myself.

“Where’s your bathroom?” Casey asked.

I stiffened. “What?”

“Bathroom,” Casey repeated like I was dumb. “You know, bathtub, running water, toilet, et cetera.”

I stared at him blankly and he gestured vaguely to my wound, maybe not looking quite nauseous, but something very close to it.

“We need to clean this, disinfect it, and rebandage it,” he said. “And you need some sleep."

“Oh. Um, that way,” I said, and I pointed toward the hall.

He helped me out of my shirt. By that, I mean he cut my shirt away with his pocketknife, dragging the blade through my blood-soaked blouse and throwing the strips in the sink. His fingers grazed my skin, sending cold shocks of electricity, absent of magic. He smiled at me when I caught his eye, trying to look as reassuring as he could manage. His thumb caught the skin under my arm, prodding a freshly-formed bruise, and I winced.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, slowly pulling away the last bit of my sleeve. I was just wearing my bra now, a simple white thing that was stained all the wrong shades of red. For three-tenths of a second, I was wildly uncomfortable, furious that I lacked the pitiful strength it required to cross my arms. But when I looked at him, he was staring at my face and smiling. Not grinning, not laughing, just the smile of a doctor trying to put his patient at ease.

“It’s okay,” he said without looking down once. He just stared at me with those alabaster eyes, all cool and collected and cute as hell.

My nerves melted into a puddle and I smiled back.

“Do you mind if I take a look at it?” he asked.

“Oh. Um, yeah,” I said. “Go ahead.”

Casey knelt in front of me, pulling down the side of my pants just enough to expose the point of my hip bone, where the long red line ended. I was caked in blood all the way down to my knees, with still more seeping languidly from the half-open cut. Dulcie’s magic, the silver-green shadow of whatever she’d become, clung to the open skin, preventing it from scabbing over. He gently pressed his thumb into the base of the incision. I winced again and my rib strained against his primitive magic.

“How’s it feel?” Casey asked, sounding wary of the answer.

I took stock. The blood was flowing again, but slower. His cosmic threads were frayed, hastily strung out from nothing and hammered into reality with Stone Age charm and raw fury. A child’s work, the tested waters of a witch or a warlock on the ass end of third grade—but still more than he should have been capable of if he were only human.

“Not bad,” I said. Not good either, but I probably wouldn’t bleed out.

He scoffed. “That’s sweet, but come on. I know I suck at this.”

I grimaced. “Uh … not great. The threads are tearing and the bone’s starting to feel heavy.” Then I asked him the question I’d been meaning to for a while now. “How did you learn how to do this?” I cleared my throat. “How is it you’re human but you seem to possess magic too?”

“That’s a long story,” he answered with a quick smile. “And one I’ll tell you over coffee someday when the world isn’t blowing up around us.” He stood slowly, keeping his hand on my hip. “You mind if I go through your medicine cabinet?”

“Go ahead,” I said, and he opened the mirror. I wondered why he avoided getting into all the hows and whys of his primitive magic, but he didn’t want to so I had to temporarily shelve my fact-finding mission for the moment.

“You have bandages around here somewhere?” he asked.

“Yeah. Top left. The white ones are non-adhesive.”

He took the bandages down and weighed them in his hand as he examined my bare stomach. My skin prickled under his gaze. “God, that … that looks like it hurts.”

“It’s fine,” I lied. “Really.”

He knelt in front of me again, squinting at the line, gently pulling his thumb through the sheets of blood. “We need to clean this.” He looked from me to the porcelain tub. “Do you think you can manage it yourself or …”

I swallowed. Or do you want to be bathed by a total stranger?

Yes! Although it was hilariously awkward and weird, I couldn’t exactly refuse him. I didn’t think I had it in me to clean the blood away myself, not with so much bad magic still pouring out of it like a waterfall, and he was right. If we just let the blood congeal, it could easily flare up, get infected, and maybe poison me, which wouldn’t help anybody.

And I was already half-naked anyway.

“I think …” I shook my head, uncertain of how to say it. “I can’t really move, so … You know.” I shrugged.

He nodded, and his face didn’t change. “All right. Come here, then.” He looped my arm around his head and together we limp-waddled to the bathtub. I sat on the edge, my bones creaking like clanking metal as we moved.

“Do you want to leave that on?” he asked, indicating my skirt. From anybody else that would have been an invitation, albeit a poorly constructed one, but the way he said it made it seem utterly normal.

“Um … no,” I said. It would have been impossible to get off once it was wet, and I didn’t relish the idea of bathing in a dirty skirt. “Can you, um …” Don’t you dare blush, Sam, don’t you blush!

I blushed.

Casey had the manners and good grace not to mention it. “Of course.”

It was already unbuttoned. I stood and let him gradually work it down over my thighs. His hands moved slowly, pulling one side down lightly, then the other, shimmying it over my skin, taking great care to leave my underwear exactly where it was. The fabric slid over my bruises and bleeding abrasions, which I hadn’t noticed before. Clenching my teeth, I wrapped my fingers tightly around the rim of the tub.

“It’s okay,” Casey said softly, and I nodded, swallowing a whine.

He got the skirt over my ravaged thighs and it fell to the floor, burnt and blackened, in filthy contrast on the white veneer. I sighed, throbbing.

Casey lifted his hand to my thigh, placing it gently on the skin below a particularly nasty red. It wasn’t so much of a scrape but an entire layer of skin that was sheared off, a burning, crimson splotch the size of my hand. Casey frowned at it, his thumb moving back and forth.

“Can you sit down?” he asked.

I nodded and sat slowly. His hand stayed where it was.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” he said. “The bleeding’s almost stopped.” He dipped his hand in the water, which was steaming now, and its thick haze settled over the room like fog. “I’m going to touch it, and you have to tell me if it stings, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, bracing myself.

He gently touched his thumb at the center of the wound. I flinched out of reflex, but it didn’t sting too badly.

“Does it sting?”

“A little bit,” I said. “Um …” I put my hand to my head, suddenly dizzy. The room shrank and grew and I had to remind myself to breathe.

“Easy,” said Casey. I didn’t realize I was starting to lose my balance until he caught me.

“Oh,” I said stupidly. “Um. Thanks.”

“Does that feel okay?”

I nodded, closing my eyes, inhaling the steam, and letting the moist heat fill my lungs and cloud my head. The dizziness abated, replaced by a vague nausea.

“You have a cup somewhere?” said Casey. “Or maybe a washrag?”

“There,” I said, pointing to the cabinets. He pushed himself onto his feet to retrieve one, opening the cabinet and whistling.

“Lotsa towels,” he said, grabbing one at random.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

Casey sat on the ground, soaking the towel.

“So, um …” I said, searching for a source of conversation, but there was only one that kept prodding my mind. “So you’re really not going to tell me how you know how to do this?” I gestured vaguely to the fraying magic.

He grimaced like the question itself hurt him, squeezing the rag over my shoulder. “I … work in the Preternatural Division,” he answered simply.

The air went cold. “So?”

“So,” he said, “it’s protocol.”

“Protocol … what? To know magic?” Something about that rang false.

He hesitated. His hand hovered over the water and he bit the inside of his cheek, ostensibly thinking. “Do you know what a siphon is?”

I swallowed hard. Siphons. Human excess and pure shadow, dragon blood and batshit crazy experimentation gone miraculously right or horribly wrong, depending on whom you asked.

Okay, story time.

Once upon a time, a little more than a decade ago, supernatural creatures like witches and vampires and supersonic bunnies with laser eyes made themselves known to the general public en masse. Behold the creepiest things you’ve ever heard of coming to life, working in your office buildings and living on your street, even going to school with your kids, and teaching your kids. People didn’t like that. It scared them, and honestly, it probably should have. The year after the initial “Hey, look, magic!” came all the violence and hate that sequestered those with magical leanings to places like Splendor and Estuary. Subsequently, demonic fires, nymphs calling the agitated forests to demolish entire suburbs, and lots of murder occurred.

Naturally, more people were scared. They demanded more security, something they could use to fight back against all the monsters that ate their bullets for breakfast. So their beloved government endowed them with an exorbitant amount of money to hire a group of insane chemists, genealogists, and molecular biologists. After five years of grotesque monstrosities, they made the siphons—humans that were capable of manipulating magic. Dragging the unholy energy out of warlocks, dryads, and angels, they created primitive, unschooled magic, brittle as obsidian. They lacked the control of a three-year-old, but it was enough to stay the world’s terrified hand. And enough to convince them that we couldn’t totally eradicate all of them if it took our fancy to try.

I almost laughed. Siphons were the monsters’ monsters. They were a nightmare’s nightmare, the shadows in the alley of a pitch-black world. And I was sitting half-naked in front of one, tired and angry, totally exposed. Do I know what a fucking siphon is?

“Yeah,” I answered.

Casey laid his hand on my shoulder, hot with steam, and I flinched.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

Gee, why did that feel like a veiled threat?

“Really.” He squeezed me lightly and softly. Perhaps begging me to believe him.

I looked at him and he tried to smile, but his face refused to let him, his eyes going iron hard with regret and worry as well as something else I couldn’t identify. The cold steel of a man resigned to his fate, I guess, but that didn’t seem to cover it.

Here’s the thing. Siphons weren’t really dangerous. They weren’t supposed to hurt anybody. Their whole purpose was to pretend they had enough magical capability to defeat a magical mob in a fight. Honestly, there wasn’t a whole lot Casey could have done to hurt me, nothing that I couldn’t return tenfold on him. Well, that is, if I were healthy anyway.

Casey swallowed, making a visible effort not to look away. “You’ve …” he laughed. “You’ve seen what I can do with this … ability of mine. It’s kind of pathetic.”

I began to smile. “More than kind of,” I said.

His smile broadened, and he laughed again. “I’m … I’m actually a doctor. If you can believe it. Probably could have fixed this a little better if I had the right tools, but … yeah.” he sighed. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

Something thrilled me when he said my name—my heart seemed to hammer, pleading for him to say it again. “Don’t be,” I said. “I’m just happy you knew how to set it at all.” That was actually a rather disturbing thought—if anybody else had tried, they might have shattered the bone into a million bite-size pieces, or turned my blood into salt. It could have been quite harrowing.

But thanks to Dr. McDreamy, all I had to complain about were the insignificant details of his technique. I admit I was always one to look at the positive side. Yep, I’m a half-full cup, not a half-empty one kind of girl.

Casey smiled at me, softly, his amusement playing tricks with his eyes. “Guess that’s something,” he said. “Can you lift your arm?”

I did, and he squeezed a rag of hot water over the wound. Blood sloughed off into the tub, turning it pink. It burned like hell, but it was a good heat, like the tingle in frozen fingers when you thaw them by a fire.

“Easy,” he whispered, and I realized I was cowering.

“I’m okay,” I said.

We sat in silence as he slowly rinsed all the dirt and ash and broken glitter of bad magic off my skin. I stared at the rippling grey of his reflection in the water, and at the wall, as well as the fogging mirrors. Eventually, I looked at him. I watched him ministering to me, and felt him slowly rubbing all the red stains off me. He only looked up once, and it was at me. Not at my half-bared breasts, or my legs. Just at me. Staring, smiling. There was something impossibly reassuring about that smile. It was small and soft, almost casual, like nothing about this was strange.

“I think,” he said softly, “we’re good.”

I blinked. “Um. Oh. Okay.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Good,” I said, nodding. “I’m … good.”

Casey pulled the plug on the tub and the water started gurgling away. “Can you stand up?”

“Maybe.” I put my arms on either side of the tub and pushed myself up. Or I tried to. My left arm buckled under my weight and I slipped back into the water too hard, nearly slamming my head against the back of it. Casey caught me just in time, sparing my head from falling only inches onto the glass.

“Okay, okay,” he said, easing me back down into the water. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I said, struggling to breathe. Casey’s arms uncoiled from around me and all three images of him sat on the rim of the tub, their warped faces spinning like a kaleidoscope. Clearly, I wasn’t okay.

“We’ll let the water drain,” he said, “and I’ll carry you. All right?” He put the back of his hand on my forehead. “Just relax.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, barely hearing him, my forehead pulsating. Deep breaths, deep breaths, come on, deep breaths. I forced myself to inhale. For a while, the only sound I could hear was the automatic fan, desperately inhaling the steam. Relax.

After a few minutes, the bathroom was clear, and I started to feel cold.

The last of the water wound down the drain with exaggerated bubbling. Casey looped his arms under me, placing one behind my back, and one under my legs before he lifted me out of the tub.

“It’s okay,” he whispered as he carried me into my bedroom. “I’ve got you.”

I murmured wordlessly into his shirt, drinking in his unique smell—aftershave, dried sweat, dirt, and the faded scorch of Dulcie’s fire. My cheek pressed against his chest, and he held me a little tighter.

Placing me gently on the bed, he whispered, “Wait just a second,” like he was soothing a baby to sleep before he disappeared. When he came back, he had the white bandages and a towel in his hands. My vision swept in and out of focus. It was almost too hard to blink.

“I …” The word came out as little more than a gasp. I took a deep breath and pushed myself up, slowly, agonizingly, into a sitting position.

“Are you okay?” asked Casey, his face strained with worry.

I nodded. “Yeah. Fine.” I swallowed against my writhing stomach. “I’m …”

Casey uncoiled the bandages and started to wrap them around my middle—one hand holding my stomach, pressing his palm firmly against my skin. I sat stock-still as he wound it around me, going up and up and up until my whole torso was swathed in white. A thin, red line formed against the underside of the gauze, but it didn’t spread, a good sign.

“You shouldn’t sleep in wet clothes,” he said. “Okay?”

I nodded numbly. “Okay.”

“I’m going to shower, and then I’ll go out and sleep on the couch, if that’s okay.” He cleared his throat. “And I’ll probably have to wash my clothes unless you’ve got some spare clothes in a men’s size large lying around here?” The way he asked the question was cute, but I could tell he was probing, wanting to know if I had a boyfriend.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. Just a woman’s size medium, but I doubt those will fit you.”

He chuckled and I yawned, long and loud, stretching my mouth as wide as the unhinged jaw of a snake. How long had it been since I’d slept? Four days, my beleaguered brain answered, going on five. Go the fuck to sleep. “Mmm-hmm,” I said to myself, dragging my weary eyes up to Casey. “Thank you.” I couldn’t think of anything to add so I just smiled at him.

He smirked and put his hand on my cheek—then seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled away, clearing his throat. “You’re welcome.”

“Hey, could you, um …” Hades, why isn’t my mouth working? “On my dresser … could you, um, grab me some, uh …”

He nodded and went to the dresser I indicated, a curving, black wooden thing with veins of blue painted across it to look like corrupted turquoise. “Which drawer?”

It didn’t even occur to me to be embarrassed. “Top.”

He walked back over to me with panties, bra, and a short, black sleeveless sleeping shift. “Do you think you can …?”

“I’ll be fine,” I answered, taking the articles from him. Weirdly enough, he managed to pick out a matching set. “Thanks. Really. For, um … you know. Saving my life.”

“No problem,” he said. “Now, let’s get some sleep. We can figure this all out in the morning, okay?” he added.

“Okay.” I nodded as he made for the door, his footsteps muffled by the thick, beige carpet. Blue stuck his nose into the room to meet him, whining softly.

“Hey, there’s dog food somewhere in the kitchen. Could you—”

“Sure,” Casey answered, scratching Blue on the head. “Come on, boy, let’s get something to eat, eh? Sleep well,” he said before he shut the door.

EIGHT

Sam

When I awoke next, I was staring at the ceiling with heavy covers draped over me. The light outside my windows had dimmed into the satin-black and silver of twilight. I dragged myself from the bed, my side throbbing like an aching tooth, moving as slowly as I could manage. The room was large, mostly occupied by a queen-sized bed, a black vanity with makeup and hair-care supplies strewn across it, and a chalk-blue wardrobe. A tall window overlooked my backyard, a long stretch of green, ringed by the silhouettes of trees with sharp leaves.

Now was as good a time as any to get up, but my body wasn’t complying with the whole “waking up” thing. My bones creaked and groaned like the boards on an old ship, grinding against each other whenever I moved. “Okay,” I said. “Okay.” Come on, we can do this.

I pushed myself off the bed, warily testing my balance. I didn’t immediately pitch over, which I considered a good sign. The dizziness was gone, along with the headache, and I was reasonably awake. I lifted my shift to look at the bandages, which were soaked through with red, but now in a narrow rectangle rather than a vague, amoebic stain. So, better, but still wanting. However, I would deal with that in a minute.

I dressed as quickly as I could, which, with my body on strike, meant painfully slow. I slid on yoga pants and a long-sleeved, purple shirt, tennis shoes, things that wouldn’t snag.

Things that’ll be easy to run in, I thought. That was a pleasant picture, running from full-metal Dulcie and the other Darkness creatures with a broken rib and whatever the hell else was wrong with me.

But I had to reserve my thoughts about my impending doom, my possessed best friend, and my missing boss for later. Right now, my rib hurt and I was hangry. I went to the kitchen with the full intention of bleeding into a silver bowl to make one of a hundred different concoctions, one that might better repair my bones—noxi idrocal for the pain, theris validranum to speed the mending on the molecular level—but I changed my mind when I smelled cookies. Cookies and a burnt-charcoal haze that smelled suspiciously like fireworks.

Casey, I thought. When I heard someone humming, however, it didn’t sound like him.

I couldn’t think of any explosive agents that might have smelled like melted chocolate, but I was still moving slowly as I rounded the corner into my living room. The lights were on above the counters and oven, and a single lamp illuminated the pastel couches and the dark dining room table. A woman with long, blond hair and shadow-grey eyes sat with a cup of steaming green tea, drinking from one of my numerous mugs while reading something on her phone. White, sleeveless, athletic shirt, stretch-black shorts, and pristine, white tennis shoes. She had a gun at her hip, and a smaller pistol strapped to her ankle, which was casually slung over the arm of her chair.

She looked up as I came in. I stiffened, and she smiled.

“Sam, right?” she asked, standing and pocketing her phone. “I’m Judy.”

“Um,” I started, wondering if thieves nowadays broke in and baked cookies before they took off with your televisions and iPads.

“It’s okay, we’re with Casey.” She extended her hand.

I blinked at her and gave her hand a cautious shake. She had a firm grip. “Judy,” I repeated, my heart pounding. How the hell had she gotten in? “And where is …”

“Bathroom,” she said. At that exact moment, the door to the guest bath opened up and Casey came sauntering out.

“Sam!” he said, beaming when he saw me. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” I said. His hair was slick from his recent shower, and he smelled like strawberry shampoo. Oh, and one more thing … he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was only covered by my white towel which he wrapped around his middle. His skin glistened (yes, glistened) with hot water, steam curling off his arms. He smiled at me with shining, white teeth. Prying my eyes away from his chest was almost painful.

“Good, good. Oh, this is Judy,” said Casey. “She’s with us.” Then he headed for my laundry room where he was, presumably, in the middle of washing or drying his clothes.

“Judy and I just met,” I said with a little smile at them both.

She laughed and looked me up and down. “Hi to you, too,” she said, squeezing my arm. We were matched in height, but she was smaller, nothing but muscle stretched tautly over bone.

Which reminded me, I had a mortal wound to take care of.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, my wits finally returning. “I’m sorry, I need to do something in the kitchen.”

“Kent’s a little busy in there,” said Judy. “What do you need?”

“Kent?” I asked.

“Demo guy,” she said absently. “So what do you need?”

“Um …” I tucked my hair behind my ear, feeling a little bad for what I said next. “I need to set a bone.”

Judy snorted. “Yeah, Casey told me about his temporary patch job,” she said, throwing a dubious look in Casey’s direction. He held up his hands and shrugged. “How’s it holding up?”

About as well as a paper airplane in a hurricane, but it hasn’t hit the water yet. I smiled and said, “Not bad, but I think I can do better.” Casey grinned at me from where he was pulling his clothes out of the dryer. I wasn’t sure why, but I liked the image of him in my house, tending to such boring chores.

Judy laughed and walked over to the kitchen.

Casey carried his clothes from the laundry room and walked right up to me, the strawberry smell increasing tenfold. “So, how are you? Really?”

I took a deep breath, feeling fire on my skin, and tasting ash in the back of my throat. My legs started shaking. “I’m … okay. Not really, but I’m … I’m okay.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, but Casey nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “That, uh … sounds about right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be—”

“No, I mean, for all of this. I’m sorry it happened.” He put his hand on my arm.

I sighed. “Thanks,” I said. “I … yeah. Thanks.” I smiled weakly, fervently ignoring the dead witches and burning buildings that were still wedged in my brain. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t you fucking cry!

Casey squeezed my arm, leaning down to look at me. His eyes were soft and calm. “It’s okay,” he said. “I mean … I mean, it’s not okay but … it’ll be okay. We’re gonna figure this out.”

The images swiftly faded and I felt steady again. Inhale, exhale. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay,” he said as he straightened up, smiling. “I don’t know about you, but I am starving. And I think,” he added, heading for the kitchen, “that someone made cookies.”

I followed him before I noticed three more people for the first time.

The first was tall and lean, a burning cigar between strong fingers stained with motor oil and ink. Aged maybe in his forties with brown hair, a tweed jacket, and brown dress shoes that seemed to have been hammered into an off-grey after thousands of hours pounding the pavement. There was a woman sitting at the island in front of him, drinking coffee and staring at nothing. She was Arabian with dark skin, black hair, and wearing a white half-mask to cover savage magical burns. The bright red scars, crimson and black webs of burns caused by all the wrong kinds of divine intervention, were still very visible. Old magic simmered inside her, a muted brightness like beams of sunlight through fog. I could feel the ethereal residue even from here, thick and sour, like stagnant water.

And the third was a short man with shaggy, reddish-brown hair—Kent the demo man, if I had to guess—piddling around the kitchen wearing a plaid shirt with rolled up sleeves and my Kiss Me, I’m Wiccan apron, his hands coated in flour. Every appliance in the room was doing something. My dishes were done, my counters were clean, my hand towels, of all things, had been neatly folded. And the chocolate-and-fireworks smell, warm and divine, was deliciously radiating from the half-open oven.

“Ah!” Kent said when he saw me in the thickest Scottish accent I’d ever heard. “Perfect timin’.” He opened the oven the rest of the way with his foot and pulled out a tray of chocolate chip cookies. Until ten minutes ago, the mere thought of food would have sent me reeling, but now, the aroma was enough to make me salivate. He scraped one off the tin and folded the crumbled, melting mess onto a plate, handing me a fork along with it.

“Thanks,” I said, practicing my self-restraint. It was all I could do not to shovel the entire plate into my face.

Kent flourished an oven-mitted bow and grinned at me with slightly crooked teeth. “We heard ye’ve add ah roof day,” he said, and his smile turned sweet.

“Rough day” didn’t even begin to cover it. “Thanks,” I said, trying not to think about it.

“Dinnae worry, Ah’ll clean all o’ this oop.” He gestured to the extremely clean counter. The only mess I could spot was a bag of chocolate kisses that spilled onto the granite, and even that was very small. I quirked a brow at Kent and he offered me an apologetic shrug.

“Meet my team,” said Casey, gesturing to the motley group. He pointed at them in turn. “This is Marcus,”—the one with the cigar—“Rowena,”—the one radiating wild magic—“and Kent”—the one baking cookies. Marcus nodded at me, and Kent beamed over the tray. Rowena looked up and smiled with half her mouth.

“Evening,” said Marcus, nodding to me.

“It’s a pleasure,” Rowena offered. There was a deep sadness in her smile, the fixed expression of someone who’d seen too much tragedy. I tried to smile back and she looked down at her coffee, grimacing before she returned to her private thoughts.

“This is Sam,” Casey told his team. They all nodded grimly. Kent patted my arm, looking like he felt sorry for me.

“Sorry ’bout your friend, love,” he said. I stiffened, and suddenly, I could sense their pity as acutely as an icy wind. I felt like a lost child in a room full of adults, scrambling to figure out where she belonged. It was a peculiar sensation, and they weren’t doing anything in particular to instigate it—but it was there all the same. I couldn’t help feeling impossibly small.

“You’re all FBI?” I asked, stuffing my mouth full of hot dough and chocolate. They were clearly government overseers, but that division spanned half a hundred organizations, official and otherwise. Rowena and Marcus seemed the type, but Kent was the antithesis of a government agent, the kind of man with a thousand unsanctioned secrets. Not to mention the whole baking thing. That didn’t really fit the FBI mold …

“Rowena and I are,” said Casey. “Marcus is on loan from the CIA.” He didn’t say anything about the other two, and I didn’t ask, although Kent had a mad glint in his eye. A long, painful silence followed in which everyone looked at each other, no one quite sure what to say next.

Judy eventually shattered it with a single loud clap. “What exactly did you need for bone-fixing, sweetheart?” she asked, pushing Kent out of the way and flinging open the cabinets.

I swallowed my mouthful of cookie and pushed myself back from the island, standing. I was starting to shake, although I couldn’t say why. Nerves? Shock? Maybe hunger, it had been quite a while since I’d eaten. I tried to remember the last time I’d put anything in my stomach besides coffee—and now, an obscene number of cookies. But I couldn’t remember the last time. Damn, it’s been days, hasn’t it?

“Sam?” Judy asked, pulling me from my reverie.

“Right,” I replied. The spirit-stitches Casey had woven through me were fraying like the ropes of an abandoned ship, drawing tautly against a material break they were rapidly losing hold of. I moved slowly around the island and opened a lower cabinet to reach the onyx and silver salad bowl I used for my more volatile potions.

“There’s a couple of blue canisters in the pantry labeled VS,” I said, “and there’s a Tupperware container in the fridge of portabello mushrooms and freeze-dried glow worms.”

Judy nodded and disappeared into the walk-in pantry. Marcus raised his brow when I listed off the ingredients, but said nothing as he took a long drag of his cigar. The smoke smelled like sweetgrass and spice.

I set the bowl on the counter and Judy laid out the materials before me. I rolled up my sleeve and tested the veins in my arm. I was still a little dizzy, but I could manage to lose a quarter cup or two without passing out. Probably.

“Whatcha got there?” Kent loomed out of nowhere, casting a long shadow over the stone. He clasped his still oven-mitted hands under his chin and grinned at me with unabashed curiosity.

I smiled at him and turned up the bowl so he could see the inside. A spiral of jagged grooves was carved into it, sloping gently towards the center to carry blood and spit and plasma.

“Well, that’s somethin’, then, in’t it?” he muttered, craning his neck to get a better look. “What’s it fer?”

I opened a drawer in the island, exposing a neat array of thin knives and scalpels. Silver and ironwood and oak, gold and river stone, glass and steel, all reflecting the dull kitchen lights. I ran my hands over them, selecting a needle-thin blade of glass and jade—transparency and truth, the material elements to color my blood and name the potion’s purpose.

“Pretty,” said Kent. “What’s it do?”

I held the blade up, turning it between my fingers and watching it refract the light. “It cuts things open,” I said, drawing it across the underside of my forearm. A thin, red line formed in its wake.

Kent nodded, pursing his lips. “So it does.”

I turned my arm sideways and bled into the bowl. The red struck the stone with a hissing whisper, and the echoes of old power washed through me like liquid sunlight. The blood rode the spiral to the center and a thousand eyes, stemming from the first Wicca, lent me their wisdom before a cold lethargy overcame me. My confidence returned in full force and I grinned down at the congealing concoction, resisting the ever-present urge to snicker like a mad scientist. This was my element. This is where I could do my good, this was my job. And I was really good at it.

Kent watched in fascination as I crumbled up a horde of colorful ingredients and added them to the bowl, oohing and aahing while asking every third second what this powder did and where that claw came from, and if I had to use hawk feathers or any old red feathers would work. I didn’t mind. I answered his questions, letting my years of study and full repertoire of knowledge flow out of me as I ground and mixed and pounded. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel helpless. And it also wasn’t lost on me that Casey just stood there, leaning against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen, watching me with a placid expression on his face.

The resulting potion was a thick, green paste that most closely resembled a sturdy custard, an occasional blue pocket of air bubbling up and popping with a spectacular splash. Kent leaned in and sniffed it, prodding it with his finger.

“What’s it do?” he asked. He stuck his finger in his mouth and made a face. “Tastes like lemon.”

“It fixes broken ribs,” I answered, laughing before wincing because laughing hurt.

Okay, now the hard part.

Telling myself I wouldn’t be shy, I pulled off my shirt and set it on the counter. Kent sucked in a breath, which didn’t surprise me—I could feel the hot wetness in the gauze sticking to my skin.

“Here,” said Casey, stepping forward. He found the edge of the bandage and slowly started to peel it away, holding his other hand against my stomach to steady me. I looked at the wall as he undid it, moving his hands around me in circles, some part of him always touching me. I swallowed. Kent coughed.

“There.” Casey stepped back, a wad of reddish-black fabric between his fingers.

Judy whistled. “Wow. That’s … damn!”

I looked down. Now the magic was waning, and I could see the wound coming apart at the seam. The skin around it was the color of a rotten apple, the blue and sandy yellow of a fresh bruise. The broken rib bulged against my skin, tugging plaintively at its restraints.

“I’m—” Casey started.

“It’s okay,” I said, with a reassuring smile—or I tried to as a wave of nauseous pain rippled through me. I wasn’t sure how my face looked just then, but it was enough to make everyone around me appear more concerned.

“I’m fine,” I said, even though it wasn’t true, and I got to work.

Lathering the wound with the paste as gently as I could, even the slightest pressure was nearly enough to make me vomit, so it was slow going. The more I massaged it in, the faster it would work, but fucking hell, it hurt. Kent nibbled on a cookie, watching the tonic disappear into my skin, bubbling slightly and turning hot. For a moment, it stung, but thirty seconds later, it had absorbed all the way to the bone, and I could feel it shifting my skeleton, knitting everything back together.

There was a loud pop and I gasped as the rib was wrenched unceremoniously back into place.

“Shit,” said Judy, covering her mouth at the sound. “You okay, hon?”

I leaned on the island and nodded, pressing my lips together. The sharpest pain was gone. All that remained was a vague throbbing, like the pulsation in your gums after pulling a tooth.

“Okay,” I breathed after a moment. “Okay.” I stood and gave my body an experimental twist. My muscles twinged, and I could feel a cold ache running like ice water through the center of the bone, but at least now, I could move. I took my shirt from the chair and shouldered it back on, buttoning it as I spoke.

“All right,” I said, breathing deeply. “That wasn’t fun.” I looked around at Casey’s team. They stared at me with calm expressions, examining me carefully. Marcus looked particularly ponderous. I couldn’t place the expression on his face, but it seemed to be heavily veiled with interest. The look of a man curious to see how I’d fare.

I swallowed and glanced at Casey, my fingers shaking. I was having trouble keeping myself upright. “What now?”

“Now,” said Judy, cracking her knuckles, “we start killing bad guys.”

Kent giggled and muttered, “Boom!” under his breath. Marcus rolled his eyes and inhaled his cigar.

“Bad guys,” I repeated, electric clouds of fear bubbling up from nowhere under my skin. “Right. And … just how are we going to do that?”

Rowena and Casey exchanged a look. “We hoped you could tell us,” she said. The energy she gave off brightened when she spoke. I wondered if she knew she had the capacity to cast spells, and whether she would use them if she did. I doubted it—whatever caused the scars in the first place had likely soured her taste for the arcane.

“Wait, what?” I asked, dragging my attention from her aura to the topic at hand. “Me? Why? I don’t know anything,” I said, adding hastily, “not anything, but I don’t know much. I’m a witch, I do forensics, and paperwork, I …”

Realization suddenly dawned on me, cold as iron, the liquid bitterness of dread. If they were asking me what we should do next, it meant there was no one else left to ask! It also meant there was so much more to this puzzle that I didn’t know.

“What happened?” I asked quietly. A breach much like this one, Casey said. Fire and bullets and brimstone, the full wrath of the dark collective coming down on our heads. My vision blurred. Oh, Hades, Caressa … Dia …

Casey opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again, his face turning slightly pink. His muted energy, the barest scrapings of magic I’d missed in him before, shone with the telltale yellow of fear, the purple of regret, or maybe pity.

“What. Happened?” I said through my teeth. Casey went stiff and said nothing.

“The ANCs that were not under the control of the Darkness as of yesterday morning were … dealt with,” Rowena told her coffee. She looked up at me, piercing me with her single dark eye. “Same as yours.”

Yep, I thought. I nodded slowly. “And the ones that weren’t?”

“Have gone into total lockdown,” Rowena said, “citing a mass security breach.”

“These ANCs, half o’ them are in highly populated areas,” Kent continued. “We cannae afford ta risk the lives oove our own people.”

“We also can’t afford to risk a black operation which could become an inter-parallel incident in which we find ourselves going to war with your people either,” said Rowena. She turned to me. “And that’s why we’re here. To dismantle it all from the inside before it comes to that.”

“Shit,” I whispered, feeling faint. The first and last lines of magical defense were gone. Eaten away by monsters playing the long game into nothing. Every last hero we had was now dead or lost or locked away.

Leaving me, myself, and a small army of five to save the whole world from an impossible evil, hell-bent on burning the whole planet to the ground. Wonderful. My optimism—whatever was left of it—abandoned me, shriveling up like a feather in a fire. What replaced it was something cold, hard, and really angry.

“How long do we have?” I asked. My voice took on a gravelly quality all its own.

Casey shrugged. “President Odyssey told us a month, but now …” He scratched his neck and shook his head. “Now that month might be reduced to no more than days. She’ll be feeling a lot of pressure to retake the ANCs by force.”

“Lots of superstitious weirdos in the White House,” said Kent.

“Lots of weirdos in the White House,” Judy amended quietly, throwing a dubious side-glance to Kent.

I needed a drink. Not coffee or tea, either. I went to a cabinet and pulled out a tall amber bottle, filling a short glass. It was a wildly expensive scotch Bram had given me once when we were … involved. I’d never been a drinker, not even recreationally, and after we broke up, I didn’t even want to look at the damn thing, so it was still full. I resisted the strangely powerful urge to just bottoms-up the whole bottle into my mouth. Instead, I took a long swig from my glass. It burned my throat and scalded my stomach, which felt fan-fucking-tastic.

“What day is it?” I asked, staring at my drink.

“Still Tuesday,” said Casey.

I nodded. “Well, to hell with Tuesdays,” I said as I looked around. “What’s the plan?”

They looked between each other.

“Right,” I said, making a face. “That’s right. Me. I’m the plan.”

“Sorry,” Judy said, shrugging. “Dulcie was plan A, I promise.”

Which made me the contingency plan. I took a deep breath and sighed loudly, biting into another cookie. “What exactly do you think I can do?”

“You’re the last line of reliable contacts in the ANC,” Casey said, and then I understood. No ANC, no database, no intel. The organization they were here to dismantle now had total control over the archives, which meant that any information they’d been given already was totally worthless.

All that’s left, I thought.

“Start from the beginning,” said Marcus, putting out his cigar on a saucer and flicking it lazily into the trash. “Tell us everything you know about the Darkness and those who follow him or it or them, whatever the hell this thing is that we’re dealing with.”

I sighed. Better start from the beginning, the real beginning. “Okay, so … it wasn’t a power outage when all the portals went dark.” I wondered what the penalty was for lying to the government about a rebellion/war that you started. Not that it would matter if Caressa were dead …

Judy snorted. “Yeah, we know.”

“Wait … you do?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice.

Judy shrugged. “’Course we do. Did you think we wouldn’t notice? I mean, it took us a bit to figure it out, but …”

“When we reconnected with our agents in the Netherworld, they told us what happened,” Casey explained.

Okay, that about ended all the secrets. Casey had his arms crossed now, and looked every bit the scolding parent. But it didn’t seem like any of them were going to give me the “Why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped you” speech, so that was good. There would be plenty of time to play the blame game later.

“So …” I cleared my throat and tucked my hair behind my ear. “We, um … deposed Melchior O’Neil.” Deposed. The word felt so archaic.

Casey nodded.

“Caressa was second in command,” I said, “on the professional side. I don’t know who Melchior’s second was on the potions side of things. And um …” Suddenly, it felt like I knew nothing about the whole ordeal, like I’d skimmed a history book and could barely recall the names of the players, let alone what they did. “We thought we were doing okay. Melchior’s people outnumbered us, but they were disorganized.” I almost laughed, shaking my head. “Until the Darkness appeared. Whoever the hell that is.”

“So you don’t know who the Darkness is?” Judy asked, eyeing me narrowly.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I answered honestly. I shot back the rest of the glass and swallowed it hard. I wasn’t normally a scotch girl—Dulcie would have been proud. “Back to what I do know,” I started. “Knight brought in this guy, Jax something. I forget his last name. Actually, I’m not even sure I ever knew it. Anyway, Jax’s presence at the ANC in Splendor was supposed to be temporary, just long enough to find somewhere more secure to hold him. Turns out, coming to Splendor was Jax’s plan all along.” I shook my head, still furious with myself as I replayed the particulars. “I should have felt it! I should have been able to tell something was there.”

“What something?” asked Marcus, shaking his head. “What are you talking about?”

“The anchor,” I answered. “Jax had an anchor with him, or maybe he was the anchor, I don’t know. But that kind of spellbinding glows like fire and messes up the air around it, I should have been able to see or sense …”

Casey laid a hand on my shoulder. I cut myself off and shrugged him away, sighing. “Sorry,” I said. “The whole point is that Jax served as the anchor for a wormhole. It’s what devastated our ANC so bad.”

“An’ here Ah thought that was all Dulcie,” Kent said, and Judy elbowed him in the ribs. He flinched and glared at her.

“Not all of it,” I answered. “Half the building got torn away when the wormhole opened up. It left a giant crater in our front yard. I had …” I swallowed as my throat closed and poured myself another shot. Downing it chased the tangled cobwebs from my chest. I let out a quick breath. “I had witches on site, running tests, trying to find out where the wormhole was going. They’re …” They’re all dead, I thought. But that didn’t matter now.

I cleared my throat. “Knight found Bram—um, a vampire we know.”

“Bram?” Casey repeated.

“Yeah, he’s a friend of sorts, I guess. A friend of Dulcie’s anyway. He’s not exactly on the straight and narrow, but Dulcie always relied on him for leads on the bigger, badder guys. Anyway, it turned out Bram had kidnapped Dulcie, but he did so in order to protect her.” I tried not to spit out the words, but they came out smoking anyway.

“Protect her from what?” Rowena asked.

“From the Darkness, I guess,” I answered with a shrug. “Bram, as usual, was trying to play both sides so he could ‘maintain the balance’ or something like that between the ANC and the potions rings. I don’t fucking know.” I refilled the glass to the brim and drank. Heavily. “Then something … happened. I don’t know what. Bram got discovered, maybe by Jax, maybe the Darkness found out on his own.” I shrugged. “The point is that Bram lost control of his people. Jax tried to… drain Bram, I guess, and beat Dulcie within an inch of her life.”

I shuddered. The witch from Brokenview hadn’t just sent me word that Dulcie was there, she also sent memories. Dulcie’s memories and her point-of-view were played in cinematography, filched from Dulcie’s mind in the two seconds they had physical contact. It was ugly, to say the very least. Brutal. Unforgiving, which is exactly what Knight would be when he found Jax. Some morbid, angry part of me wanted to watch.

Casey looked like he was about to ask for details, which I had absolutely no intention of giving him. Dulcie was hurt, and that was all he needed to know. I felt vile for telling him even that much. “Jax left Bram with a troll or a goblin or some underling and took Dulcie … somewhere. Brokenview first, but those portals can lead literally anywhere.”

“And Jax is working with the Darkness?” asked Marcus.

I nodded. “Yeah. We don’t know why the Darkness wants Dulcie, but apparently, he wants her alive. And it isn’t for ransom either; it’s been too long.”

“How long?” asked Judy.

“A little over a week,” I said.

“Brokenview?” Casey asked, pulling himself out of a grimace. “That base isn’t under our control, any information they gave you—”

“Is perfectly sound,” I interrupted. “I knew the witch in high school, and the message came in a daydream—totally secure, extremely difficult to cast. If she weren’t worried about being overheard, she’d have called me on the phone.” I realized I was close to shouting and took a long breath. “Their ANC has been overturned, but they’re not with the Darkness.” At least, she wasn’t, but I wasn’t about to plant unnecessary doubt. “I mean, they weren’t when she reached out to me.”

Marcus was nodding, Judy was scowling, and Casey was pushing his glasses up onto his nose. Kent was just standing there. None of them said anything, but they all seemed to be thinking intently.

“Most of the ANCs don’t even know they’ve been overtaken,” I said. “And the ones that do are fighting back, just quietly.” The burning blue cloud from the ANC filled my vision, and I blinked it away. Half the taken ANCs—which I guess now meant all of them—were in the middle of huge cities, some of them close to suburban areas. An internal insurgence, even in service of retaking the base, could have nightmarish consequences.

“Could we contact this witch again?” Judy asked as she faced everyone in the room. She leaned against the counter, twirling a set of keys on her finger. “Maybe she could tell us where Jax and Dulcie went. Or what their superiors have been up to, if they’re Darkness cronies.”

I shook my head. “I could try, but I don’t know that it would matter. Bram said nobody knows anything about the Darkness, not even within his own ranks. And Jax and Dulcie probably portal-hopped for hours, so who knows where they are now?”

Judy nodded and hopped up on the counter. “Okay, so, no Brokenview. No witches, no archives, no Darkness. And no way to know where Jax and Dulcie went.”

“We’re off ta ah great start,” muttered Kent.

“Hey, I’m trying,” I snapped. Kent jumped. Nobody said anything as I got hold of myself.

Breathe, I thought, just breathe. Not that I wasn’t, but a reminder seemed in order. I touched my throat, massaging the skin at my collarbone, and winced as I stretched the long red burns Dulcie had given me.

Then something sparked. “But …” My nerves were frazzled, every single receptor in my body went on high alert, bracing for an attack that wasn’t coming. I was touchy, bitchy, but there was also a peculiar clarity that came with it.

“But?” said Casey.

“But there’s only a handful of creatures that could have given Dulcie powers like this,” I answered.

“Given?” Marcus asked.

“Yeah. She, uh … she can’t normally … do … that.” I couldn’t find better words, so I just let them hang stupidly in the air.

“Would they be registered?” Judy asked.

I shook my head. “I wish. The only ones on record are dead gods and demons older than dirt, most of whom are in prison.” However, if the ANC really had gone to shit, it stood to reason that nobody was in prison anymore. I did a mental tally of everyone Dulcie and I had put in jail over our illustrious careers and felt sick to my stomach. “If we can find someone who knows those circles …” The demons with fire and sand in their hearts, the monsters with iron eyes and silver claws and memories of a time when the world was empty. The gods of the old world, the ego of the cosmos, manifested. They’d be impartial, and above our petty, mortal conflicts. And if we could find one who was willing to help us …

I touched the burns on my body, which were steadily scabbing over, turning grey with scar tissue. They were radiating magic, something holy and unclean all at once. The energy of a creature too strong for its own good, a kind of magic that shouldn’t exist. It was faint, the heartbeat of a dying animal, too weak to use as a fetish—but enough for someone else.

“They could track Dulcie,” I said, dropping my hand. The thought of a demon, even a goddess or an angel, getting close enough to touch me made me sick, but we were out of options. Rowena cocked her head at me, examining the burns with her single dark eye, and she seemed to understand.

“What do ye mean by circles?” said Kent. “What kind o’ monsters are we talkin’ aboot here?”

I answered simply. “Old gods. Angels too, as well as demons.” The deep, apathetic roots of the spirit tree. Powerful, and notoriously full of themselves—likely the result of thousands of years of mortal reverence and fear. Being worshipped will do that to you, I guessed.

“Demons?” said Kent, grimacing. “That’s … ambitious.”

It’s crazy, is what it is, I thought. And it wasn’t going to be easy. Demons were less than accommodating, old gods always wanted something—sacrifices, virgins, firstborns, et cetera—and angels were nearly impossible to find, if they bothered to walk the Earth at all. The places demons lived were hot, desolate, and inhospitable, while the gods kept to whatever remained of their altars. Angels walked the thin line between life and death, a place that even advanced witchcraft had no hope of breaching, not to mention how taxing it was to try and talk to any of these creatures. Gods and demons loved riddles, and angels only spoke to those they deemed “worthy.” I could guarantee that none of us qualified.

“It’s what we’ve got,” I said as I shook my head against the realization that the only demon I knew was one I’d rather not even consider for the job. “If we can find one willing to … examine … this,”—I gestured vaguely to my burns—“it’ll be a matter of seconds before we know where Dulcie went.”

“And if we find Dulcie,” Casey started, warming to the idea.

I nodded. “We find the Darkness, and we end this.”

“Provided we can also find an amicable demon, angel, or god willing to talk to us,” Judy added.

I winced. “Yeah.” That was the part that didn’t sit well with me.

Casey shrugged. “Sounds good to me,” he said. “Any idea where to start?”

I opened my mouth, ready to say no. “Yeah, actually I do,” I said, my surprise obvious in my tone. I felt my face twisting into something like a grimace and I looked sideways at Casey. “But you’re not gonna like it.”

NINE

Knight

I watched Jax who was trying really hard not to look at me.

He was in bad shape. One black eye, a hundred lacerations across his chest and arms, blood fucking everywhere … he was fully primed to die. Sweaty, sad, and already fading. But it wasn’t good enough. Not after what he’d done to Dulcie. Not after the torture he’d put her through, not to mention the humiliation. And now he would pay for it.

He swallowed audibly, his eyes going wide as soon as they met mine. When he finally found his voice, he started to ramble. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out, blood and spit spilling out of his mouth. “I, I didn’t mean, I don’t know what happened to me I just, it just got out of hand—”

I was on him in a second, grabbing him by his shirt and slamming him against the wall, hard enough for his head to leave a shallow crater in the painted plaster.

“Didn’t mean to?” I seethed, my mouth right next to his ear, His throat pulsated under my hand, his thrumming heart practically daring me to tear it out. I squeezed until his face turned red, then purple, then black, and he scrabbled at me helplessly, his fingers tearing the skin of my knuckles, breaking it open in spots, but I didn’t care. Red seeped out from beneath my nails, turning my hands pink.

Jax’s mouth opened and I felt his throat vibrate, but no sound came out. His mouth moved, so maybe he was speaking, but I didn’t hear a goddamn word. I dragged him forward and threw him with all my strength at the window—the glass shattered, caving in on itself, but it held long enough for Jax to be grazed by the iron-hot security strands. He hit the floor hard, screaming. The smell of burning flesh filled the room, and steam rose from his arms as the thin, red lacerations appeared on his face.

“What’s the matter, Jax?” I asked, stepping forward. I kicked him hard in the face and heard his nose snap. As he clutched it, wailing pitifully, blood gushed onto the floor. I knelt down and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back until he was staring at the ceiling.

“Are you scared?” I whispered. “Scared like Dulcie must have been?”

Jax whined, his shoulders shaking with tears I didn’t know he possessed. No, I thought, Dulcie was stronger than him. For half a second, all I felt was pity. This hulk of a man, this monster, crying at my feet, a natural disaster pleading for his life. It was pathetic.

Then he finally said something I could hear. “She …” he coughed, spitting blood into my face, “she deserved it.”

With my fist tightening on his hair, my other hand moved of its own accord, darting up from my side like a snake and punching him right in the side of his skull. Jax screamed as he fell backwards, his head smacking against the wall. He moaned a desperate, wordless, inhuman cry of anguish, and all he could manage to say was, “Please, please, please, please …”

“Please?” I asked incredulously. “Please? Are you fucking kidding?”

I threw him aside and sat back, panting. He curled into the wall, hugging his knees. I scoffed and kicked him in the back, hard enough to push him into the opposite wall. He curled up tighter, and as he dropped, I saw a big, red splotch under the window. I grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face into the floor, making his skull rattle. His shoulders shook and his breath rasped. There was blood in his throat, turning his words to a gravelly croak. “You don’t get to beg, do you fucking understand me?”

Apparently, he didn’t. “Please …” he moaned, “Please … just … please …” His words were tight and soft, brimming with fear.

And something stopped me. Some line in my body went taut like a leash, pulling me backwards. No, I thought, staring at Jax’s bloody body. Imagining his hands on Dulcie, tearing her clothes away, dropping her, broken, in front of a blood-starved Bram … No!

I couldn’t understand it. I should kill him, I thought, I should blind him and rip out his tongue, I should gut him with his own fucking teeth.

No.

The word resounded through my brain like a struck bell, deep and brassy, heavy, halfway muffled. It lingered there a moment, then faded like an echo, leaving behind a feeling of profound weariness. I was confused enough to be silent and still for three seconds.

At the fourth second, the word came again. This time, it had friends.

No, it said, you … should … not.

“I …” I stretched my fingers and clenched my fist, exhaling sharply. A feeling overcame me, a casual coldness, a lethargy that made my hands feel numb. I shook it away and glanced over at Jax when I realized what was going on.

It was telling that he was using Loki telepathy to communicate, but I supposed it made sense when I took in his jaw, which was shattered, the bones pressing against the underside of his skin in all the wrong places. I stood, cracking my knuckles, looming over him like a giant, a mountain, a dragon, and still seething. Just lie down and fucking die!

Not …

“Shut up,” I said, driving my heel into his back.

Jax. Not …

I stopped. Not Jax.

The voice lumbered out of the darkness, a weathered presence trying desperately to stay awake. It smacked its lips and yawned at me. So if you aren’t Jax, who the fuck are you? I thought in reply. It was still nothing but a shadow in the corner of the room, a moving shadow, stretching and pulling back again, taking the shape of something.

Meg? I wondered.

The voice chuckled. The laugh sounded amused, like I was so far off—not even in the same zip code far off.

Who are you? I thought. Jax was trying to get on his hands and knees. At first, I assumed he wanted to put up a fight after all, but when he finally did it, all he could do was vomit and fall back down again. My pity came rushing back in.

Fucking pathetic, I thought.

Yes … he … is … isn’t he?

And yet I shouldn’t kill him? I argued with the shadow’s voice.

The presence murmured to itself, and I imagined it shrugging. It was taking a more definitive shape now, the dull reverberations hardening into a recognizable register—a masculine voice, deep, thunderous, and ancient. Perhaps … you should, he said. But … not … now.

Jax moaned and coughed, broken, and for one sick moment, all I had for him was empathy. Stop it! I thought, stop making me feel that!

The feeling vanished, leaving me just as hot and hollow as before. The voice sighed mournfully. My … justice … is not … yours … to … dispense. The Loki’s … hour … will … come.

I frowned. Your justice?

The voice took a deep breath. Mine.

Yours? And who the fuck are you?

He chuckled. An … old friend … old, very … very old …

I don’t know you, I said, glaring at the shadow as it meandered this way and that. I had to wonder if I were losing my mind and seeing things that weren’t actually there.

You … don’t know … your own … maker?

My blood ran cold before confusion overtook me. My own maker? I didn’t have a maker. Unless …

No, that was impossible, that was fucking impossible. Hades doesn’t exist, I thought back to whatever creature was trying to impersonate a god. Hades is just a legend.

Is that so? the voice demanded, angry and offended. Explain … yourself … then. Your … world …

You don’t exist, I thought more fervently. Hades was a dream, a heroic story, the fire and brimstone of a civilization long ago. You’re not real. Far more likely, he was a hallucination, courtesy of Meg, and caused by my lack of sleep, lack of food, and the fact that I died and came back to life. Get out of my head!

This … is what … she wants. Kill … him … and you … play … right … into … her … hands.

Jax was staring at me now, confused by my silence. He dared to look hopeful—or maybe he was sneering, it was hard to tell through all the blood on his ugly face. I took a step toward him and he cowered again, shaking like a fucking leaf.

Let … him … go, the shadow said. His … end … will … be … appropriate … to … his … deeds. But it is … he took a deep breath, not … your … responsibility … to bring … about.

Across the room, Jax laughed weakly. “What’s the matter?” he smirked through red-streaked teeth. “Getting squeamish?”

Jax didn’t have to be bleeding. It was enough to look at him to make me squeamish. I opened my mouth to tell him so, but my tongue turned to lead, dropping like a dead weight in the center of my mouth. I couldn’t speak. Or even make a sound.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, I thought, turning away from Jax and back toward the shadow that purported to be my maker.

Leave him … be.

You don’t get to fucking decide this, I replied mentally, storming back toward Jax, imagining his ribs splintering and digging into his organs. Jax flinched and glared up at me.

“Make up your fucking mind,” he said.

The voice sighed. I will not tell you again! It railed at me with the fury of one who had no patience or appreciation for being disobeyed. Well, he picked the wrong Loki to order around. As much as he disliked insubordination, I’d never been one to follow anyone’s rules.

I didn’t even feel myself move, but in the next second, I had Jax pinned against the wall, my hand at his throat, my fingers digging into his flesh, tracing the outline of his esophagus. “This is for Dulcie,” I seethed, pulling him forward and slamming him back into the wall so hard that the plaster broke and the security wards beneath it pressed into his back, scarring him with a steaming, crosshatched brand. HIs face turned blue. My knuckles went white, and my bones nearly broke through the skin before I let go.

He dropped like a sack of flour, coughing red blood into his hands. “Always … knew you were … weak.”

“Shut up,” I said, resisting the urge to kick him again. Instead, I turned around, clenching my fists, trying to keep myself from pulling out my own hair. Stuck between a rock and something with really sharp teeth and laser eyes. Fuck!

I let the anger leach out of me as I gasped. “Meg!” I shouted. Striding to the door, I pounded on it, and the heat of the wards made the wood tremble. “Meg, get your ass in here!”

Ten seconds passed before I heard footsteps and whispering. The door opened without a sound, and suddenly, Meg’s slight, white figure was standing before me, smiling. One hand was against the wall, the other resting softly on her hip, a carefully calculated pose. Antoine stood behind her, frowning passively in his pointed slippers.

“Finished already?” she asked, raising a brow. Her smile curdled.

“Just get him out of here,” I said, half wondering if my delirious mind would start up again, proclaiming it was Hades, himself.

Meg gave me a once-over, observing the thin sheen of blood on my skin, along with the dark purple splotches on my clothes. “Did you at least have fun?”

“Fuck you.”

She seemed amused by that. “Antoine,” she said, while staring at me, “if you would.”

Her manservant pushed past me, hefting the choking Jax into his arms. For a moment, I thought I’d crushed his windpipe—but as he was carried past me, he had enough breath to tell me to go fuck myself.

Meg made a show of waiting until Antoine was well out of earshot. “I must admit, I’m rather confused.” She pricked her lip with a fang and put her finger to the blood, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. “I thought you’d … enjoy his company.” She glanced at the blood stains in the corner of the room. “I thought you’d make more of it than you actually did.”

“Not in the mood,” I seethed, standing stock-still in the center of the room and staring at her lips and the blood now smeared across her chin. It looked like a wine stain against her flawless porcelain skin …

“Oh?” Meg replied, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe, a cheeky grin on her face. Like she was daring me to try and get past her. “I wasn’t aware vengeance needed a particular mood to express it.”

I felt my eyes drifting to the blood again and looked at the wall instead. “Yeah, well. You learn something new every day.”

“Hmm.” She kicked herself off the frame and sauntered towards me with long, deliberate steps. Her hips swayed, encased in her tight, black pants, guiding me to her stomach, the slightest suggestion of her breasts beneath her billowing blouse … I shook my head, getting angry with myself that I was even aware of her body. I shouldn’t have been. It made no sense that I was. Not after all the hatred I harbored for her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. She was right in front of me now, staring at me with eyes of liquid black, like the night, distilled into nefarious shadows. I stared right back at her, at those deep pools of black ink.

“Um …” I answered stupidly. She smelled like cinnamon, rust, fire, and motor oil.

“I have another gift for you,” she said, running a finger down my chest, lingering in spots of Jax’s blood and drawing circles in it. “I hope you like this one better.” Spreading her hand flat against me, she turned back to the door, softly calling, “Dulcie.”

My heart stopped, and she heard it, grinning. For another moment, the door was empty, and I stared blankly out at the cold hallway. I briefly thought Meg was fucking with me.

And then …

Dulcie. She was standing tall even though she was small. At first, she was hesitant, and her eyes were downcast as she entered the room.

“Yes, Mother?” she asked as she faced Meg.

I felt like I’d been sucker-punched in the gut. Mother? Fucking hell, what did she do to you? Everything about her was wrong. Her hair was curled, her eyes were the wrong shade of green, her wings weren’t out of her control, and she wasn’t telling anyone to go fuck themselves … She also wasn’t staring at Meg, or at me, in the face, or demanding to know what was going on. She was quiet, polite, docile. Broken. I stared at her, the long, blond hair, the lithe, pale frame in that stupid, fucking dress …

“Dulcie,” said Meg. “You remember Knight, don’t you, Princess?”

“Knight,” Dulcie echoed, with an unchanged expression as she glanced up at me. “I do.” Her eyes narrowed. “He murdered Father. Didn’t he?”

Meg allowed her smile to turn somber. “Yes, my darling. He did.” She turned back to me, toying with my shirt. Dragging her nail down the sleeves, she ripped them off, casually shredding it to ribbons until I was shirtless. My chest was still coated in sweat and blood.

Why aren’t I stopping her? I thought to myself, panic overtaking me. Why aren’t I pushing her away, or even trying to fight her?

My hand moved on its own, landing on her shoulder and squeezing the frozen flesh beneath. She touched it gently.

“Sebastian, do you enjoy him?” Meg asked Dulcie from over her shoulder. Meg’s eyes never left mine, and that odd smile continued to dance over her mouth.

Dulcie nodded, but she appeared confused. “I guess.” Turning to the side, she suddenly whispered something angrily. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop!”

“What was that?” Meg asked as she frowned and moved her gaze back to Dulcie. Now was my chance to throw her eyes away from me, but I didn’t. I just continued to stand there, immobilized. As if I were suddenly paralyzed.

“What does he lack, my dear?” Meg turned back and looked at me directly, as if in heated anticipation for Dulcie’s response.

“Technique,” Dulcie answered, and I felt a twinge of raw jealousy combined with doleful pain that nearly splintered me.

Meg nodded. “We can remedy that.” She turned to look at me, but my eyes were fastened on Dulcie. I was seeking the slightest glimmer of hope, some trace that could prove the real Dulcie was still inside there somewhere, and that this witch hadn’t completely conquered her soul.

Meg gripped me by the head and stared straight into my eyes. Her irises shifted, turning gold, grey, and silver until they finally faded back to abysmal black. And I just melted. Immediately, I felt my bones turning to fire and my lungs frosting over, every part of me was instantly and ravenously hungry for …

For her. With a hazy realization, the barest scrapings of consciousness in a bad dream, I tried to step back, but my body refused to move. My feet weren’t obeying me, they couldn’t run and I couldn’t scream or do anything that might have gotten me away from her before …

Meg pressed her lips onto my throat. A hot stream of blood spurted between her teeth as she nipped my skin, tasting it, testing me. I reached up to touch the blood, grabbing her by the hair and wrenching her head back, using everything I had to drag her off me—

But I released my hand a second or so later. She was so soft, so shiny, so perfectly black … I caressed her. I ran my fingers through her hair, I smelled it. I kissed the top of her head, and I dragged her up to kiss her cheek, her lips, and her throat.

What the fuck am I doing! I railed at myself. But I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t directing my own body and there was nothing I could do to resist Meg’s obscene glamour—it was a power I’d never witnessed in another creature before.

Meg pulled back, gasping. “Take notes, darling,” she said to Dulcie. “Sebastian is going to need them.”

“N … no!” I protested, barely loud enough for me to hear. Meg looked at me, biting her lip, and blinking slowly. She ran her nails down the side of my face, drawing more blood, and leaned in to lap it up like a fucking dog.

Don’t let her do this, I thought, but that part of me was quickly morphing into another voice, a different person, someone who couldn’t possibly understand how good this actually felt …

Dulcie’s head tilted left and she squinted, almost like she was trying to close her eyes but couldn’t quite do it. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her expression couldn’t explain them. Her face was curious, but her eyes were broken and empty, if that were possible.

“I won’t be your fucking puppet,” I spat out at Meg in a scathing tone. While trying to drag myself away from her influence, I could barely manage a whisper. More like a whine, the numbed moanings of a ghost: wordless and desperate.

Meg laughed as she pushed me onto the bed, in a long and haunting sound. “You already are.”

TEN

Sam

For the record, I didn’t like relying on a demon either.

“His name is Dagan, and you’ll probably want to shoot him,” I said. “I can’t stress enough how important it is that you don’t.” Demons didn’t like being shot, especially by humans.

“Okay,” Casey said slowly. “What exactly are we in for?”

We stood in the back parking lot of a squat, black building with a single neon red sign over its door that read: Pain. The “Painful Pleasure Park,” as its owner liked to call it, was sandwiched between an empty lot full of thrumming cicadas and another empty lot covered in busted concrete.

“A sadistic, narcissistic, and outrageously unhelpful demon with an ego the size of Texas,” I said. Dagan made Bram look like a saint. “Tread carefully. He really likes hurting people. It’s … kind of his thing.”

“He hurts you and he’s dead,” Casey said with authority as he stared at me, his expression warning me not to argue with him. Not that I intended to. Not at all! My heart was in the midst of releasing butterflies and rainbows and I struggled to keep the smile off my lips. There was something about a protective man.

“He won’t hurt me,” I said, although I didn’t fully believe my own words. “Dulcie and I have worked with Dagan a few times in the past. He knows it’s best to keep on my good side so I don’t bust his ass for whatever goes on behind those closed doors.”

“He’s not stupid. He must realize the ANC is in trouble,” Casey pointed out.

Yeah, good point, but I reserved comment and just shrugged. I faced the bigger problem. “The other thing is that I should … probably go in alone.”

“Alone?” Casey barked at me. “There’s no way!” His expression told me he thought it was a stupid idea, end of story.

“It’s going to be hard enough to get Dagan to talk to me,” I started. “But if I’ve got a crew of human agents with me, he’s going to laugh in all of our faces.” Not pretty, but it was the truth. “I’m less than convinced that he’ll be willing to help me as it is.” Demons weren’t exactly forthcoming in general as a species. And this one, in particular, loved beating around the bush and speaking in riddles.

I thought there might be an innuendo in there somewhere, but decided it was probably best not to worry about it.

“I don’t want you going in alone,” Casey insisted.

“I’ll go with you.” Rowena stepped forward, her arms crossed, the magic in her skin making her restless. She was fighting the urge to tap her foot, drumming her fingers against her arm. Still as stone, tidal waves of energy were pulsing inside of her, begging her to be reckless.

“Okay,” I said. She could handle herself. Yeah, Dagan was a demon, but Rowena was a hell of a lot scarier. Whatever she was.

“Be careful,” said Casey, frowning at both of us, but looking relieved that I wasn’t going in alone. “Don’t be a hero.”

I snorted. It was a bit late to try to be anything else. Casey scowled at me and I waved him off.

“We’ll be careful,” I said. “Promise.”

Rowena and I stepped up to the illustrious side door, an average-looking thing of red metal with a neon sign blinking benignly above it. I focused on its incessant buzz, inhaling until my lungs began to hurt. I was a hundred yards out of my element. Interrogation was always Dulcie’s game, never mine. My time in the field was limited, almost nonexistent. My work involved books, spell theory and arcana craft, magic and chemistry. Not this. Not guns and demons and sex clubs in the middle of the freaking night.

But Dulcie wasn’t here and I was. And like it or not, I had to interview a demon.

This is going to go sideways fast, I thought as I shouldered the door open.

Pain wasn’t a very pretty place. Plush black carpet, which must have been new because it lacked the stains of the trade, and there were brand new leather benches in front of every door. Two on either side were ready for a busy night, when Dagan’s patrons would patiently have to wait their turn. The walls were a deep, unsettling red, the kind that turns orange if you blink too much, and adorned with detailed charcoal renderings of naked people doing some Grade-A nasties. All of them were women, arching their backs, eyes half-closed, mouths gaping open, bleeding from one wound or other, bruised and squished and bitten. One of them had sharp, metal clamps attached to her nipples and her, um …

Four black marble doors, two on either side of the hallway, led to various “pleasure chambers” that were well supplied with unpleasant toys. Moans and raucous laughter escaped from beneath them, muffled and clear all at once, not to mention the screaming, so much screaming. But I guessed that was the point of this torture palace.

Dagan’s office was located at the end of the hallway, a door just as black and unforgiving as the rest of them—but this one was slightly ajar. The sounds coming from within were more than a little disturbing. Moans, sure, but so many of them, a hive mind with a thousand mouths groaning. And a metallic clinking, something that sounded like chains. And definitely turned out to be chains.

Rowena and I looked at each other and I shrugged. She stepped forward and pushed open the door with one hand, peering inside. She didn’t appear nervous, not in the least. I wished I could say the same for myself.

Then she stiffened. “Oh,” she said. “That’s interesting.” She looked back at me with a dubious expression. “After you?”

She pushed the door all the way open and we stepped inside. I nearly collapsed, my face turning into a grimace as I examined the shadows writhing on the ground. “Interesting” wasn’t the word I would have chosen for what was going on in front of us.

What did we have here? Dagan, naked, in a pile of other people, who were also all naked. Stiff dicks and flopping boobs and lots of blood and gags as well as a plethora of other unnamable toys, the room fairly vibrated with their moans. They made the ground, as well as each other, tremble, like the building itself were achieving an orgasm.

“Um …” I cleared my throat, still trying to comprehend that I was standing there, in Dagan’s club, and watching him have sex with a lot of people at once. “Dagan?”

Dagan’s head appeared from under the legs of a dark-skinned shapeshifter. His tongue lolling, he was smiling with the drunken euphoria of an addict savoring his last fix. The woman glared at me.

“Samantha,” he said, visibly surprised but not exactly displeased to see me. “I hadn’t thought I’d see you again.”

Dagan had dark hair and his skin was pale as the dead. He was ripped to high hell, fire and brimstone flowing through his veins like hot water, along with an excess of whatever chemical makes you insatiably horny. He was a direct source of the crooked, dealing mostly in pain and sex. None of his actions were inherently illegal, but his establishment attracted a less than reputable crowd. Bad guys came through here all the time seeking angry, cathartic sex. When Dagan felt charitable, he told us where they were, and what they were up to, and which dominatrixes they preferred. His smile was disarming in a rather sociopathic, I-promise-I’m-not-going-to-kill-you sort of way. He had the look of a man who always kept a gun in his pocket and a dick as hard as frozen lead. He was a piece of work, to say the very least, but also useful. Sometimes.

However, he was utterly incapable of controlling himself. “Care to join us?” he asked, his tongue snaking out over his lips. I wanted to bend over and hurl right there.

“Absolutely not,” I said, my mouth dropping open with disgust at the very thought.

“Pity,” he said with little interest. “What about your friend?”

Rowena didn’t dignify him with a response. The air turned thin as the magic in her skin crackled and burnt. Maybe her body was requesting permission to turn Dagan into a pile of smoking bones. She took a deep breath and grew calm a moment later.

“We need your help,” I said to Dagan, trying to sound wearily irritable. Dulcie always said that’s what worked best with him—being as bitchy as possible, especially if you were asking for a favor. My voice trembled under my tongue, which I hoped to hell sounded like thinly veiled rage.

“Ah,” Dagan said, gyrating against the backside of a young elf. “This is about your demolished workplace, I assume?”

Well, yeah. I guessed it was probably all over the news by now, but it still unnerved me that he knew. “It’s mostly about Dulcie,” I managed, looking at the wall. Red wooden panels were hung with pictures and permits, along with Dagan’s favorite “marital aids”: iron clamps, vibrators, ball gags, and knives, some of which still had the last victims’ blood on them…

“Dulcie? Very well,” Dagan responded, sinking his teeth into the shapeshifter’s leg. “Though I’m not sure how you think I can help you. I may be many things, but a necromancer isn’t one of them.” Dagan dragged his tongue across the shapeshifter’s wound, lapping up the blood like a thirsty dog—and in a manner of speaking, he was. I tried not to gag.

“Dulcie isn’t dead,” I said.

Blood leaked out around Dagan’s lips, pouring down onto the woman’s skin in thick, black tendrils. She moaned. So did everybody else, but presumably for different reasons. Hopefully, they hadn’t melded their minds for this—a shared consciousness would increase their … ugh, ecstasy, for lack of a less disgusting word, tenfold, but it would also entangle their memories. The longer they stayed under, the harder it would become to disentangle themselves. Physically and mentally, but mostly physically, they tied themselves together with chains and ropes as well as something that looked like strawberry licorice. The ligations were at their ankles, their wrists, their throats, and their testicles …

“Sam,” Rowena whispered, and I realized I was gawking before I swallowed and coughed.

“Dulcie is missing and I need you to help me find her,” I announced.

“How would I manage that?” he demanded, a smile appearing out of nowhere. “And, moreover, why the hell would I want to? Dulcie going missing makes my life infinitely easier. What a breath of fresh air it would be not to have her poking her little nose in here whenever she damn well pleases.”

It took a solid ten seconds for me to suppress the urge to set him on fire. When it passed, I pushed my hair back, exposing the silvery-red burns. The magic they radiated was dull, like the glow of a candle through tempered glass, but Dagan could sense it. He quirked an eyebrow at it and for a moment said nothing before he thrust his tongue into someone I couldn’t see.

“This is the answer to how you’re going to find her?” I snapped. “As to your reasons why you don’t want to—please spare me; I’m not interested.”

He frowned. “Not Dulcie’s typical fingerprint, is it?” He pulled back from his partner, or was it a victim? I didn’t know what to call her, but he pulled back just long enough to look at me with visible derision. Someone draped her legs over his neck and tried to drag him under the twisting mass of flesh and sweat again. He bit hard into her calf and she withdrew.

“No. Dulcie is currently under the management of someone or something else,” I said, unsure of how much I could admit to Dagan. Maybe I’d already told him too much. “Regardless, I need to find her.”

“And why would you want to do that? I was under the impression she was trying to kill you.”

“How did you know that?” I demanded, eyeing him warily.

He chuckled at me. “How would I not know that, Sam?” he demanded. “The whole city seems to be on fire, and Dulcie is rather well known around here. You know what they say about bad news.”

“It travels fast,” Rowena responded, just in case I didn’t know what they said about bad news.

“Madam White?” Dagan asked, pulling my attention back to him, albeit uncomfortably.

“What?” I replied before I realized Dagan was addressing my boobs. I crossed my arms and snapped my fingers, and a shock of blue lightning struck him from behind. It traveled straight through him and into his naked friends before they all moaned in chorus.

“Ooh,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Do that again!”

Can’t say I wasn’t tempted, but we didn’t have time for fun. “Dagan, I need your help,” I insisted. “Help me find Dulcie.”

Dagan’s mouth curved up. His friends looked at me, reaching toward me with hands and claws and pincers. “If you would just come a touch closer …” He raked me up and down with eyes of molten red, rubies glowing with unmasked desire. My skin tingled and turned warm, the vague sensation of an unholy creature offering a suspicious bargain.

Unfortunately, I had to do Dagan’s bidding. The only way he would be able to locate Dulcie was by touching the magical print she left on me—the red scars that still burned my skin. I took a step toward him and he touched me, but not where he was supposed to—not on Dulcie’s mark. Instead, he touched the inside of my wrist and I was suddenly overcome with a bolt of lightning that ricocheted through me, leaving a streak of blistering pain in its wake.

I pulled away from him instantly, gnashing my teeth as I caught his smug smirk, which only fueled my anger all the more.

No more Ms. Nice Witch.

I didn’t even have to move. I just looked at him and commanded my power. In response, Dagan erupted into brilliant blue flames, colder than a glacier, obscuring his chest and face, drawing the stone-black blood of his kind. His naked friends scattered and moaned, half of them rolling away, the other half dragging themselves closer to the burning Dagan. Some were begging to share his fire, shrieking with pleasure as their skin melted, blackened and froze. Rowena took a cautious step back, but she didn’t seem especially perturbed.

I let the combustion die after twenty full seconds of blood-curdling screams. It was the most satisfying sound I’d ever heard. A part of me was worried by that. The other part was having a lot of fun setting Dagan on fire.

The blaze died, the smoke cleared, and Dagan sat before me, a smoldering wreck. His skin had gone grey, fire-forged muscles tightened with burning ice. The cold surrounded him, pressing against him like a strangling hand, squeezing, and slowly letting go. His breath frosted in the air.

There was a long, tense silence. The only sound was Dagan’s breathing, ragged and, of all things, terrified, but still, he hesitated.

“The ANC is gone,” I said as I crossed my arms against my chest and tapped my toes. “Dulcie is missing. And I don’t. Have. Time. For. This.”

“No ANC?” Dagan whistled before he smiled broadly. “What on earth will become of me, then, when I refuse to help you?”

“I’ll cut your dick off and fry the pleasure centers in your brain,” I threatened. I didn’t realize how brilliant my response was until I saw the blood drain from Dagan’s face.

All right, castration it is, I thought.

Dagan smiled, trying his damnedest not to look concerned. I narrowed my eyes and imagined his little friend bulging, pulsating, before starting to burn. He twitched under my gaze, fighting the urge to writhe—part of him was enjoying it, but another part of his carnal brain knew the pain meant I had him where I wanted him. I could have given him the clap if I really wanted to, using only a lock of his hair and a drop of his blood. And there were plenty of both in this godforsaken place.

“Find Dulcie,” I said. “Now.”

“Of course.” Dagan stood slowly, deliberately, fondling his friends as he stood up just to act like my threats didn’t concern him that much. But I knew better.

“Be quick,” I said, and he nodded. He was shaking. I’d never seen him so scared before. It was deliciously satisfying on some primitive, angry level, but mostly just weird. I almost felt like telling him that’s what he got when he messed with witches who were out of time.

He laid his hand on a patch of my scarred skin and closed his eyes. My skin turned cold, then hot, then cold again as he siphoned the last of the magic out of me, filling his eyes with it, and casting out his awareness into the world like a lure. I saw everything he did—the light and silver shadows that bound the world together, the webs of dimensions that linked the Netherworld to the Earth like a baby to its mother. The footprints of powerful magic pressed into the ground.

He didn’t have to say anything. When he found her, I knew.

Dagan pulled his hand back slowly, running his fingers through my hair as he did. If he were anyone else, the gesture might have been tender—but it was Dagan, so it just felt dirty.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

I couldn’t help myself. “With you? Never.”

Dagan twitched at hearing that, but his sleazy grin didn’t falter. “We’ll be here for a while,” he said softly. “If you decide to return.”

“When hell freezes over,” I answered.

I made some disgusted noise in the back of my throat and stalked out the door. Rowena followed, closing the door behind us. I could already hear the grunts and moans and shrieks of the resuming orgy, daring to be as loud and obnoxious as possible.

“You sure you don’t want to kill him?” Rowena asked with a little shrug.

I stopped walking. She said it with all the calm of a friend asking where I’d like to go for breakfast, or what my favorite color was. I shot her a “what the hell is wrong with you?” look, and she just blinked at me, totally chill with the idea of an impromptu, why-the-fuck-not? murder.

“You … you’re in the FBI, aren’t you?” I asked slowly. Not that I was entertaining the idea of killing Dagan (no more than I usually did).

Rowena shrugged. “Sometimes.” The magic in her skin trembled, condensed, and coalesced into a glowing, green sheen in the back of her eye. Her expression didn’t change, but something inside her pulled back, her shields dropping to expose what lay beneath—the burning heart of chaotic good, the lawmaker with a hundred broken bones, maybe a little too willing to cross the line. In the twisting fires, I could almost see the creature that burnt her, a towering skeleton of ivory and black, bleeding from everywhere. It was a rather disturbing sight.

“We’ve got time,” she said, shrugging.

“Um … I think I’m okay,” I said, all the while wondering what the hell she was. “Maybe later.”

Rowena’s magic dulled and her gates closed as the visions abated before she nodded as though nothing had happened. “Okay. Just let me know if you change your mind. The world would be a better place with one less demon in it.”

“Uh-huh,” I answered, swallowing hard.

***

Casey and company were waiting for us in the lot, leaning against the hood of Casey’s stark black SUV and doing their best to appear impatient. They were the pinnacle of ragtag spies, half-lit by Dagan’s cheap neon sign. The only thing to break the illusion was Kent, sitting cross-legged on top of the car, carving a tiny stick into a spear with a switchblade. The car was what really cemented the cliché, but I didn’t care to point that out.

“What happened in there?” Casey asked, walking up to me as soon as he saw us. There was a twitchy energy about him, like he was a coffee cup away from bursting into flames. Poor guy was pale as snow. I figured he must’ve heard the screaming.

“An orgy,” I said. “It’s over now.”

Casey looked me up and down, grimacing, color flooding his cheeks. “Oh. Um … did you—”

I made a vague, revolted grunt, cutting him off. “No!” I said, the mere thought of it making me gag. “I can’t believe you would even ask me that!”

Kent giggled from his perch on the car. “So, ah. How’d it go?”

Marcus blew smoke and smiled. “The interrogation or the orgy?”

“The interrogation,” Kent answered in his thick, Scottish brogue. “Ah can guess how the orgy went.” He chuckled.

Casey groaned, pinching his nose. “What happened?” he asked me.

Rowena shrugged. “Well, no one’s dead.” Maybe it was my imagination, but she almost sounded disappointed.

“Dagan found Dulcie,” I said. “She’s in the Netherworld.” That sucked because it meant my magic—along with Rowena’s and Casey’s, now that I thought about it—wouldn’t work when we met the big, bad Darkness. It also meant Dulcie couldn’t blast us into fiery oblivion, so, you know, pros and cons to every situation.

Marcus quirked his brow, taking a long drag from a fresh cigar. “Netherworld. Unpleasant place,” he said, as though I didn’t already know.

“Yeah,” I responded, thinking of all the unfriendly monsters Melchior bred to convince the Netherworldians they needed his protection—monsters that were most likely enjoying an absurd amount of freedom with the fall of the ANC. My stomach twisted. Hades, it probably looked like a war zone over there. “No kidding.”

“Okaaay,” Judy said, crossing her arms. She was wearing yoga pants and a blue tank top, and for a fraction of a second, looking a hell of a lot like Dulcie. “So, how we planning on getting there?”

“We could dig our way,” Kent offered, squinting at his stick.

“Or,” Judy said, “we could go the old-fashioned way.”

“Are you perhaps referring to one of the many ANC portals that no longer exist?” Marcus asked, smirking in his own shadows.

“Well, no,” said Judy as she grinned.

Casey frowned. “Judy, no.”

“I know, it’s the worst plan, but—”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Casey said.

“I’m sorry, Casey, but do you have a better idea?”

“Judy …”

“Come on, all we have to do is ask nicely. You can do that, can’t you?”

I stepped between them, confused as to what the hell was going on. “What are we talking about, exactly?”

“Not something we’re going to do,” Casey said, looking over me at Judy.

Judy looked past me, smiling smugly at Casey. She crossed her arms. “I’m calling her.”

“No, you’re not.”

Judy pulled out her phone. “Watch me.” She dialed and put it to her ear.

I turned to Casey. “Who’s she calling?”

Casey pushed his lips together and closed his eyes, exhaling long and loud through his nose.

Someone answered Judy with a high-pitched hello.

“Margaret? Hi!” Judy said, barely keeping her laughter to herself. “It’s Judy! I know, it’s been a while. Listen, can you do us a huge favor?”

“Casey?” I asked as I turned to the person in question, wondering what the hell was going on. “Who’s Margaret?”

He opened his eyes and groaned. “My mother.”

ELEVEN

Dulcie

Don’t look, the voice inside my head insisted. The source of the voice wasn’t a wayward sprite who’d crawled into my ear either. After multiple magical attempts to clear the sprite from my mind, I had to face the fact that the voice wasn’t anything palpable that I could forcibly remove. I had no explanation for why it was there or who it belonged to. It just was. And at this moment, witnessing Mother having sex with the man who killed Father, the voice inside my head was terrified. Don’t you fucking look!

But I had to. I couldn’t look anywhere else or pry my eyes away from them. Mother was on top of him, moving back and forth, her body rippling. His clothing was in shreds on the floor, torn and soaked in fresh blood. His hands scrabbled over her slick, cold body, a drunken rock climber trying to find purchase on the face of a sheer, marble cliff. The bed held fast beneath them, metal and wood straining against Mother’s desperate energy. The man looked up and sideways, then at the ceiling, or the covers, or the wall, or the window, anywhere but at her. He trembled and tensed with her movement, begging her to continue, but his eyes were hollow, deep pools of liquid black.

They shouldn’t be black! the voice railed. They’re blue, Knight’s eyes are blue! What the hell is she doing to him?

Having sex, I thought irritably, now fully aware that I had a stubborn tenant inside my head who wouldn’t move out and, apparently, there was nothing I could do about it.

As I watched them, a sinking feeling rose within my stomach, making me feel as if I might retch up my last meal right there on the floor. But I didn’t. Instead, I pondered what Mother had been talking about when she said this idiot could teach Sebastian a thing or two. As far as I could tell, this man was fighting Mother at every turn. She seemed to be enjoying it, but it appeared so chaotic to me. He pushed himself into her with a petrified look on his face, like rigor mortis, the expression of an animal dead from fear. Even Mother had more urgency to her movements than he did.

Stop them!

“Shut up,” I whispered as I clenched my eyes shut and shook my head.

“Are you watching, Dulcie?” Mother demanded, her voice hoarse and thick with desire.

“Yes, Mother,” I said, blinking my eyes back open. The words came out as croaks. I cleared my throat and said louder, “Yes. I’m watching.” I cleared my throat again. “I don’t understand what you think this man could teach Sebastian.”

“It is all about passion,” she answered. “Tell Sebastian to be more deliberate. Like this.” She pulled herself back and slowly drew herself across the man, moaning, arching her back violently.

“Ah,” I said. “All right.” I couldn’t imagine Sebastian doing that correctly, but it was worth a shot.

The hell it is! the voice yelled back at me, nearly in tears. Stop him! Stop her! Fucking kill her!

No!

You fucking bitch, don’t you remember anything? Don’t you remember who you are? Or who Knight is?

My head pulsated and throbbed as an image materialized in my mind: me and this man, this murderous stranger, tangled up together between stark white sheets.

Remember that?

I fell back a step, horrified. Why would I have ever had sex with him, the man who killed Melchior?

Melchior. No, not Melchior, my father.

Knight didn’t kill him, the voice replied. Knight wasn’t even in the fucking room!

Shut up, shut up and pay attention, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut, opening them when I started to see spots behind my eyelids. Mother wants you to watch this and you better not dare upset her.

Fuck her! Make them stop!

Mother’s hands were on the wall now, lacing it with long, deep gouges, ripping away the paint with reckless abandon. The bed creaked and moaned beneath them, straining with their excessive momentum. The man, Knight, the black eyes that should have been blue, moved with the robotic jolts of a man half-asleep. He was bleeding from a hundred different places, desperately enjoying every tenth second of it. Mother’s moans came faster, faster, faster. Knight began to grunt, scream, and growl, making an eerie, primal noise that might’ve been anything, but it sounded mostly like pain.

No! the voice cried, panicked. Knight, what are you doing, what are you doing? Her voice rose to a fever pitch, growing panicked, no, terrified. No, no! No! Knight, please don’t do this, please! Now she was sobbing, screaming, throwing herself at invisible walls and making my forehead pulsate. I felt her tears in my eyes, bubbling down onto my face, landing on my throat. My entire body ached with a pain I’d never felt before.

And then it was over. The room exploded with screams of ecstasy and Mother burst violently backwards, her mouth open, staring at the ceiling. They both stiffened, and Mother fell away, breathing evenly, while Knight lay in the bed, panting, twitching as though he couldn’t control his own body.

He can’t, the voice said, but I wasn’t listening. I was staring at Mother, now all cool and collected, unimpressed by her own raucous display. She slowly put on her pants, blouse, and jacket, buttoning it up as she said to me, “There. Try that on Sebastian sometime.” She smiled acidly and threw a look over her shoulder at the writhing Knight. He managed to turn himself over and was now staring at the wall, digging his own nails into his arms.

Mother straightened her blouse, checked her reflection in the window and strode out, stopping at the door. When she passed me, she smiled and petted my head like I was her loyal lapdog.

I hate her, I thought, and this time, I wasn’t sure if it were my own voice speaking to me.

She stepped out and closed the door. The wards wove themselves back together, a glittering lattice of burning red. The room went quiet and I was suddenly very aware of the blood. I turned to face the bed. The man, Knight, was on his back now, with his eyes shut tightly. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

He grabbed his hair and shrank into himself. For a moment, I thought he might scream.

I heard myself saying, “Are you all right?”

What the fuck do you think? the voice growled.

Knight dropped his hands and turned around to face me. His eyes were no longer black, but the most beautiful shade of blue I’d ever seen. He lifted his eyes to mine for a split second before he dropped them again, looking helpless and angry. He pushed himself up, his eyes milky, distant, and horrified. I couldn’t help but notice that he was remarkably well endowed—he put Sebastian to shame and then some. It seemed almost excessive.

“I … I couldn’t …” Knight balled up his fist and slammed it into the wall, breaking the plaster and burning his knuckles on the wards. “I didn’t … I didn’t fucking stop her! What the fuck!?” When he turned to face me, he shook his head after releasing a drawn-out breath. “And you saw the whole fucking thing.”

“Mother wanted to teach me something,” I responded simply.

With a growl, he was suddenly right in front of me. His eyes were angry and his hands formed fists around each of my upper arms. “Goddamit, Dulcie, that creature isn’t your fucking mother!” He shook me slightly, tears burning his eyes until he furiously blinked and they rolled down his face. “I know you’re stronger than this,” he said in a softer voice. He dropped his hands from my arms but continued to hold me hostage with his eyes. “I know you can break whatever fucking spell she has you under.”

His eyes were awash with something I might have called concern in someone else. He looked a bit like Sebastian, dark hair and tall, but where Sebastian was thin and elegant, this man was carved from stone. Muscles taut with tension, a perfectly defined jaw, and eyes like ice. He emanated raw power.

“I’m not under any spell,” I responded coolly. It occurred to me then that I should probably turn around and leave, but I didn’t do anything. It was bizarre, but it felt like my feet wouldn’t budge.

He smiled sadly at me as he shook his head. “Maybe it’s better this way,” he said finally. “Maybe you’ll never be the same again.” He said the words as if he wanted to believe them, but there was something in his face that rejected the thought. “If this is who you are now, I’d rather you not know the truth about what just happened,” he continued.

The other woman inside me burned me with her anger. “I do know the truth,” I heard the words leave my mouth. “And I’ll never forget it.”

The man jerked his attention away from his hands and back to my face. “Dulcie?” he said softly. “I’m so sorry. I … I don’t know what happened, I just couldn’t … my body, it wouldn’t, nothing was working, I couldn’t stop it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry …”

“Sorry,” I repeated, growing confused as I shook my head. “You did as Mother bid you,” I answered frankly. I wasn’t sure why, but this man’s sorrow was unsettling to me. He needed to understand that there was nothing he could have done to stop her. What Mother wanted, Mother got. “Mother’s power far exceeds your own.” He immediately began nodding, as if he couldn’t argue that. “There is nothing you could have done to stop her, so there is no point in continuing to lambaste yourself.”

He didn’t say anything right away but just stood there looking at me. It was like he was searching my eyes for something behind them. Or someone.

“Dulcie?” he said my name, and it caused a soft breeze to awaken within me, something that brought a wave of tranquility with it. “Do you know me? At all?”

You killed my father, I thought, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud.

Of course you know him! the voice yelled at me. You love him and he loves you!

“That’s ludicrous!” I said out loud, affronted. The man’s expression fell immediately. I supposed he figured I was speaking to him. Not that it mattered.

“Where’s Bram?” he demanded, his voice souring.

Bram. Bram. I knew the name, but from where? Another life, another world. A relic from the time before Mother. Whoever this Bram was, he couldn’t have been important. “I don’t know any Bram,” I said.

“Yes,” the man insisted, walking towards me again. “Yes, you do.” He grabbed my arm, digging his fingers into my skin. “You know him and you know me.”

I looked down at his hand. His touch was warm and soft. I could feel the pleading in his eyes, a palpable need for something he couldn’t bring himself to ask for. He seemed on the verge of tears. Heavy, fat tears, the kind you shed when you’ve lost something very dear to you. I couldn’t imagine what that might have been.

“You know me,” he said, his voice growing more quiet, less than a whisper, and trembling.

I stepped back. “No,” I said. “I don’t.” But my heart was pounding and I couldn’t deny the truth I glimpsed in his eyes.

Yes, you do, the voice whispered. I could feel her rage building, throwing herself against my skull until my head was throbbing.

Stop it, I thought, trying to force her back, but she wouldn’t relent.

You know him, she said, you know him!

“No,” I said.

The man stepped forward. “Dulcie?”

You love him, you stupid idiot! the incessant voice ground out.

“No!” I shouted, placing my hands at my ears, trying to drown her out. I screamed, a wordless vibration, and fell back into the wall. The fiery wards burned my skin, but I didn’t move; I couldn’t. I curled into myself, squeezing my eyes shut until I saw stars. Mother wouldn’t lie to me, I thought back at that horrible, awful voice that continued to vex me. Mother never lies. This man is evil! He killed my father! If Mother says he’s evil, he must be!

You killed your father, the voice responded in an unconcerned, almost bored tone. Knight had nothing to do with it. You know Knight isn’t evil! He’s the only man you’ve ever truly loved.

I refuse to believe anymore lies! I railed back at her. You will not convince me that I know this man or that he is anything but a murderer!

A vision filled my head then. Sharp and disjointed, the panicked recall of someone out of their mind. Sheets and sweat and hands against walls, moans and trembling limbs, corded muscles pressed against me. This man, this monster, was going in and out of me with long, deliberate strokes. Staring at me, practically unblinking, drinking in my features as though he’d never see me again.

Suddenly needing air, I threw myself from the room. I could hear the man calling after me, but I didn’t respond. I slammed the door shut behind me and leaned against the wall outside, panting. The wards did a nice job of burning me, but they must have recognized me all the same because they released me. As I glanced down at my burned flesh, the wounds immediately began healing themselves until there was nothing left but porcelain, flawless skin.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and nearly jumped with alarm. I looked up to find Antoine, smiling down at me, offering me a cup of tea. “My apologies,” he said, “I should have announced my approach.” He took a few seconds to study me. “Are you unwell?”

I took the tea from him and drank deeply. “No. I’m fine.” Why am I lying to him? I opened my mouth to correct myself, but nothing came out.

Antoine nodded. “Very good. Shall I tell your mother you will not return to the gathering? You seem a bit … flustered.”

“Yes, please tell Mother I’m not feeling very well,” I said and smiled at him with gratitude. He patted me on the back and walked away, whistling.

When he was gone, I dropped the cup and ran. It shattered behind me, a sound I felt all the way to my bones, freezing my marrow. I wanted to get to my room, to dead bolt myself inside and scream until my throat was raw. I wanted to tear out my hair and set something on fire.

I ran straight into a tall silhouette, standing coolly in the center of the hallway. “Ah,” he said. “Where are you off to, little one?”

“I … I …” Ezra was staring at me with those curious iron eyes, one brow quirked by the question he wasn’t asking. “I don’t know.” The tears were flowing harder now, blurring my vision, but I refused to let them fall in front of him. I felt foolish showing any weakness in front of a creature who certainly wouldn’t respect it. But I couldn’t help myself.

Ezra took my hand and squeezed it. “Perhaps, Dulcie, I may be of some assistance?” he gave me a look pregnant with meaning, but I couldn’t parse it out. He was smiling, not leering, but he wanted something; what was it?

“Please excuse me,” I stammered, darting past him, fighting the urge to dematerialize to the comfort and seclusion of my bedroom. Instead, I ran the length of the hallway until I reached my door. When I opened it, Sebastian was inside, sitting on my bed, waiting for me.

I burst in and threw myself into his arms, now sobbing uncontrollably. I gasped and heaved and choked, my lips stretching, my heart tearing, and my stomach eating away at itself. I dug my nails into his arm and into mine, more than longing to die at that moment.

“Sweet princess,” he said. “What on earth happened to you?” He stroked my hair and held me close, shushing me.

I shook my head, burying my face in his shirt. “I don’t know!” My mouth opened in a silent scream.

“Shhh,” Sebastian soothed me. “You’re safe now, Princess.”

The other woman inside me laughed. The only person who will keep you safe is Knight.

Shut your fucking mouth! I thought back at her furiously.

“Darling,” said Sebastian. “Look at me.” He kissed me. I kissed him, and then … We were naked and hiding, trying not to think. I let him bury himself inside me again and again and again, grabbing me, squeezing and pulling like a child until I was bruised, but the voice wouldn’t go away. It tore my mind to pieces, filling me with memories I couldn’t bear to watch. Beds and sheets and blood, a dark dungeon and strong arms grasping my shoulders, night clubs and dark hair, blue eyes that always kept their promises.

“Mother?” I said, trying to scream, but my voice wouldn’t work. A dog, a woman, a witch, a friend. A building with white walls and a motorcycle, a blanket on a cliff, hands on my wrists, holding me down, delighting me with orgasm after orgasm … “Mother.”

Stop calling her that. Your mother is dead!

An army, a portal. A library. A gun in my hand. Smiling at the vampire on the brink, victorious. A bullet buried in Melchior’s body. A sting in my back when my father rose, just enough breath in him to pull the trigger and kill me.

TWELVE

Knight

I stood there for a long time, staring at nothing, alone in my fucking prison, naked and burnt and cold. Bleeding from the pricks in my neck, my stomach, and my arms, I felt numb from the inside out.

What the fuck just happened? I thought. Over and over and over again, I was unable to think of anything else. How could I do what I’d just done? And in front of …

I couldn’t finish the thought. The image of it ran through my mind again, set on permanent replay, an infinite loop of fire and ecstasy laced with the lightning jolt of fear. Cold skin and dark hair and … and Dulcie … just standing there. Watching passively.

And then I wasn’t alone anymore.

“What the fuck do you want?” I spat at the shadow I spotted in the corner of the room. The air in front of me turned hazy white, and the foggy silhouette of a man began to form. He appeared to be in his fifties, judging by the grey in his hair, eyebrows, and beard. Although he was older, he appeared quite fierce—as powerful and strong as any representation of Neptune or Zeus. His presence was large and imposing. He was built exactly as I.

That was quite a display, his voice quivered, sounding as if he were underwater.

“Display?” I swallowed the urge to scream and pounce on him. Not that it would have done any good—he was transparent, merely a spirit. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

It was not a conflict that concerned me.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I never kid. He waved his hand, and there was a hiss in the walls like something breathing.

“What was that?” I asked.

The wards are gone, the spirit responded. You are free to go now.

“You couldn’t have done that ten fucking minutes ago?” I asked, forcing my voice to remain at a stage whisper.

No, he answered, but he started explaining once my brows rose in question. Meg would have noticed you were missing and raised the alarm. She is not alone in this house—and clearly, you are no match for her, let alone her companions. Even as he was speaking, his form continued solidifying, his words coming faster. It was gradual, but the fog of his being was still condensing into something that almost looked real.

“Whatever,” I said. “Thanks for nothing.” I started heading for the door.

Stop! he commanded.

And I stopped. Frozen like stone, I couldn’t move for the better part of ten seconds. Not paralyzed, exactly, but compelled. As though whatever he was about to say was the most important thing I could possibly hear.

I summon you by your honor and your charge, by the fires that bore you and the darkness that fed you, by your ancestors and the sacred duty they upheld—

“What the hell are you talking about?” I spat out at him, still motionless. “Summon me?”

I am formally calling you to fulfill your purpose.

“My purpose is to get the hell out of here and save Dulcie,” I responded icily.

No, it is not.

“Yes, it is,” I insisted.

He shook his head. No. Lifting his hand, his fingers slowly curled into a fist. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being defied.

“What are you?” and then I felt it. A searing heat in a hollow behind my heart, burning fingers wrapping themselves around my bones, scalding my organs, calling on its sister powers that still lived inside me. I swallowed hard, blinking, my mind filled with visions of magma and black water as a large, square hand reached out through the murkiness to pull me from the kiln …

Creation, the ghostly voice ricocheted through the room, or maybe it was only in my head. The Loki, the legion created in my image to defend the Netherworld.

No, that can’t be real, I thought. You’re nothing more than a hallucination. I’ve lost too much blood, and been through too much.

Listen! He was growing more delineated, more concrete, as the seconds sped on—becoming less transparent and more opaque until it was difficult to see through him. What you witnessed is the original, the very first Loki. Your ancestor.

I immediately shook my head but none of it made any sense. Or rang true. It can’t be.

Yes, the spirit insisted. It is all true.

I gazed in awe as the images of the first Loki being born from the fires of Hades continued to rampage in my head. The first Loki—born generations before me, my historic and ancient relative by many times over, my oldest grandfather. Hewn from hard steel and liquid starlight, fire flowed through his veins, and boiling magma occupied the mere shadow of his heart. A warrior of the oldest order, one of hundreds, forged in the fires of …

I blinked at the apparition. Runes of fire scarred his face and arms, curling into the backs of his eyes, spiraling off into deep, dark nothing.

“Hades?” I whispered, dumbfounded.

Took you long enough, he said, totally unimpressed.

“You …” I shook my head, feeling dizzy. “You … aren’t real.”

On the contrary.

“You’re not. You can’t be.” Hades was a legend, a myth the ancients used to explain the existence of all the planets, as well as the Earth and the Netherworld, a god to whom they could assign all the stories that clarified why the two worlds were separated. He wasn’t a deity, not anymore, barely more now than a character in a children’s story—no more real than Santa Claus or the boogeyman. He seemed so trite and out of style, having lost most of his clout during the thousand years of war and famine and death, occurrences that he hadn’t bothered to show up for.

In short, he was either a pathetic excuse for a fairy tale, or a totally apathetic god. The latter was definitely the worse.

“You can’t be real,” I said again. Not after everything you’ve allowed to happen. Or the way you chose to leave the world.

Hades sighed dramatically and appeared perturbed but didn’t say anything.

“You’re no more now than a fucking story.” Hades chuckled but didn’t say anything. “No. No, I’m hallucinating or dreaming.” Maybe it was a side effect from Meg’s glamour, or maybe I was going into shock. Fuck, I’d been through a hell of a lot. “This isn’t happening.”

I assure you, it is.

I laughed—a long, bitter sound. I wondered if hysteria could cause hallucinations as well. “You assuring me.” Hades, Hades, I thought. Lord of the Netherworld, my maker, for fuck’s sake. How the hell could I just sit down and swallow that whopper?

Hades rolled his eyes, like he was dealing with an indignant child on behalf of someone else and had no obligation to be nice. I’ll be brief. You know Meg, the self-appointed queen of this twisted coalition?

“Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms. I even felt like an indignant child. “And?”

You must stop her.

I scoffed. “That’s been the plan from the beginning. Since long before you got here.”

The red runes on his face gleamed brighter, and when he spoke, his voice sounded harsher. No. Your plan is to kill her. You must dismantle her network. Demolish and destroy everyone who still stands beside her.

“And where the fuck were you when Meg started this?” I demanded. “If you’re Hades, the almighty god of the Netherworld, why don’t you do it yourself?”

Hades shrugged, but acted like he was expecting that question. I am not in my true form, he answered.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

It means that I am simply a projection of myself. My true self lies buried in a canyon deep within the bosom of this planet. It is surrounded by impenetrable magma and lava rock. I am sleeping the thousand-year sleep.

“Then how did you manage to appear here right now?” I inquired.

You called to me and my subconscious mind replied.

“What do you mean, I called to you?” I asked, eyeing him narrowly. “I have no recollection of praying to Hades for help or guidance.”

No, your subconscious mind alerted me. And my subconscious mind is that which you see and hear now.

“I don’t know what to make of all of this,” I said honestly.

Hades sighed, sounding almost sad before he held out his hand. The ghostly skin began fading, exposing a black skeleton beneath. A light formed in his palm, a reddish-orange bulb that glowed like a wick of fire.

Accept this, he said. It will heal you and restore your strength.

The bulb drifted up and toward me, entering my chest with a flare of white fire, while a shock like lightning and cold mercury struck me. Boiling tar and lava filled my veins until I was burning right down to my soul—Hades’s unconditional blessing, his green light, his patronage. His power flowed inside me now.

Then the apparition vanished. I took a deep breath as I crept silently into the hallway.

The lights were dim and the floor was cold—beige marble veined in pink and gold. On the paneled walls of dark wood hung a series of small seascapes and portraits, as well as lanterns that twinkled like stars. And in case you missed it, I still didn’t have any clothes to replace the shirt and pants Meg shredded to pieces with her teeth. So I was very naked and cold.

Actually, I was fucking freezing.

Interesting, said Hades, appearing again in a silent swirl of smoke beside me—either he was incapable of actually walking, or he just liked to show off. Dematerialization was not an idle spell, even for creatures that inherently possessed magic.

What? I growled in thought, trying not to draw attention to my effort at escaping.

I didn’t know that.

Know what?

That it shrinks when it gets cold. Fascinating …

Shut up, I replied mentally as I paused outside the first closed door I came across. Putting my ear up to it, I listened for any sounds on the other side.

What are you doing? Hades inquired.

I’m trying to locate Dulcie.

That woman is not your concern.

Yes. She is, I said, my temper flaring. As a matter of fact, she’s my number one concern.

I should be your only concern, he started.

Well, you’re not. Neither you nor your fucking crusade, I finished after searching for the right word. I’m not leaving without her.

Yes, you are.

The hell I am! I protested furiously. You are not my god. Do you understand that? You allowed Meg to … and Dulcie to … I made a disgusted noise in the back of my throat. You are nothing! I feel zero obligation to help you.

Hades chuckled, like he hadn’t even heard me. You’re naked, unarmed, and hilariously outnumbered. What exactly is your plan? He paused for a moment. And shall I remind you that as soon as this woman, Dulcie, sees you outside of your prison, she will simply alert the others? She is not in her right frame of mind.

My plan is to kill Meg, I answered loudly. If Meg put Dulcie under some kind of trance, killing Meg would surely break it to pieces. Of course, that kind of instantaneous unraveling wouldn’t be exactly kind to Dulcie’s mind, but she’d already survived much worse.

Your plan is foolhardy, Hades answered. It is ill-conceived. In your current state, you are incapable of destroying Meg. All you will manage to do is get captured, yet again, and become her prisoner.

I’m not leaving without …

You will have your chance, Hades interrupted, nearly spitting his reply at me. You will have the opportunity to save your lover and destroy her keeper. But now is not the time.

Hades took a deep breath—his shoulders rose and fell to the sound of an inhale. He performed it with perfect mimicry of the action, even though he had no lungs. Now you must serve a very different errand.

What errand would that be?

You must go to the Mountain in the Deep, he said, to the Shadow Places. From there, you will call your brethren together and feast on the bounty located in the heart of the mountain. Prepare yourselves for war with the Abyss—

I don’t take my orders from you, I said, turning on him and getting right in his face. Hades didn’t flinch. I don’t care what you are or what you think you’re here for, my job is to save Dulcie. Yours is to stay out of my way.

Hades inclined his head and sighed. I grow weary now and must return to my body. I will revisit you when you have escaped … that is, assuming you survive your brief detour.

Just fucking go then, I spat, and he disappeared in a flash of black smoke.

Good fucking riddance, I thought, turning my ears to the swirl of sounds now coming from downstairs. Distant rumbling, clinking, and the slither-and-slink of dryad roots and draconian tails—they indicated a substantial crowd.

Fine. I ran the gauntlet through fiercer fires for Dulcie before.

I sighed, taking a step forward, and the air went cold. It seemed to be trembling with energy, like tangible static.

Shit.

Maybe I stepped on something. Or maybe they heard me cursing. Hell, maybe they could smell me; but half a second later, I knew I wasn’t alone. Two vampires emerged from the shadows on the walls, manic grins on both of their faces. They were males, and hysterically thin and old, radiating unholy power. Dark suits and bald heads with rubies for eyes. Emaciated, as though their skin was stretched tautly over sharp bones, I realized they were not vampires, but thralls. Those were half-souls, indentured for their lives to menial tasks like guard duty. Inhuman, sociopathic, and very unfriendly.

The thralls exchanged excited looks, crouching before they pounced.

I didn’t know what I was even expecting them to do. Thralls, generally speaking, are tall, lanky, skeletal creatures that reeked of death. Their odor followed them like a smoky halo, and imbued them with a general sense of foreboding. They possessed a little power that was usually confined to liquified shadows and, occasionally, a small bout of fire. It depended largely on the experience of the necromancer conjuring them. In short, they were about as threatening to me as angry finger puppets.

So I wasn’t prepared when they suddenly exploded.

They left the ground snarling, their long arms outstretched, and were airborne. The first split himself open from throat to groin, splattering me with congealed blood and black muck. It made a blood-curdling shriek before it slammed hard into the floor, its paper-brittle bones shattering on impact.

The second one’s ruby eyes went wide, and suddenly, it also split in two pieces—a torso and two legs, and each chunk began flying in the opposite direction. The legs hit me full force, while the torso sailed over my head. It collided violently with a lamp suspended from the wall. Broken glass rained down on me and I shoved the pair of legs away, scuttling backwards, panting and staring in disbelief.

The thralls were no more than smoking heaps now, blood-smeared black suits, crumpled up on the floor, and the spell binding them here was rapidly leaking into the atmosphere. Then I saw a shadow standing above them. Tall, and remarkably nonplussed, he was clapping all the dust from his hands and wiping the blood from his fingers. He sighed as he shook his head.

Ah, shit. Probably a security guard, summoned when the thralls were destroyed. Meg was, no doubt, on her way, and I couldn’t see how to get around this guy, not if he was that fast.

He stepped over the thralls’ piles of dust and smiled at me, his mouth stretching just enough to expose two sharp canines. Great.

“Hello,” he said, adjusting a pair of silver cufflinks that needed no adjustment. “Knight, I presume?”

“How do you know my name?” I demanded.

“I see you are quite underdressed for the occasion,” he answered, completely ignoring my question. Steel grey eyes roved over me, along with the suits and the floor. He looked down to a red door at the hall’s end and pressed his lips together as he sighed.

“How do you know me?” I insisted.

“If it’s all the same to you, I think we should delay the formal introductions for the moment in order to fetch Bram. After that, we can make a hasty exit.”

“Bram?” I asked.

“Yes, Bram. Tall, dark, and irritating. He is currently bleeding out at the end of this very hallway. I assume you already know him?” The vampire sighed, clasping his hands together like a businessman on the verge of being late to a dreary meeting. “We should hurry—Bram has perhaps three minutes and thirteen seconds left to live, by my count.” He sounded almost bored.

I frowned at him. Then I stared, no, I gawked, narrowing my eyes warily. “Why aren’t you trying to kill me?”

He cracked his fingers and craned his neck to the left, answering like he hadn’t heard me. “Come, we can talk more once we are free of this wretched place.”

“Why are you pretending to help me?”

The vampire stopped and looked over his shoulder, sighing again. “I am helping you, boy, and that should be the only important factor at this moment. Let me remind you that you are in a house filled with your enemies. And you are also naked and unarmed. The odds are stacked against you at present, my friend.”

“You’re right—I am in a house filled with my enemies. So why should I trust you?”

He huffed impatiently, but I held steadfast so he quickly explained. “Suffice to say, I have my own reasons to prevent Meg from achieving her plans for the Netherworld. And I have reason to believe that you are at least slightly capable of helping me stop her. Now can we please save your colleague and leave?” He motioned to the party going on downstairs. “If I have to listen to another draconian explain the nuances of inter-species coitus, I might hurt something.”

I didn’t answer.

“Will you at least follow me to your friend?” he asked, gesturing to the door at the end of the hall. “If my plan were so nefarious, don’t you think I would have done something by now? I could have picked you up by your hair and thrown you back into your room, perhaps?”

I grimaced uncertainly, suspicion radiating from every pore in my body. He hadn’t done anything yet … That was the word that bothered me: yet. Every instinct inside me was on high alert, but he was right: I was surrounded by enemies and naked and unarmed.

“Fine, do what you will.” He turned around and stalked down the hall, a skeletal shadow with a stilted walk.

I followed. Maybe it was stupid, but I did anyway.

At the end of the hall, he took a key out of his pocket—a small, bronze item, conspicuously belonging to the whole establishment and matching the lanterns to the tee. The importance of which Meg would definitely have noticed as soon as it went missing. Maybe he was banking on the party as a distraction—I could hear the voices from it now, hundreds of them, or at least fifty very loud individuals. The kind of voices that echoed with the stolen magic of their ancestors; not quite a hive mind, and not quite possessed either, but ever so slightly fishy. I could hear the sinister hisses of draconians, along with voices that had shortened tongues, which made their words come out all muddy and flat, and voices full of song, and voices that could only scream wordlessly. They were all conveyed to translators that, in turn, told their hostess how very pleased they all were to be there.

Basically, there was a fuck-ton of ridiculously powerful creatures downstairs, all of whom were probably just as keen to kill me as they were Meg, if not more so. If they were keeping Meg company, it was a fair bet that I’d probably helped put more than half of their kind in jail.

The vampire put the key into the lock—and at that moment, we heard someone with a swift gait and loud heels coming up the stairs.

He sighed as he opened the door. “Inside, then,” he said to me wearily. “I’ll take care of this.”

I blinked. “Inside?” I repeated. “What? With a blood-starved vampire?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You could stay out here if you prefer.” He looked me up and down with obvious distaste. “However, you’ll have to explain to our guest why you are naked and smeared with the blood of a security thrall … or two.”

He had me there—the last thing we needed was more questions, or worse, an argument. A scream, or anything else that might have drawn Meg back upstairs, or any of her equally unpleasant friends, presented too much of a risk. I nodded as I slipped inside, letting the man close the red door with a soft click—followed by the ca-chunk of a bolt sliding into place. I was immediately on high alert. Had I just foolishly allowed myself to get imprisoned again? Well, if I did, it was nothing Hades couldn’t bust me out of … whenever he chose to revisit me. We hadn’t exactly parted on the best terms.

Outside, I heard the man start a conversation with a draconian woman. She was already clearly drunk and twenty yards past horny. The woman wasn’t Dulcie, thankfully, and not Meg, and, therefore, nobody that might give a damn about what lay behind the conspicuous red door.

Inside? Inside was Bram. And he didn’t look so hot.

THIRTEEN

Knight

Bram was lying on the ground, propped up against the wall, staring blearily out a window through which the sunlight must have been beating throughout the day. His face was covered in blisters, swathed in the crepe-papery red burns of overexposure. Thin, black cords were poking out of his arms and neck, and they coiled around his body. They all terminated in a heavy, white box the size of a filing cabinet, which was whirring and spitting in the corner. His eyes were wide open, but glazed, and as far as I could tell, he was breathing—which was a really bad sign. A quirky side effect of vampirism is the ultimate calcification of the internal organs, meaning that Bram’s lungs had become no more than solid paperweights. If he were pretending to breathe, he was pretty far gone, enough to think he was human again, and that was more than troubling. It put him past the point of being blood-starved and closer to death.

Ah, shit, Bram … I knew better than to feel pity, but damn …

I knelt in front of him, taking the first cord between my fingers and thumb before slowly pulling it out. I pressed hard on the skin with my thumb once the needle was free. Bram’s mouth popped open and he uttered a small moan, but I really doubted he knew I was there.

“Oui, monsssieur … ma … ma cher poisssont …” said the draconian woman. The vampire chuckled, but the noise sounded like it took a lot of effort.

“‘My cherished fish’? My darling, I do believe you are drunk.”

The woman hissed and gagged—a draconian laugh, guttural and unpleasant. “Dassshan’o!”

“Yes, you are,” he said, “exceedingly.”

I pulled out the second needle, and the third before Bram twitched to the left, like he was trying to get away from me. Maybe he thought I was a bug or something disturbing his sleep.

“Stop moving,” I whispered, grabbing Bram’s arm and holding him against the wall. He was starting to thrash more now, not hard enough to throw me off, but enough to make me worry he could become conscious long enough to feed—and not stop before it was too late. “Fucking fuck, Bram, I’m trying to help you!”

“What’sss in there?” said the woman, and something—presumably she—slammed against the door, sliding to the ground with a vague, scratching sound.

“Nothing, my pet,” the vampire responded with audible boredom. “Why don’t you go back downstairs and lie down, hmm? Or get another drink and throw yourself out the nearest window?”

The woman giggled and said something unintelligible in the throaty language of the drakes—I wondered where on earth I could get a drink while I was locked in here. Maybe he expected me to drink the last of Bram’s blood before throwing myself out the barred window he was staring at, which was much too thick and too high to reach. I dropped Bram’s arm, letting him twitch weakly against the wall before falling over like a sack of potatoes. I was thirsty suddenly, parched, and my tongue felt as dry as sandpaper. I needed a drink, something very thick and soothing, something that would blur the whole world from my consciousness. And make the pain go away once I’d thrown myself out the window …

I snapped myself back to the present, gasping. A drink? I don’t need a fucking drink! I need to get out of here. But the thirstiness remained, sharp and dusty, making my throat feel as rough as scorching gravel. I swallowed, my tongue against the roof of my mouth, which seemed like sandpaper.

The door opened, and the tall vampire walked in, blinking away his own influence and shaking his head. My urge to drink instantly evaporated, and I stared at him open-mouthed.

Oh.

“How old are you?” I asked quietly. He’d glamoured me by accident through a closed door; and I’d never met a vampire capable of that. Even Bram, one of the oldest living creatures on record, didn’t have the kind of power required to accidentally convince someone to jump out a window. Not with conventional magic, anyway. Sometimes just talking to Bram was enough to make me consider defenestrating myself. As well as him.

The man chuckled. “Very,” he said. “How fares our friend?”

“Not great,” I said, turning back to Bram. The needles were out of him, and the little red dots where they’d been were starting to dry up, but he was nearly empty of blood. I looked down at my wrist and grimaced, wondering if Bram had enough life left in him to even try to drink …

“Don’t bother,” the man said, shedding his jacket and kneeling beside me. “Your blood is not strong enough.” He rolled up his sleeve and sighed. “This is going to be … remarkedly unpleasant.”

He bit into his wrist, drawing two fine points of blood, and stuck it in front of Bram’s mouth. Bram’s nose twitched, but he didn’t move.

“Open his mouth,” the vampire said. I pushed Bram’s cheeks together, popping his lips apart, and pulling his jaw down. The man grimaced and wedged his wrist between Bram’s teeth, pushing upward into his canines until they drew blood on their own. We stared at him for a long moment.

“I don’t think,” I said before Bram’s eyes suddenly snapped open.

His jaw instantly clamped down hard on the vampire’s wrist and he began to drink, almost violently, his throat convulsing with each swallow. Bram’s eyes were very black, swirling with a haphazard color between darkness and sunlight, like a shadow with a cataract. His hands latched onto the vampire’s wrist and he leaned forward, sucking in the air through his nose, dragging his teeth across the man’s bones—I could hear the sharp scraping, which sounded almost metallic.

“Easy,” said the man, perfectly calm, and growing more annoyed than anything else. He grabbed Bram by the throat and squeezed hard enough to break his skin, and Bram’s mouth popped open. Bram slumped back against the wall, his mouth agape, blood trailing down his chin like drool. His chest heaved with breaths he didn’t need—and the blackness gradually drained from his eyes.

The vampire dried his hand on his shirt, leaving a bright smear of red across his stomach. “You’re welcome.”

Bram blinked. His pupils dilated and contracted. He was trying to figure out the light situation in the tiny room. Eventually, he focused on me.

“Knightley,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” I said, lacking anything else to say. Bram and I were the furthest thing in the universe from being friends, but as of many days ago, we no longer considered each other archenemies. Reluctant allies, I guess, since we were both bound by Dulcie and our dual need to keep her safe—although nothing else. The urge to comfort him in his pain or punch him in the face, just on principle, tugged at me with equal strength.

“You …” Bram squinted. “You are naked.”

The vampire sighed. “Well done! Yes, he is.”

“Long story,” I said before Bram could ask where my clothes were.

He smacked his lips thoughtfully. “Where … where is Dulcie?” he asked, reaching up and touching his lip before he examined the little, red speck on his finger.

“Downstairs,” the vampire answered, “along with seventy-six temperamental house heads from across the Netherworld.”

Bram’s face twisted into a scowl. “Oh.” He looked at me—specifically, at the sheen of black goop on my stomach and face. “What …” He smacked his lips, suddenly lost.

“Thralls,” I answered. “Big ones.”

“Ah.” At last, he turned to the vampire, and his face drooped into something less friendly than a scowl. “You.”

“Me,” the vampire agreed.

“You know him?” I asked. Bram made a point to avoid most other vampires—he always said it was because he disliked their company, and for the same reasons most of us disliked his company. Now I wondered if he’d been avoiding one in particular. Not Meg, since he thought she was dead, but someone he might have known in another lifetime. Someone like this guy.

Bram didn’t answer me. “Why …” Bram lurched forward, gritting his teeth, suddenly seized by a bout of pain in his stomach. “Why … are you … here?”

“I was invited to the party,” the vampire said dismissively. “Most of them are drunken out of their skins, so we shouldn’t have a hard time escaping.”

“Who are you?” I demanded from the stranger.

“Ah, yes, our introductions,” he answered with a strange smile. “Ezra Grant, at your service.”

His name was unfamiliar to me, but that didn’t mean anything.

Bram tried to roll forward, maybe in his attempt to get onto his feet, but he collapsed sideways almost immediately. I caught him and propped him back up, but he frowned at me. “We need to get away from him at once,” Bram gargled out.

“In case you both hadn’t noticed, I’m helping you escape,” Ezra replied with annoyance. “And in our behest for timeliness, it would be wiser for you both to stop doubting my intentions at once and simply accept me as your loyal ally.”

I blinked at him but didn’t say anything. Bram did the same.

“You do not trust me,” Ezra said to me.

“No,” I said, “I don’t.”

“Nor should you,” added Bram.

“I appreciate your confidence,” Ezra announced. “You are more than welcome to try and escape on your own. You’ll never make it, but it might be fun for me to watch you try.”

“I’m not leaving without Dulcie,” I announced. “So unless she is part of your plan, I’m not budging.”

Ezra nodded and sighed. “She is part of my plan, but, unfortunately, I cannot abscond with her just yet.”

“And why is that?” I demanded, but I already knew the answer.

“She is under the influence of Meg and, therefore, she doesn’t know her own self. She is currently one of Meg’s minions and following her orders,” Ezra explained. “It is my absolute intention to release the beautiful lady, but that must wait. For the time being, I must first release the two of you.”

Bram and I looked at each other, both of us clearly loath to trust him. He was just as likely to lead us into another nightmarish trap as deliver us out outside, but … hell, he could have done that by now. I was inside Meg’s house, with nowhere to run or hide, and no reason to be lured anywhere. He might be waiting to trick us—maybe to satisfy some sadistic urge, but I couldn’t think of why.

And as far as Dulcie went, he was right. And so was Hades. Dulcie lacked her own mind, and if we tried to release her, she would certainly fight us tooth and nail. That much I knew.

“Fine,” I said. “But if you try anything funny—”

“Yes, yes, I know … you’ll kill me,” Ezra said, waving me off. “I would expect nothing less.”

I hooked Bram’s arm over my neck and stood up. He was surprisingly light when he wasn’t full of blood.

“No, no,” said Ezra. “Put him down.”

“What?” I asked with Bram still hanging off my shoulders.

“I can’t just waltz out of here with the pair of you on my tail,” Ezra answered dryly. “Bram is no more capable than a vegetable right now, and you, sir, are still naked and covered in the blood of two substantial security thralls. Besides, there is something else in the house that both of you must see in order to fully understand just what is going on here.”

I let Bram slide to the ground and looked at the window and then at Ezra, crossing my arms. “Something else in the house?” I asked warily.

“Easier to explain once we’re there.”

“Where exactly is there?” I demanded.

“A room Meg locks herself in when she’s feeling particularly … nostalgic.”

“Nostalgic?” I repeated flatly.

“Nostalgic,” said Ezra. “Mr. Vander, I assure you, if I wanted to kill you, or maim you, or drop you into a room filled with very hungry werewolves, I would have been strong and fast enough to accomplish any of that without you ever having seen my face. And contrary to what you insist on believing about me, purely based on my progeny, I have better things to do than to scare you for kicks.”

I didn’t respond. Ezra’s smile curled into an impish grin. He opened his coat and retrieved a small folded square, which he tossed up in the air and caught. However, it was no longer a small square, but a sizeable, black briefcase with an open zipper.

Bram squinted at it. “A …” he coughed, “a briefcase?”

“A briefcase,” Ezra confirmed.

I blinked at it. “Um,” I said. “Okay. And … what’s it for?”

“You,” said Ezra.

“Me?”

“Yes,” said Ezra. “And him,” he motioned to Bram.

Bram and I exchanged a look.

I blinked at Ezra. “You want to put us in a briefcase?” I asked lamely, bemoaning my accompanying concern that Ezra was not the ally I originally thought he might be. Unfortunately for us, he was clearly insane.

Ezra nodded. “A magic briefcase, my dear sirs.”

“Magic? How?” Bram asked.

“It is larger on the inside, actually much more so than it appears.” He smirked—the smug look of a man with a very small, and definitely non-magical, briefcase into which he intended to hide two fully grown men.

Bram grimaced. “And there is … no chance … that once we are inside your … magical briefcase … that you might just … drop us out … a window?”

Ezra shook his head. “The entire house is warded except for the main entrance and several of the back doors, all of which still require us to walk past some portion of Meg’s little get-together. And I’m sure Mr. Vander can tell you exactly how unpleasant these wards can be.”

“Fiery,” I said when Bram looked at me for an explanation. “Really hot fire.”

Bram nodded and turned back to Ezra. “So … you propose …”

“To put you and your friend inside this briefcase,” Ezra finished, holding it out again, just in case we’d forgotten which briefcase he was referring to. “Then I shall formally dismiss myself from the party and abscond with my pilfered captives into the night.”

I twitched a little at the phrase, “pilfered captives,” but saw no better way out. Actually, scratch that, I didn’t see any other way out period.

I looked at Ezra and sighed deeply. “Okay, so … what’s the plan, exactly?”

“To walk out of here with the pair of you under my arm like a stack of stolen books,” said Ezra, placing the case on the ground. “Get in.”

***

There’s no comfortable way to ride in a briefcase beside a vampire.

Bram and I were squished together in all the worst ways. His knee was against my face, and his hands pressed into my stomach, while my foot was on his throat, and my dick somewhere I really didn’t want to think about … We kept getting jostled as Ezra walked, swinging the outside of the magical briefcase.

“Vander?” Bram muttered.

“What?” I hissed back.

“What … in the hell … is that putrid smell?”

It was probably a combination of sweat, fear, and liquid irritation draining from my ears, but I decided not to respond.

“Quiet,” Ezra whispered. “We’re about to walk through the party.”

Ezra walked down the stairs with us underneath his shoulder, and the sounds of a party rocking on its heels swept in from the den. I heard lots of talking and laughing, punctuated by ringing of glasses as they clinked together in arbitrary toasts to Meg and the Netherworld or whatever else they thought was important. The sounds included hisses, growls, and sneers of wolves, drakes, and vampires. I also identified the slither and creaking of the wooden skin of Mother Dryads, along with the muttering of promises and deals. There was lots of talk about something called the “Resurrected Order,” which was definitely a bad thing.

But as soon as the sounds became audible, they were gone again, disappearing as we rounded a corner or traversed a long hallway. The cheers and conversations became an unidentifiable burble of words that faded to a hush no stronger than a soft wind. Then the sound vanished entirely, and Ezra chuckled.

“Checkmate, my darling,” he said, although there was no one but us he could have been talking to.

A door opened, and a door closed. The house was silent here, the only noise being the quiet hum of the ventilation. I heard a hiss like someone inhaling, and a pop; then the soft squeak of a door swinging open. Ezra took two steps forward and stopped.

“Ah,” he said quietly.

I felt him placing the briefcase on the ground, and dull, greyish light flooded the inside when he unzipped it. He gave us a grim look. “Here we are.”

We unfolded our contorted selves from the briefcase and stood up.

“Prepare yourself,” said Ezra. “It is rather unpleasant.”

We looked around.

“Oh, my,” Bram said. We almost said it as one, but I couldn’t find my voice.

The room was small, barely larger than a closet, and lit by a series of desk lamps. A table was pushed up against the far wall, laden with scrapbooks, binders, photo albums, glue, glitter, and decoupage hearts. Notebooks full of chicken scratches, smeared black ink, smiley faces, and words and names, which were circled over and over again cluttered the tables. Calligraphic Ds were sewn into their covers, carved into the plastic, burned into wood, or woven into leather, they were all labeled beneath to identify the years and years and years. Ledgers of a lifetime, singular accounts from a singular person. I could see some of the sentences beneath the covers, words too sweet for the monster writing them, and too close, and much too personal. None of them were complete, however, trailing off into hearts and squiggles and dots.

And pictures. Floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall, in an endless collage. Nothing but Dulcie, Dulcie, Dulcie. Dulcie in uniform, Dulcie on her motorcycle, Dulcie posing with her gun and her badge at her Academy graduation, Dulcie on her couch as seen through a window, Dulcie more than half-naked in bed …

Dulcie with me. Her hair a tangled, blond mess of sweat and wind, staring at me, lying underneath me, and on a blanket above a cliff. Naked, both of us. My face, however, was scratched out.

“What?” I swallowed to conceal the tremor in my voice and said again, “What … the hell … is this?”

“I am not entirely certain,” Ezra answered, drawing his finger along the edge of the table. “But it appears to be a sort of … living diary, I suppose? Like you might see with a conspiracy theorist or someone caught deep inside a delusion.”

“Delusion?” I repeated, but Ezra didn’t elaborate. Not right away, at least—he was looking keenly at the wall, examining the less scandalous pictures of Dulcie. And admiring them, it seemed, with sad eyes and a strange smile.

Bram, clutching his stomach and squinting at everything with the almond-grey eyes that characterized the vampire’s near-death experience, stumbled forward to examine everything. He picked up a different journal, a black leather cover with a golden D stitched into it. It was less worn than the others, still slightly shiny, and the spine was not yet bent from a hundred thousand openings. He touched it and recoiled, like it was an open flame.

“What?” I said.

“That …” Bram shook his head, uncertainty playing tricks with the color of his eyes—but before he could explain himself, he found something else. His eyes suddenly widened, darkening to an angry red. “Oh,” he murmured.

“Oh?” I took a few steps forward toward Bram and followed his gaze to a picture frame standing at an angle on the desk. “Oh.”

The frame was gilded wood, hand-carved, and intricate as all hell—but that wasn’t the important bit. The part that caught both of our attentions was the picture it surrounded, the yellowed Polaroid of three people. Meg was smiling, standing next to an elf with disturbingly familiar summer-green eyes. And between them was a child. Young, too young to know what was happening, much less to remember the picture being taken.

“Dulcie?” I said. Bram pursed his lips. I turned to Ezra. “Why are you showing us this?”

“Because you deserve to know,” said Ezra, “what Meg has done, and why Dulcie did all that she has done. I have spent too many years with unanswerable questions about the intentions of people who were once close to me. Constantly wondering if it were something I did, or said, or didn’t do. I would not condemn that agony on my worst enemy—let alone, a slightly irritating officer of the law and his friend.”

“Friend is a strong word,” I said, unsure if I should have demanded a less convoluted answer or just thanked him.

“And what exactly …” Bram said slowly, leaning heavily against a blank expanse of wall by the door. “What, may I ask, exactly has Dulcie become?”

Ezra stared at the photographs. He remained silent, as lifeless as marble.

“Ezra,” Bram said. “I realize …” He lurched forward and began gasping—his body clinging to the human instinct to breathe. “We are short on time … but if you know … something … about this, I suggest … that you begin explaining. Now.” His voice was flat and empty of ire.

“You said it was a delusion,” I replied. “A living diary.”

Ezra nodded stiffly as he looked between Bram and me, deciding how much to tell us.

“Obsession,” he said, after a long, unnecessary pause. He crossed his arms as he surveyed the room, biting his lip.

“Obsession?” I repeated blankly, but Bram’s posture shifted—like he knew what it meant.

Ezra touched the wall, running his hand along the edge of another picture of me with my face scratched into oblivion. With a slow nod, he picked up a leather journal, flinching at its touch before flipping idly through it. “It’s rare, but not unheard of for a vampire to become overly attached to their offspring.” He frowned at the book and sighed.

I felt like I’d been sucker-punched. “What? Offspring?”

Ezra turned to me, also looking surprised. He closed the book and set it down. For a long time, he said absolutely nothing.

My hand curled into a fist at my side. “What do you mean offspring?” I asked, seething.

Ezra looked from me to the pictures, and back to me again, then to the portrait of Meg and Melchior and little Dulcie. “I mean that Dulcie …” He frowned, unsure of how to continue. “Meg has altered her. For lack of a better word.”

“Altered?” I repeated blankly. “What do you mean?”

“He means Dulcie has somehow become a vampire,” said Bram, sounding wholly unamused.

“Dulcie,” I said through my gritted teeth, “is not a vampire!”

Ezra shrugged. “No,” he said, “she isn’t. At least, not like any vampire I have ever seen. She ages, she walks in sunlight without burning, and her eyes maintain their color … or at least they do right now. But um …” He looked down. His affected air disappeared, sloughing onto the floor like an old coat, and he seemed almost visibly uncomfortable. “Mr. Vander, Meg has done something to Dulcie. It began, as you can see, a long while ago. A vile project she began with Melchior when Dulcie was very young and, judging by Dulcie’s latest progression, Meg must have resumed it very recently. I’m not certain what it is, or was.”

“Progression?” I asked.

Ezra inhaled and exhaled slowly, clasping his hands together. “Dulcie has certain qualities now. The qualities of vampirism … and other races as well. I don’t know how Meg has—”

“What is she capable of? Exactly?” I asked. I had to know if she was vampiric, lycanthropic, draconian, or dryadic, and Hades only knew how many other kinds of creatures were involved, or how many bloody fatal characteristics she currently carried in her. I had to know what she had to defend her now, if it came down to it.

If you have to fight her, I thought. Which was true.

But Ezra didn’t elaborate on that. “I’m afraid I wasn’t present for that portion of her life. So I can’t say what she’s done, or how she accomplished it. And I do apologize for that. I should have watched her, I should have known she would become something unsavory if I left …” He trailed off. His regret sounded genuine. It showed in his face, which was twisting slowly into a grimace.

“Unsavory? That’s what you call this?” Bram asked.

But I wasn’t listening to him. No, I was thinking about why in the world Ezra would feel obligated to babysit Meg. “Are you …?” I started to say as I glanced up at him.

Ezra chuckled bitterly and nodded, folding his hands together, examining the creases in his porcelain skin. “Yes,” he said. “I am Meg’s maker.”

Bram scowled. “And the fool who brought her back, no doubt. Making all of this possible?”

Ezra’s face fell a touch further and he nodded. “I am.”

“Back?” I asked, looking between them.

Ezra sighed. “An unfortunate incident occurred,” he replied, “a little over a hundred years ago. There was a fire. Meg was badly injured and it was too far beyond her own capabilities to heal, despite how old she was. I discovered her and helped her, and … well, now here we are. And to be fair,” he added, looking pointedly at Bram, “she did ask to die.”

“You blame me?” Bram seethed.

“No, of course not,” Ezra said, holding up his hands. “Meg is her own master in all of this.”

“What do you mean, she asked to die?” I demanded.

Bram groaned. “I had the opportunity to kill her after the fire,” he said. “Permanently. But after she betrayed me, I had no intention of gifting her with any such release.” He shook his head, obviously angry with himself. “I left her there to suffer throughout the rest of eternity. And this idiot—”

“Did not know how far she had fallen,” Ezra finished for him. “And I am still trying to remedy the situation.”

“You want to kill her now?” I asked, my tone sounding dubious. “Your own progeny, your daughter? You want her to die, even after you saved her?”

“Yes,” Ezra said but the word seemed to pain him. “I do. I must.” He sighed—a genuine sound this time, and full of anguish and regret.

“Why?”

“Because it is the duty of a father to care for his daughter,” he said slowly. “And to clean up the messes he allowed her … or taught her how to make. I am responsible for her, and, therefore, I am responsible for the destruction she has visited upon the world. She has become much too powerful,” he continued tersely. “She hungers for more power and she is too dangerous.”

“How dangerous?” I asked.

Ezra shrugged. “She longs for an overturn of power—she wouldn’t have summoned every ruling house from here to the Silver Marsh if she didn’t. It would be most prudent for us to assume she intends to inflict the worst damage she can until she attains it.”

“Hold up,” I said, “Ruling houses? I thought Meg sought control of the ANC for the sake of the potion rings, in order to control all the portals.”

Ezra looked at the little, brown door isolating us from the rest of the party and sighed.

“The ANC is just an obstacle to whatever her ultimate plan is—perhaps it involves the portals, perhaps not, but Meg already has access to more portals than any of us could count. She doesn’t need them, but perhaps she has reason for controlling them. Or at least, to prevent anyone else from controlling them.”

“And the potion rings?” I asked. “Where are they in all of this?”

Ezra scoffed. “Just another dog to tie up in the yard. The potion kings and their employees are minor organizations with substantial power in the Netherworld—Meg recruited them, lied to them, and set them to perform some menial tasks in the back of nowhere to keep them out of her way. If they knew what she really wanted, she’d have an outright war on her hands.”

“And what does she really want?” I asked.

“I’m not entirely certain, but it is likely something with long-term consequences that would put a significant damper on life as we know it,” Ezra said. “She is the matriarch of the House of Vogahn. I don’t expect you know that name?”

I did, actually. It was an old, Netherworldian name, and rather important too, part of the original hierarchies that existed before Earthly influence and the ANC came into being. It didn’t take me long to parse out what that name meant in context. “Oh, shit!”

“Oh, shit, indeed.” Ezra sighed mournfully as he crossed his arms, casting his eyes almost absently at the blank wall. He shook his head. “Whatever she is up to has everything to do with the order that came before the human democracy. It’s centuries old by now, but Meg would surely remember those days well. And apparently,” he added, gesturing to the party we could no longer hear, “they remember her too. Fondly enough to kneel to whatever cause she’s stirred up in their richly conservative minds.” His expression curdled. “But I digress,” he interjected, “we should be on our way.”

I moved forward—grabbing the black journal almost as an afterthought. Ezra grimaced at me.

“What?” I said. “Meg will notice we’re gone before she notices this is.” I held the journal up—and a vague tingling sensation filled my fingertips where they touched the leather. “That’s weird.”

Ezra didn’t hear me. He had Bram’s arm over his shoulder and was helping him climb back into the briefcase. Bram’s pallor hadn’t changed, but he looked nauseous.

Ezra cocked his head, listening for something. “Someone is coming,” he said. “A very drunken someone, so you’d best hurry.”

“Um, sorry about this,” I said as I squished myself around Bram. Ezra closed the zipper above us, and everything went dark. Our arms were tangled together, our thighs pressed against each other, and our hands and fingers bent around themselves. Our extremities were closer than either of us could have ever dreamed they’d be.

“Move your knee, Vander,” Bram hissed when Ezra lifted the briefcase.

I felt the part of my body pressing against him the most and stiffened. “That’s, um … not my knee.”

There was a long silence.

“We will never speak of this,” said Bram.

I gulped. “Agreed.”

FOURTEEN

Sam

I sat in the backseat of the SUV, my hand on my throat, grimacing. We were driving out of Splendor to the illustrious City of Angels, where Casey’s mother apparently worked as the Head of the Preternatural Division. That meant she stood guard over the largest and most versatile of all the government regulated portals.

Marcus was driving—Kent had begged for the wheel, but Judy produced a small, reddish something from her pocket and told Kent to sit in the back and play with that instead. He complied rather happily, lighting and gutting the flame on a small, metallic wick poking out of the object’s side. A bomb, probably, and not as friendly as it looked, but he refused to let it go off. Rowena sat beside him, staring out into the dark, the magic under her skin prickling. Maybe she was getting itchy for a good clean kill. The skeleton-god creature that scratched her soul and gave her the magic was an unfriendly something-or-other with a fondness for death. It flowed through Rowena’s veins, making her ever so slightly more bloodthirsty than the average person.

Casey—his soft eyes staring out of a face made infinitely more angular by shadowed stripes—was sitting beside me. He was half-lit by the streetlamps and the light of Judy’s phone as she skimmed through news articles on some website while grimacing. I couldn’t imagine the world view could have been very pretty at the moment.

My throat prickled—not so much with bad magic as the remnants of Dagan’s touch. He had a magic all his own, the liquid malice and parched sunlight of creatures not meant for any particular world, monsters whose very nature dictated their wants for unsavory things. His soul, or whatever mass of congealed essence comprised what should have been his soul, was twisted, dark, and broken, a grasping thing that you dared to touch at your own peril. If it touched you, brushing against you physically, or delved into your mind to show you something just as dark, it was like inhaling sand. Something that stayed with you, choking you, and making every breath rattle like you were sick with something. It corrupted whatever it touched from the inside.

It sounds a little melodramatic, I know, but it’s true. It’s a feeling of violation regardless of the demon in question … But when that demon happens to be Dagan, suffice to say, it’s way worse. So much worse.

So I was jittery and jumpy, relegated to a place far back in my brain, puzzling over Dagan’s vague notion of Dulcie’s location. I was still accepting the knowledge that he’d been close enough to touch me, and was totally unprepared for anyone or anything to get within five feet of me.

“You, um … you doing okay?” Casey asked, and I almost leapt out of my skin. “Sorry,” he said.

“No, you’re fine,” I said, sighing. I ran my hand over my face, rubbing my temple and suppressing a sudden burning urge to scream. Hades, just breathe, Sam. It’s not like Dagan actually did anything to you.

Yeah, but what I saw is traumatic all on its own. I didn’t imagine those visuals would leave my head anytime soon.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Casey asked again, only softer this time. His mouth was a firm, grim line, and his eyes were staring, but I couldn’t tell at what.

“Yeah,” I said, not looking up. “Totally.” Liar, liar, ANC on fire. I gestured vaguely to my rib, knowing damn well that wasn’t what he was talking about. “Doesn’t hurt too much at all.”

“No, I mean …” He sighed, clearly unsure how to phrase his next question. “I mean, with … did anything … happen in there? Anything that made you uncomfortable?”

“Um …” I said, frowning at him and cringing into myself. The orgy was the least of my problems, but thinking about it was still extremely unpleasant. “Nothing happened. I just … watched.” Yes, perfectly eloquent, Sam. Tell the nice, young man that you just watched an orgy while you interrogated a demon about your homicidal best friend. He’ll find it endearing.

“So you’re okay then?” He eyed me narrowly.

I inhaled and I exhaled. I developed an excruciating awareness of my heart and its sudden desire to explode from my chest. “I,” I faltered. Use words, Sam. Full sentences. Come on, you can do it. “It wasn’t … fun.” Okay, that’s true enough.

Casey took a deep breath and seemed to gather his thoughts. “Well, I think it’s important to say that you’re uh,” he started, “you’re safe now.” He was staring at me and blinking slowly, his eyes rock-steady. I lost myself in them for a moment, swimming in their color and their cosmic immovability.

“Thanks,” I said, my bones melting under his gaze like beeswax. He seemed so … not exactly fragile, but vulnerable, like he was as unfamiliar with emotional stuff as I was. I couldn’t help but wonder about the last time Casey James had a girlfriend. As it was, neither one of us knew how to act around the other. It was fairly obvious that we were attracted to one another—at least, that’s what I thought. As far as Casey was concerned, it seemed like he was trying to play doctor and the handsome, not-exactly-a-stranger all at once, uncertain where the line was drawn.

He squeezed my hand and smiled.

I blinked. Siphons aren’t capable of glamour. This was just me looking at a massively attractive doctor and deciding it was too much trouble to look away. I managed a weak, “Thanks,” but it came out as more of a whisper than a word.

He lowered his hand to the seat—still wrapped around mine—and sighed, making a visible effort to relax. “Hell of a day.” There was a vague sense of the moment breaking into little, bite-sized pieces, but I couldn’t decide what I wanted to happen next, if anything. Did I expect him to kiss me right in front of his team?

Yes. Yes, I absolutely did.

“Has it only been a day?” I asked.

“Technically, it’s been two,” he answered.

“So, your mom …” I started.

“Is the acting Head of the Preternatural Division,” Casey said. “Yes.”

“And she …” is your mom, I thought stupidly.

“Has access to a government regulation emergency portal generator? Yes.”

I nodded, trying to think of something else to say. There was a strained tension hanging between our words—not an angry feeling, just afraid. The very human urge to shatter a necessary silence. To talk while there was nothing we could do but drive and stare at the road, or at each other. Finding something to say, anything, and saying it before the silence got too deep to swim out of.

I lived inside silences like that. Usually, I just let them pass. However, tension is a lot easier to brush off when you’re all alone.

“What’s it like?” said Casey. “Having competent magic at hand?”

“You’re …” I nearly corrected him with you’re competent, you just need practice, or something equally contrived. But he wasn’t. Siphon magic, contrary to public knowledge, was designed to be exactly as lackluster as it was. I let the sentence die on my tongue.

“I know,” Casey said, and he hiked his voice up into falsetto. “At least I’m pretty.”

I snorted—a deep, back-of-the-throat gargle of a laugh. Casey laughed too.

“It’s, uh,” I said, pushing my hair out of my face in an almost hysterically cliché movement, but I had hair in my face, so sue me. “It’s nice, I guess? And useful. Kind of irritating, sometimes.”

“Irritating like how?”

“Like in the office.” I shook my head. “Printer gets jammed or something, or somebody gets blood on their clothes. Like maintenance stuff that everybody thinks I can easily fix by just snapping my fingers. Little stuff, and it’s easy, like, really easy, but sometimes, it’s irritating to be the … I don’t know, the—”

“Office mom?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Casey chuckled. “I get that. Try being the only certified doctor in a room full of creature-techs. Everybody asking if lycanthropy is contagious or airborne, or if getting scratched by a vampire is going to make them immediately bloodthirsty, asking if dryads can get the clap …” He shook his head. “Not a whole lot of fun.”

“Can dryads get the clap?” I asked.

“They can carry it, but in practice, they’re immune.”

“Huh.” The more you know. “What’s it like being a …” Hmm. Doctor or siphon? “A doctor?”

“In general? Good,” he said. “It’s … I don’t know, reassuring, I guess. Being the person in the room that always gets called when something goes wrong.”

We both sighed at once and looked at each other, grateful for this … understanding. The shared realization that this was awkward, and we were both desperately trying to fill the silence with anything that didn’t matter, anything we could quickly brush off and forget. Anything that had nothing to do with the world blowing itself to high hell all around us, or blithely accepting its demise. Trying to talk about ourselves and each other without reaching for the deeper stuff, like the reality of our own existence, because it would inevitably lead us back here, to the SUV and Casey’s elite team of crazy people. I was tired of the catastrophic nonsense that dragged all of us here.

Casey smiled. I smiled, too. Maybe it was my imagination, but the tension seemed to dissolve then. Taking a backseat, I agreed to exist quietly in the absence of a proper distraction. I wanted to say something, an outward acknowledgment of this moment, the one I was certain we were having. Something like, “We’re so lame,” or “The job be killing me, right?” But nothing I could think of seemed appropriate.

Then Casey just said, “Yeah. Me too.”

And that was enough.

He squeezed my hand. “It’s quite a drive to LA,” he said. “You should get some sleep. You … uh …” He laughed. “You look like you need it.

“You don’t look so hot yourself.”

Casey opened his arm, gesturing for me to lean against him, and smiling gently, placidly, like it was the most normal thing in the world for a person to do. “I would never accuse you of not being hot.”

I blinked, and we both laughed.

“That sounded smoother in my head, I swear,” he said.

I leaned into him, laughing softly, and nestled myself into the crook of his arm, resting my head on his chest. Listening to his heartbeat, I was soothed by the steady thump-thumping of a man walking the razor’s edge of excitement. I let my hand fall to his stomach, and it beat faster. So did mine.

Casey kissed me. Just on the top of the head, fiddling with my hair, but it was enough to jolt me with a shock that went straight through me. “We can do this,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes. We. Nice word.

Really nice word.

And then. An explosion.

The SUV jerked and sputtered, tipping halfway onto its side, and slamming into something hard. A fizzing flash flew past my ear and Kent cursed, clamoring past me to grab it as it soared through the air. The bomb.

Gravity was pulling me in the wrong direction, sideways and up, while my seatbelt dug into my shoulder. The sour, acrid smell of gas hung heavy in the air, swimming up my nose and making me gag. For a moment, all I could hear was white noise, a high-pitched ringing, the whine of a siren screaming between my ears.

Once I was no longer moving, I looked around, my head throbbing, while my vision swayed in and out of focus like a pendulum. We were nearly upside-down, with two of our tires the wrong side up. A parking lot, or a street, and stumpy, city trees leaning over concrete basins, hoisted way up into the air by the grey slabs emerging from the ground. Fountains of water spewed from the wrecked fire hydrants, and shards of metal and busted tires from the unlucky cars lay everywhere. Lights kept flickering and spitting sparks, while the buildings halfway caved in on themselves, and some pockets of people emerged from their ruined vehicles and structures, wondering what the hell kind of earthquake this was. Roads encased in ice reflected their angry faces and the slippery spots of red … Something was dancing in orange and wreathed in blue.

Something was on fire.

Beside me, someone moved—Judy was cutting through her seat belt. Her mouth was moving too, vibrating, her lips shaping words I couldn’t understand. I stared at her blankly, trying to shape my mouth into words of my own, something along the lines of “I don’t understand! I can’t hear you! I can’t understand!”

Then the glass shattered inwards, and a shadow with a cigar held out his hand. Judy took it, climbing out, turning back to say something, only louder this time.

I don’t understand, I thought, but my tongue was throbbing, I could taste rust, the metallic flavor of my own blood. I tried to spit it out, but nothing could move.

I closed my eyes and inhaled until my lungs nearly burst. Breathe, I thought as I exhaled, trying to force myself to focus, to will the agony and throbbing away. The ringing grew louder, louder, louder—

A hand landed on my shoulder, giving me a gentle shake, and a voice. “Sam?”

I opened my eyes, fumbling for my seat belt. Casey was hanging from the open door, one hand on me, the other wrapped around the car’s half-exposed metal frame.

“Come on,” Casey said, sounding eerily calm. “We need to hurry.”

“Right,” I said. “Right, um …” My seat belt clicked open and I hopped to my feet, crouching, standing up slowly on the tilted seats. Casey hauled himself out and turned back to me, anchoring me with his hand as I pulled myself onto the concrete slab lying on top of the car.

Casey hopped off the concrete slab to join the others on the only marginally less fractured ground below. “Let’s go.”

I hopped down on my own, landing, rolling, standing, and trying to ignore the incessant ringing in my ears. “Where are we going?” I asked, suppressing a wave of dizziness.

“There,” said Casey, pointing to a skyscraper of translucent grey glass across the road—remarkably unaffected by … Was it an earthquake? No, whatever it was was too strong, and too loud, to be an earthquake. A bomb? No, Kent still had his bomb.

“What happened?” I asked, but as I looked up, I saw it myself—a cloud of smoke and lightning, spider’s-eye blue and dark and imposing, was flattening itself beneath the sheet of clouds above. “Oh, shit.”

It didn’t take long to figure out what it was. The multicolored mushroom cloud hung like a chandelier against the sky—the smoldering remains of the Los Angeles ANC twitching and sizzling somewhere far beneath it. We could hear sirens and screaming when we got out of the car, stepping onto the streets now frozen solid with shivering rains that never happened. It made the strangest sounds under our feet, the tink-tink-tink like someone tapping a crystal glass with a tuning fork.

That was a really bad sign. It meant that it wasn’t ice, but ether glass, slick as oil and nearly impossible to scrape away. It also meant that sometime before the ultimate destruction of this ANC, someone must have spilled something that combined with something else and congealed, creating the cocktail necessary for ether-glass manufacture. The only conclusion I could draw from that was before the ANC went up, there must have been a fight.

And it ended poorly.

We rushed into the glass building, ducking through a revolving door, two of us at a time. I looked over my shoulder at the blistering inferno, the cloud far above, bubbling with all the bad magic an ANC might have kept locked away. News helicopters circled around it almost blithely, pointing cameras at it, leaving long trails of steam behind them when they got too close to the glacier-cold, smoking spout. I once created something similar in college, mostly by accident, while trying to brew something that would … (ahem) heighten the beauty of a friend of mine in the eyes of her beloved.

What I ended up creating, however, was a storm-heart: a glacier-cold epicenter that preceded one of the worst blizzards Brooklyn had ever seen. It was big and loud and damn near impossible to stop—taking twenty of the college’s premier warlocks and witches to end my little project, and even then, the cold lingered on for what must have been months, lasting close to a year. It made for a very unpleasant winter.

The earth trembled, and the lights in the cloud sparked like frayed plugs. Every now and then, the ground shook, causing something else to crumble, and the ether glass would crack. In a matter of seconds, a wave of silvery-white shine would pass over it, and the glass would be twice as thick as before, mending itself to conceal any fractures. If it kept up like that, all of LA—or however far the glass could spread—would be completely encased in transparent blue.

“Sam?” said Casey, and I realized I’d stopped moving.

“Sorry. Let’s go,” I said, and in we went.

***

Inside the glassy, untouched building stood a woman behind a glossy, black desk, wearing spectacles and casually picking up the clutter from the explosion. She was humming absently and seemed totally oblivious to the carnage worming its way through her city just outside. She was in the middle of a vast, otherwise completely empty, lobby of white faux-wood floors and sheer, black walls. The room lacked any chairs, tables, or a waiting area of any kind—and as far as I could tell, even an elevator. There were no stairs, no doors, no offices, no other desks, not so much as a potted plant. Just a vast, endless expanse of white and black, perfectly quiet, unapologetically chic.

Rowena walked up beside me and crossed her arms. “You feel that?”

I did—a vague pulsing between dimensions. The dull hum of magical activity that I couldn’t quite pin down.

“Yeah,” I said. “Know what it is?”

Rowena’s eyes flashed green, the skeleton’s fire burning in the back of her skull. “Some artifact,” she said, “maybe whatever’s sustaining the illusion.” She gestured to the conspicuous absence of a ceiling—the walls rising upwards into a deep, dark nothing, disappearing into its own shadows. Going up and up forever. Kind of gaudy for an office illusion—a wildly complicated visual hex maintained for the express purpose of fooling anybody that came through the door.

Our tax dollars at work, I thought, staring up at it.

The woman behind the desk—a stocky, dark-haired human with round spectacles, no more than twenty—smiled when she saw us before putting the large stack of papers she held into the first drawer she touched.

“Good morning,” she said cheerily, folding her hands together on the desk. Bubbly, bright, and looking us over with her iron-grey eyes, she had the same default suspicion Dulcie always wore on the job. “How can I help you?”

We all looked at each other, confused. Kent spun in circles, staring at the impossibly high ceiling, presumably deliberately trying to make himself dizzy.

Casey sighed and said tiredly, “Casey James to see Margaret James, please. It’s an emergency.”

“Of course.” The woman reached for her phone, a bulky-bodied, black thing with a coil cord and the thickly set number buttons of the first model to replace the rotary phone.

“Nina?” said the woman, hopefully talking to someone on Casey’s mother’s floor. “Yes, he’s here. Okay. All right, thank you, darling.” She hung up and beamed at us. “Ms. James has been expecting you.

“Of course she has,” Casey muttered.

The woman pressed a spot on her desk—a flat space identical to the rest of it, but when she touched it, it lit up with a small square of blue, and a soft ding-dong echoed through the open lobby. The floor to the left of the desk folded open, revealing a black abyss beneath, and a large rectangular box rose out of it. Its front slid sideways and down, compressing its doors into nothing before it exposed the plush white interior of an elevator.

“Off you go,” said the woman, waving at us. It seemed so unprofessional, but I couldn’t think of anything more to say, so I just waved back as we all stepped in.

Judy had the sense to add, “By the way, the world’s on fire,” before the doors closed behind us.

FIFTEEN

Sam

We were in an elevator and hoisting ourselves to some ungodly floor far above the cloud bank. At first, there was nothing but a thin carpet of white and equally white walls, completely opaque—until we passed the threshold of the ceiling’s illusion and the walls fell away like a house of cards, exposing clear glass windows and the elevator shaft. The higher we climbed, the more I could see. Glass stretched to the horizon in every direction, ice-blue flames warring with their angry orange counterparts on the foundations of the ANC, twining around each other at the base of the cloud. Firefighters surrounded the scene, spraying the fire with half a dozen hoses, carrying the limp, smoking bodies away from the blaze. Most of them weren’t moving.

“Shit,” Casey muttered. He was staring through the glass, but only half-seeing the smoke, fire, and crystalline brimstone. Kent whistled behind him.

“That …” he said softly, “was one hell oove an explosion!”

“Yeah.” I barely heard myself reply before I lay a hand against the glass, unable to look away, or even blink. Staring intently, it seemed that if I squinted hard enough, and held my breath, I could reach out and strangle the cloud, tamping out the flames with a harsh glare, snapping my fingers and raising all the charcoal-boned bodies from wherever they lay to rest. Like I could turn back time, if only I wanted to badly enough.

“The crystal isn’t active magic,” Rowena said, her eyes still vaguely green. I wondered if anyone else could see it, and if it were an effect she had to consciously mask. “It’s just spillover from a potion leak at the ANC.”

Leak, I thought. Nothing was leaking anywhere. Whatever once contained the offending potion had been blown to smithereens by some idiot with a grenade launcher and a pocket full of fuck-yous in the evidence locker. But there had to be more—the potion had to have mixed with something else that made it a hundred times more volatile and unpredictable than it would have been on its own.

In the corner of the elevator, Judy said, “Oh, shit.”

“No kiddin’,” said Kent, and the rest of us understood her tone and stiffened.

“What?” I asked when no one else moved.

Judy scratched her neck and sighed. For a minute, she couldn’t say anything although she was clearly trying to, but none of the right muscles were working. “ANCs are going up in flames all over the place,” she said at last. “This is one of …” She squinted at her phone before finishing with, “Shit. Fifty!”

My heart froze and nearly stopped beating completely. I was holding my breath. “Fifty,” I echoed, realizing that it was more than two-thirds of the collective.

“How many does that leave?” Casey said.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Not too many.” My ballpark figure would have been around six or seven, and that was being generous. But I dared not say that out loud.

Judy’s face turned grim, an expression she didn’t wear well. Her muscles seemed unsure of what to do with a frown, and her body didn’t know how to process the emotions that accompanied it. Or maybe it was just the first time in two days I’d seen her look anything but happy, and it caught me off guard.

“I’m sorry,” she said to me, her face sagging, like she knew how worthless the sentiment was. I appreciated it anyway.

“I …” Thanks seemed totally inappropriate to say. “Um,” I sighed, when nothing else sprang to mind.

No one else said anything either. We had no means of springing into action, no more than we already were. The haunting repertoire of your-place-of-work-and-thousands-of-your-coworkers-have-just-been-blown-to-cinders only received a quick “sorry.” That was it, the end of the rope of empathy.

We sat in cold silence for a long time, listening to the bell-and-whistle jingle playing through tiny speakers in the ceiling.

I cleared my throat. “I didn’t know elevator music was still a thing.”

Casey nodded. “Yep.”

“You, uh … talk to your mom much?”

“No.”

Silence. Silence. And more silence. It hung in the air like lead curtains, drawing everything, including us, steadily toward the floor and the broken, stony ground. Ten, fifteen, twenty stories below, they were dancing with all kinds of bad light …

“She’s going to get us killed,” Casey said at last.

“Your mom?” I asked. Casey’s grimace deepened, but he didn’t reply.

Silence, silence, silence.

“Did you have a better idea?” Judy asked absently.

Casey huffed and looked away.

“Relax,” Judy replied, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “This is gonna be great.” Her grin was back in full force, gleaming white teeth, brimming with the kind of deliberate mischief usually reserved for younger siblings. Only her eyes betrayed the weight of the quiet emptiness, cold as snow. Casey didn’t spare her a glance.

Silence, silence, silence. Kent and I looked at each other. Marcus peered at everyone from over his cigar, which remained unlit, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. Judy stared at her phone, pretending to scroll—but the screen was black. I didn’t know what Rowena was looking at.

Casey sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to me. He tried to smile, and even made a valiant effort. “Um … I don’t talk to my mom often.”

Fill the silence, I thought as I strained to smile back.

“She’s our best shot, Casey,” said Judy, trying to look sorry. “She’s just … eccentric.”

Kent chuckled, tossing his bomb from hand to hand, flinching occasionally to make the rest of us think it was about to go off. He chuckled as he held up the bomb to his eyes, staring at it with wonder. He could have been holding a star in his palm instead of a petty grenade, and one that probably didn’t even work properly.

“I’m eccentric, darling,” he said, his accent curling around his words. “Mrs. Margaret James, howevah, is a fuckin’ sociopath.”

Judy flinched, but Casey stared straight ahead, looking stiff as a board, the tension literally radiating out of him. I touched his arm, and he looked down, almost startled.

“Um …” I didn’t know what to say. Perhaps I wanted to tell him that his mother couldn’t be that bad? And every good family needs a sociopath if only to balance it out? Maybe I was going to talk about my own mom and the hundred thousand cats and spirit hounds that roamed through her apartment complex. “We won’t be here long,” I said at last.

Casey nodded and took my hand, squeezing it. My heart pounded—which was stupid. Only teenagers get all aflutter when someone holds their hand—but when he didn’t let go, I almost exploded into an effusive spray of confetti hearts. How utterly unprofessional of me!

Not that my profession mattered anymore.

“Nobody say anything unless you absolutely have to,” said Casey. “And try not to make any eye contact.”

“Why? Is she gonna try to glamour me or something?” I asked. Probably not, if Casey were human by default—even if he had a singularly magical parent, it would have manifested itself somehow. I could have been able to read it in his phantom stitches. Margaret had to be human, even if she were crazy.

“No,” Casey replied. “She’ll just try and talk to you if you initiate any small talk with her, and then we’ll be trapped here forever.”

“Ah. Got it.” I pursed my lips. “How is she going to get us killed?”

Casey groaned. “She’ll start talking,” he said, “and she won’t stop until it’s way too late to save the world.”

It seemed like an exaggeration—it had to be.

When we got to the top, however, we found out it wasn’t any exaggeration.

***

The elevator dinged and Casey jumped. The doors slid open. Casey sucked in a breath—I didn’t hear him let it out though. The room before us was just as large and unwelcoming as the lobby—white floor, black walls, a conspicuous lack of windows. I saw a flat metal disk of beaten silver set into the floor, twice as wide across as any of us were tall. Around this were curving desks, featuring an array of buttons and dials. The irritable-looking attendants were dressed in black suits and lab coats, tip-tapping away at their computer modules, ostensibly regulating the flow of energy to and from the disk. None of them looked up as we entered.

The elevator doors slid shut quietly behind us and vanished into the shaft, like an unobtrusive family member at a reunion trying to duck out of the dining room before his divorced parents noticed each other.

I stared at the techs and their equipment: state of the art arcana—phantasma, crystalline computers built for the maintenance of extremely powerful magic. All were man-made, along with stagnant, magical artifacts like portals and enchanted mirrors. In the ghost of a whisper, I uttered, “Whoa!”

All the tip-tapping stopped at once, and the attendants looked up. One pushed her square glasses higher up on her nose. Another sniffed the air. The rest stared at us blankly, blinking like dumb animals, unsure whether to classify us as proper organisms or intrusive nuisances.

“It’s stronger in here,” Rowena muttered, appearing at my side from nowhere. She was right, the hum was like a swarm of bumblebees buzzing now. Loud and irritating to anyone who could sense it, the vibration started in the center of my stomach and was almost enough to make me nauseous.

“Probably the portal generator,” I said, which was definitely big enough to create all the ephemeral fuss.

Casey made a visible effort to suppress the groan that seized his body and called out, “Mom?”

Nothing happened. The attendants continued to sniffle and glare, peering at us over their desks and casting furtive, protective glances at the metal disk in the floor. It seemed as though they were expecting us to whip out jackhammers and demolish their beloved project. Casey rolled his eyes at them and strode forward.

“We need to get to parallel three,” Casey said to the nearest person. “Fast.”

The technician adjusted his glasses and glowered at Casey. “I’m sorry, sir, but first, you will need proper clearance and permission …” blah, blah, blah, and bring out the red tape.

“Hold up,” I whispered. “Are there other parallels?” It was common knowledge, at least in the collegiate arcana community, that an infinite number of habitable dimensions, as well as several massively unfriendly and uninhabitable ones, existed—but to claim that the government, any government, had ready access to them was … well, unnerving. Planet Earth isn’t great at drawing borderlines as a rule. If they could prance into the astral plane whenever they fancied, it was only a matter of time before a slew of ghosts with unfinished business came pouring back into our dimension.

I blinked myself back to the present and saw Casey had moved. He was standing in the center of the metal disk, looking at someone. A woman.

“Oh, boy,” said Kent, pocketing his little bomb and facing Casey and … his mom? Kent was clearly interested.

“Hi, Mom,” Casey said sulkily.

“Casey,” she answered, leaning forward to pinch his cheeks. He recoiled from the touch, but not far enough that she was forced to let go. The woman was short—shorter than Casey by a full head, despite the health-hazardous heels she was wearing. She was also pudgy with frazzled auburn hair and gold eyes. The color in her eyes was more urgent, like boiling magma, and much closer to a volcanic catastrophe than the soft chocolate in Casey’s gaze.

Short, bright, and terrifying, she was wearing a skirt suit and a massive red rock on a gold chain, which, I guessed, must have been an amulet of some kind. The amulet’s magic was muffled by the overwhelming aura the metal plate was giving off. I’d have to get closer if I wanted to know what it did, if anything at all, but that would have been rude.

“It’s so good to see you,” Margaret said, beaming at her handsome son. Casey sighed. “How are you?” she continued, looking up and noticing us for the first time. Her cookie dough-sweet smile got even bigger. “And who are these people? Your friends?” She clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Not important,” Casey said, answering both questions flatly. “Mom, we need to get to parallel three. Now.”

His mother tutted and shook her head, clasping her hands onto her waist. “Well, now, that’s not a very nice way to ask a favor, is it? And you’ve barely said hello, and I do so want to meet your friends, it’s been ages since you brought anyone home …”

“We’re not at home,” Casey said. “We’re at work. I have work to do, understand? Really important work in parallel three.”

His mother sighed. “Sweetheart, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say—”

“Mom, we don’t have time for this! We really, really don’t.”

“What kind of son doesn’t have time for his mother?” she asked, sashaying over to a slightly larger desk that must have been the primary terminal. She sighed dramatically, batting her eyes at Casey, and addressing the technician, “Do whatever you must to open the doors.”

“Huh.” Marcus grunted, immediately frowning as he turned to face Kent who merely shrugged.

“What?” I whispered to Judy, who also seemed surprised by Margaret’s choice of words. “What’s going on?” I continued in a hushed tone, making sure Margaret couldn’t hear me too.

“She … it’s probably nothing, but Margaret knows how to open these doors. She can do it with her eyes closed,” Judy answered from the side of her mouth, her tone hushed.

“Interesting,” I answered as I replayed Margaret’s words. Do whatever you must to open the doors. Yes, very interesting. I focused on Casey and noticed he had the same suspicious expression as the others did toward his mother. But no one seemed overly concerned because no one did or said anything more about it. I figured if they were letting it go, then I should too. Maybe Margaret didn’t drink enough coffee this morning.

Margaret, meanwhile, hovered over the terminal.

The technician didn’t look up. “Parallel three?”

She nodded and looked up, but not at Casey—she looked at me and I felt my stomach plummet all the way to my toes. “Hello,” she said. Her smile trembled.

She started walking towards me, and I heard Casey groan.

“What’s your name?” she asked, taking my hand. She felt warm, her face was friendly, and maybe not so terrifying. Famous last words, I thought, but I smiled too, making sure I only looked at her nose and ears instead of her eyes. Just in case.

“Sam,” I answered. It took me a moment to remember it!

“Sam.” She laughed, like it was the most beautiful name she’d ever had the pleasure to utter. “Sam, Sam, Sam, it’s so lovely to meet you! How, may I ask, do you know my Casey, hmm?” She patted my hand, looking at me expectantly.

I looked at Casey. His eyes were wide, and he was starting to walk forward, maybe intending to break up our conversation. I smiled at him and replied to his mother. “We work together,” I said, feeling sure I could handle an over-affectionate mother.

“Work together?” She looked between us, appearing shocked but in a dramatic, theatrical way. “Casey, darling, you’ve never mentioned her before! And such a pretty thing too … Shame on you, boy! What became of your manners? Have you no thought for your dear mother?”

“We’ve only worked together for a few days,” I answered.

Margaret stopped in her tracks. Hades, she looked like the Pillsbury dough-boy, just a ball of sugar and sweetness and hugs. “Oh, I see, I see,” she said, tapping her chin, one hand still firmly clasped around mine. Her necklace, that peculiar amulet thunking against her sizeable chest, was pulsating now. The dimensional planes were things I could only just comprehend, and all at once, in a strange pattern, they came at me fast, quick as a rabbit in a firestorm, changing the beat every second or two …

“Mother,” Casey said irritably. “Please. We don’t have time for this.”

“Sir, please remove yourself from the generator,” said a technician, his nose buried in his console. Casey hurriedly abandoned the disk, walking towards me and his mother.

“Sam, Sam,” she said, “Sam, Sam, Sam … Tell me, is that short for something? Samantha, maybe?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. My tongue felt heavy, almost numb. “I, um … yeah, it is.”

“Sam,” said Rowena. She was quiet, but very urgent. I barely heard her.

“Ah, good, good.” Margaret patted my hand again, running her thumb across my knuckles. “Such soft skin, darling, do you moisturize? Sam, Sam … Samantha, dearest … do you cook, perhaps? Are you an avid reader?”

“Yes …” Hades! The pulsing of the amulet was all I could comprehend now. Like a clock, a metronome set on fast-forward, the unsteady thumping of a flat tire shredding on asphalt …

“What kind of work do you do?”

I could barely think of an answer for her. The words came out of my mouth clumsily. “I … um … I’m in ANC …”

From the corner of my eye, I could see Rowena looking at Casey, jerking her head towards me.

“Ah, yes, of course! You look human enough. What is your arcane alignment, hmm? What do you do?”

“I’m a … witch …” The room briefly spun before it melted, falling on its side, like the whole building were drunk.

“A witch,” Margaret said, gasping. “Samantha the witch, how lovely. Do you like dogs? You must like dogs, Casey adores dogs …”

Casey reached us a split second after I realized what she was doing.

I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second. The pulsating hum changed, the vibrations sounding like a distant song, which became a tendril, a fluttering ribbon in the blackness—something I could interact with. Something I could touch and strangle.

So I grabbed it. I severed it with a burst of ephemeral fire—the spiritual equivalent of safety scissors. The humming, singing, and the droning stopped all at once.

Margaret had been trying to weave a spell with no magic of her own, and no connection to the holy or the arcane, nothing that would give her sway over anything. The only thing she had was the amulet, the focus of her will, and desire, a wish-granter, a hypnotic aid. But whatever magic the amulet offered, it sputtered and died like a bad bulb. Margaret, however, didn’t seem to notice.

I opened my eyes and found Margaret looking back at me. She seemed very concerned. The rock around her neck had lost much of its color—the brilliant amber was closer to the faded orange of an old car now. I’d only intended to block her will, snapping the web she was trying to catch me in, but I guess I broke the whole thing. She wouldn’t appreciate that, assuming she found out …

“Are you all right, love? You look a bit faint,” she said.

“I’m fine,” I said through my gnashing teeth. I looked at Casey. “You didn’t tell me your mom was a hypnotist.”

Casey glared at his mom. Margaret paled.

Kent started laughing. Hysterically.

“Busted!” he cackled while Marcus rolled his eyes.

Judy crossed her arms and sighed at Kent. “What are you, twelve years old?”

“Oh,” Margaret said, flushing pink, looking down at the amulet like she’d never seen it before. “I, um. Oh. Oh, dear …”

“Mom, you cannot just go around and hypnotize people!” Casey shouted at her. “What the hell were you thinking?”

I was more interested in the reason she tried to hypnotize me. What information was she seeking from me?

Margaret put her hands on her hips. “Oh? Says who?” She sighed. “You never can be too careful, especially with the world blowing up around us!” she added. “Sorry, dear, but we can’t trust the strangers around here,” she told me with a little shrug and a giggle. “I was just trying to get a read on you.”

I didn’t say anything but nodded quickly as Margaret turned back to Casey. She continued pleading her case although he was clearly angry. I stepped back and leaned in to Judy. “Has she done this sort of thing before?”

Judy waved her hand. “Eh … Sorta. She’s unpredictable, at best.”

I frowned. “Do you know how long she’s had that necklace?”

Judy shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen her wear it before, but I don’t see her very often.”

Rowena was scowling now, biting her lip and staring with her stone eye at nothing in particular.

“Just please get us to parallel three and we’ll talk about this later,” Casey insisted as Margaret plopped her hands on her fleshy hips and frowned at him. He pointed to the metal disk in the floor. “Now, can we please get back to work?”

Margaret sighed. “Oh, all right. But it’s going to be a minute or so.”

Casey groaned, fists clenching. Margaret gave him what might have been an admonishing look.

“It takes time to warm up,” she explained—which was probably true, given its size and the number of other parallels it likely had access to. Ripping holes in the natural barriers between worlds and dimensions is a heavy task.

Casey waved her off, visibly trying to contain himself. “Just fucking …” He exhaled slowly through his teeth, his eyes closed. He seemed to be struggling to breathe.

Margaret turned to the technicians and started ordering them around. Kent kept laughing, and Judy glared daggers at him for it. Marcus watched it all with a troubled look on his face, fiddling with his cigar. He brought it to his lips every now and then, pretending it was lit, or maybe just forgetting that it wasn’t. Rowena watched silently.

I walked over to Casey. “Well, then,” I said.

Casey balked. “Well, then,” he responded, tightening his lips into a straight line.

“It’s okay,” I said, taking his hand. “Breathe. We’re almost out of here.”

“I’m sorry for what my mother did to you,” he started.

“What she nearly did to me,” I corrected him. “I caught her before she did any permanent damage.” At Casey’s questioning glance, I continued. “Hypnosis is an art. The amulet was just a focus of mortality, something humans without magic can use to channel what little they’ve got. She was more intent on hypnotizing me than learning what I might have revealed under hypnosis.”

“Ah,” he started before a secretive smile crept up along his lips. “You’re a special kind of girl, Sam,” he finished, his grin broadening.

Then something else blew up, and I forgot what I meant to say.

SIXTEEN

Sam

The explosion was distant, muffled—a noise that sounded halfway like an earthquake, or a giant rock landing unceremoniously on something extremely fragile. Following the noise came a series of pops and bangs, soft enough to resemble little more than bursting bubbles, and loud enough to shake the floor.

All the irritable, motherly affection instantly drained from Margaret’s face, and her eyes turned steely. “Oh, dear,” she said darkly as she pulled a small tablet from the pocket of her coat. She tapped away at it for a few seconds, then sucked in a breath. “Oh, dear.”

“Mom?” Casey asked, but she didn’t look up. Something powerful sounded with a mechanical exhale, and the light above the elevator went out. Margaret sighed.

“I’m terribly sorry about this,” she said, smiling, “but it appears we are under attack.”

“By whom?” said the technician beside her, but all of us knew. Or at least, we had a pretty good guess.

“Think they’re here for us?” Judy asked.

“No,” I said. “Definitely not! Anybody working for the Darkness probably thinks I’m dead, unless …” Oh shit. “Unless they’ve already toppled the Preternatural Division from the inside out, they have no idea your team is even a thing.”

That wasn’t a fun thought. We all looked at Margaret, but she wasn’t looking at any of us. Her eyes were fastened on her tablet, which she squinted at with iron concentration.

“They could be here for the portal. It’s the only other thing in the building,” Casey said.

“Except …” I started, thinking of the dozens of floors we must have passed on our way up here.

I was cut off by a horrific, groaning noise coming from the elevator shaft. We all turned toward it at once. Margaret sighed, pocketing her tablet, and walked behind the largest console, where she knelt down and opened a large drawer with a casual rumble.

“Four minutes, ma’am,” said a technician, fiddling with more buttons and sliders, trying desperately to ignore the groaning.

“Four minutes,” Margaret muttered, tapping and plugging at something hidden behind the console. “Four minutes …” she repeated as she looked at us and beamed. “You’ve got four minutes to spare, don’t you, darling?”

Casey frowned at her—like something she said didn’t sit right in his head—but he did not reply to her question. “Can you see who’s in the elevator, Mom?”

Margaret shook her head, rifling through her drawer with lots of shuffling and clattering. “I turned it off, darling,” she said. “Couldn’t tell you who it is, or how on earth they’re making the elevator move.”

The groaning continued, a belly-deep, tearing sound, like metal being ripped in half, or mountains being shorn in two by giants with axes, fueled by suppressed rage. It swelled to a roar, growing even louder. Bump, bump, bump! went the doors, ready to receive whatever was about to enter, confused despite their robotics as to how it was possible after the whole system had been shut down.

“Brace yourself, darlings!” Margaret called out from behind us, and I heard a click and someone shuffling, like they were cocking a gun and aiming it.

The doors opened, and a man came stumbling out, panting and sweating—the silver-blue glow of his magic dancing around his hand. He was straining to keep the elevator from plummeting back into the shaft. Tall and lanky, with the monochrome-grey skin of a drow. They were the nocturnal, reclusive, and far less friendly cousins of the more common high elves. Drows were native to the expansive caves and mines that tunneled underground through most of the Netherworld.

“Casey!” he shouted, releasing the magic the second he was free of the elevator. The doors remained open, and the carrier box fell away, thundering down the long, dark tunnel from whence it had come.

“Silas!” Casey answered, aghast. “What are you doing here?”

“Tabetha’s been compromised,” Silas answered breathlessly, looking over Casey’s shoulder at Margaret—now glaring vehemently at him and holding the black body of a weapon just behind the terminal.

“Yes,” she said darkly. “It has.”

Silas’s eyes widened as he dropped his voice and said, “Casey, listen to me! That’s not your mother!”

Casey’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Margaret’s still in Brokenview,” Silas answered quickly, “She—”

Then he stopped abruptly, his mouth hanging open, his next words stayed lodged in the back of his throat. His eyes glazed over before he gagged. His magic flared in his stomach, shrinking into itself, desperately pushing outward. Like he was trying to fend something dangerous off.

Shit.

“Silas?” Casey asked with obvious concern as he took a few steps closer to him.

Silas didn’t move. His soul was at war now, thrashing wildly, and rendered blind. Slowly, the color of the offender took shape, the outside magic pressing down on him—an orange haze, grey, yellow and gold, a cloud of sour influence. More power than he could contend with alone.

“Sam?” Casey asked as he turned to face me, presumably to see if there was anything I could do to help the poor man. I just shrugged and shook my head, being just as helpless as they were. This wasn’t any magic I’d ever seen before so I didn’t have the first clue as to how to neutralize it.

“Careful,” said Rowena. “he’s radioactive.” Silas was bleeding strong magic into the air.

He’s possessed is what he is, I thought, but there was no connecting cord. Nothing I could comprehend, at least, no connection to the spellcaster responsible. There should have been a string of the same color, stretching from Silas to whoever was controlling him, unless this was a glamour. But it couldn’t be; glamours are up close and personal, and he’d been fine twenty seconds ago.

“I,” he said and the word wobbled in his mouth. It spun and compressed, dancing on a swollen tongue, bouncing off his straining vocal cords. “Am. Here.”

The orange energy flared, spun, and sank into him, overtaking his blue completely. He went rigid.

“Casey,” I hissed. “Someone’s speaking through him!”

Silas opened his mouth and his jaw hung there for a moment, moving up and down slowly. Blue wisps curled up like smoke around the orange, pushing, burning, and fighting for control. “You. Will. Sur … sur … en …” Silas swallowed the word, choking on it, and gagging up a less cumbersome replacement: “Die.”

No change of inflection, no volume shift. Just the word, perfectly vocalized, but no more important than anything else. And in the harsh fluorescent light, Silas should have been blinking up a storm—he hadn’t blinked once in the ten seconds I’d been watching him.

“He’s possessed,” I whispered, but by now, I think Casey had parsed that out for himself.

“Hail,” Silas groaned, “to the Darkness.”

Casey squinted at Silas, reaching out with his own modest power to blearily see what Rowena and I saw. He watched it a moment, then slowly turned, like he was following a line, a string we couldn’t see. The connection eluded me.

He looked at his mom, his expression turning grim.

“I am so sorry about this, darling, but I’m afraid you’ve just committed treason,” she said in her lilting, singsong voice.

I looked back. Margaret had what looked like a bazooka over her shoulder. She was grimacing as she squinted through the sight mounted on its side.

Her amulet was glowing again. Violently.

“Duck,” she said.

We flattened ourselves on the ground, staring at each other, wondering where in the holy hell she’d been hiding a bazooka—and I kept watching Silas, who was staring blankly ahead, straight through Margaret into the night-black wall beyond her. He had no reaction to anything, not to us or our guns, or Margaret, or her bazooka, or her warning to duck. He was barely breathing, as far as I could tell, and standing at a weird angle, like he was hanging on wire strings. Glowing orange …

I threw up a shield at the last second—not around us, but in front of Silas, who still hadn’t moved to dodge the rocket. A thin, shimmering wall of sheer will and stardust materialized between us a split second before it made contact, exploding into a burst of red and yellow light, along with desert black smoke, and the clap of a drunken thundercloud. The fire stayed where it was, but the force was enough to break the shield into little, bite-sized pieces. It blew Silas back against the elevator wall, where he slumped without a sound, the charcoal-grey fog leaking out of his skin.

“There we are,” Margaret said brightly, hefting the empty bazooka off her shoulder to the ground with a clatter. “So sorry, darlings, I thought I had more competent security, I don’t know why Deanna didn’t call me.”

Casey whirled on her. “Mom, what the hell?”

Margaret looked wounded. “I just saved your life.”

“From what?” Casey holstered his gun and went to Silas, kneeling beside him. “Christ, man, are you all right?”

“Two minutes, ma’am,” said the technician beside her. He cast a furtive glance at the smoking bodies, and blinked at them, then looked away hurriedly before typing something into his computer. Margaret looked over his shoulder and nodded approvingly.

“Casey, leave him be,” she said. “I’ll deal with him later.”

Casey looked at her. His expression was pained, and his lips were pressed together in a solid line. “I’m …” he swallowed, “just making sure he’s out, Mom. It’s fine.”

“Casey?” I said quietly. Everything became tense suddenly, burning from the inside out with something marginally more urgent than our dread. Silas was orange from his head to his toes, drowning in a sulphurous cloud of somebody else’s influence—Margaret’s influence, it had to be. And she intended to kill Silas so he couldn’t provide us with any more information. But the only problem was that Margaret, Casey’s mother, didn’t have the magic necessary for possessing someone. “Casey.”

Casey looked at me from the corner of his eye and mouthed I know.

“Oh, please leave him alone, dear. I’ll take care of him after we’ve gotten you on your way,” Margaret said, waving off the notion like an annoying fly. Her amulet pulsated around her neck at longer intervals, the heartbeat of a sleeping dragon. Pump … pump … pump …

Silas stirred with a flatlined, monotone, “Uh …” and suddenly, he was sitting upright, scratching his neck. Lumbering like a stiff mannequin to his feet, he seemed off balance and awkward, like a marionette caught up in a ceiling fan. He was clinging to Casey as he helped him up.

“I …” Silas said, visibly straining. A speck of blue glowed in his core, pulsing, but dim as a flickering star. “Can …”

“Sit down and stay there,” Margaret said irritably. “I have more rockets, you know, and I don’t think you want another one of those in the face.”

“Mom,” said Casey. “He’s fine. I’ve got it.”

Silas frowned. “Um … I …”

Pump … pump … pump … went the orange rock. Faster now, throbbing in time with a panicked heartbeat. Silas’s blue glow ballooned outward, pushing back Margaret’s orange cloud. Margaret’s expression suddenly stretched thin.

“Sam,” said Rowena, her tone just a whisper but with plenty of strength behind it.

“I know,” I whispered back.

“It’s coming from her necklace.”

“I know.”

Silas turned his head to Casey. Slowly, jerkily, like his bones were catching on themselves, he said, “C … Ca … sey …”

Margaret sighed theatrically from across the room, opening another drawer and lifting the bazooka base to her shoulder again. “I’m warning you,” she sang gaily. Although she sounded slightly tremulous.

“Silas?” Casey said warily, his voice hushed. “Where is my mom?”

Silas blinked for the first time in two minutes. “Get out … now!”

“Oh, that is it, young man,” Margaret scolded, her voice taut as she fumbled with another small rocket, trying to fit it into the launcher.

Casey looked from her to me. “Get her necklace,” he whispered.

Margaret froze and looked up. Her mouth curled into an ugly mockery of a smile. “Now, now,” she said, hefting the bazooka to her shoulder. “Why would you want to do that?”

Casey already had his gun trained on her, his finger perilously close to the trigger. “Give the necklace to Sam.”

Margaret chuckled warmly. “Oh, darlings,” she said, drawing a line up in the air. Silas stumbled to his feet behind us, fighting her wildly.

“Silas,” I said, holding out a hand. Feeling the air for the invisible strings that bound him to the amulet.

It was almost dormant, hiding in the folds of its own power, masking itself so I couldn’t tell what it was. Now, it had become a screaming fire, bright as burning magnesium. I couldn’t say why Margaret or whoever the hell she was would have bothered trying to hypnotize me and risk exposing the amulet’s power. Maybe that was plan A, to convince me to attack my team or fall flat on my face, staying unconscious long enough for somebody else to deal with me.

Last surviving member of Dulcie’s ANC, I thought, and for a second, I wondered what the Darkness believed I would do, and why it considered me so dangerous. Then I decided the Darkness was probably after Casey and his team, not specifically me. They were the last people in the world who had any chance of stopping him.

But back to the amulet. It was older than stone, a fossilized relic of a bygone age, a half-dormant, old-world artifact that Margaret really shouldn’t have had any access to, let alone been able to touch it without bursting into angry flames. Artifacts as old as that are very particular about whom they allow to use them and for what purposes. They possess a kind of consciousness in their pickiness. A Wisconsin mother with no magical prowess at all wasn’t on their list.

Somebody else, though, was on their list. Something that could defeat the rock’s power with its own. Something that definitely wasn’t human.

The amulet’s cords recoiled from me, hissing and spitting, sending physical sparks flying through the air. Silas doubled over like he’d been sucker-punched.

Margaret’s eyes shifted as I came closer, their color bleeding away into her skull—leaving them the dull iron grey of a shapeshifter.

“What is that?” Judy whispered, nodding to the amulet. Everyone had a gun trained on her now, and the technicians were cowering like good, little bystanders, peering over their consoles to gawk at their boss.

“It’s a …” Fuck! I didn’t even know what to call it. “It’s a really ancient magical doo-dad with an angry spirit stuck inside of it.” Or it could have been a stockpile of magical energy from a group of powerful warlocks that definitely died while making it. Or possibly even dragon’s blood and unicorn tears. It could have been any number of things that could turn rocks into arcane killing machines.

“It’s an arcane focus,” said Rowena, glowering at it.

“That sounds bad,” said Marcus.

Margaret smiled. “It is.”

She lifted her hand and I felt the invisible strings turn to jelly, slopping to the floor. They lay immobile for several seconds.

I had time to think, What the hell …

Then the strings drove themselves right through our skin, and I stopped breathing.

SEVENTEEN

Sam

There was a moment of darkness. A long minute of slack lungs and stilled hearts, when nothing was working, like all of our organs were on strike. I felt like I was being sucked into myself, my bones collapsing inward, like all the blood in my body was being compressed into a black hole. The muffled sound of laughter reached my ears, manic and chaotic. Then the shrivel and pop of an opening portal …

We slammed to the ground, falling backwards and forwards from wherever we’d been standing. We hit the floor hard. My muscles jittered and pricked from the inside, feeling asleep. I blinked, looked left, and saw Casey’s mother—or whatever had pretended to be his mother—lying on the ground with smoke pouring out of both her ears. Even as I watched, her form shifted and changed. The shapeshifter returned to her original form—a smallish woman with sharp ears and skin darker than night. The amulet was in pieces all around her, drained of its glow.

Standing above her was a rather irksome shadow.

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me, I thought.

I expected some snide comment, or at least a leery grin, but Dagan was all I saw glaring at me. Blood stained his face, his hands, and around his mouth. A line of red connected him to the shifter. Black leather jacket, black pants, brilliant red shirt beneath—as close to dressing casual as he’d ever been. “And I thought my mother had issues.” He tutted softly, nudging the unconscious woman with his foot. “We should go.”

I dragged myself upwards, groaning, my bones prickling with an uncomfortable heat. Casey, who was next to me, did the same, grunting and holding his ribs.

“Who’s he?” Casey asked, gesturing vaguely at Dagan. Dagan scowled at him, as though everybody in the world should have known his name.

“Dagan,” I said, confused even as I answered. “The demon I talked to in Splendor about Dulcie’s whereabouts.” I took a deep breath. “As to why he just saved us? I have no clue.” And on that question, I demanded an answer. “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked Dagan.

“Saving your life, apparently,” he said. “And you’re welcome, by the way, all of you.”

“Thanks,” I started uncomfortably because I was well aware that everything Dagan did had to benefit him in some way. How this situation benefited him wasn’t exactly clear yet, but I figured it would reveal itself in time. “So how in the hell are you here right now?”

Dagan sighed. “I was following you. I had … let’s call it a bad feeling. So, despite my better judgment, here I am.” He shrugged. “And it’s a damn good thing to! Guess it’s true what they say about trusting your guts and intuition.”

“So who’s that?” Casey asked, pointing to the woman on the floor. Rowena knelt beside her and gave the air a cursory sniff, her stone eye gleaming in a silver light that wasn’t there.

“Shapeshifter,” she said after a moment. “She hasn’t been in this form for long.”

I barely heard her. “Let me get this straight,” I said, squinting at Dagan. “You had a bad feeling and you followed me. Just because you had nothing better to do, or what?” As I’ve said before, Dagan made Bram look like the paragon of innocence. Dagan was chaos incarnate, the living manifestation of every sour thought the world could conceive—the kind of creature that spent warm summer evenings roasting marshmallows over house fires. He would have been delighted to watch me burn, just for the hell of it.

He had absolutely no reason to save my life.

Dagan sighed. “I admit, it sounds a bit … contrived, but I assure you, I have every reason to be here.”

I crossed my arms and stared at him. “Name one.”

“I do not want the world, as I know it, to go up in smoke for one, Madam White,” Dagan said stiffly. “But we can talk about this when we we’re far away from here. Your shapeshifter here, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, is no friend to you, and there are many other unfriendly creatures making their way to this building as we speak. They intend to … deal with you as they see fit.”

“What are you talking about?” Casey demanded. “Unfriendly creatures?”

Dagan rolled his eyes. “I mean, a very bad someone has sent some very bad people to make sure you never reach your destination.”

“Who specifically?” I asked.

Dagan shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“And how do you know that?” Casey asked suspiciously.

Dagan shrugged again. “Aftershocks. I was touching your girlfriend’s scars,” he said, “and sometimes, I continue to see things.”

Casey looked at me, tacitly asking, can we trust him? I nodded although I wasn’t really sure if we could trust Dagan. But it looked like we were also out of options.

The metal disk trembled beneath us—and a moment later, it started to fold in from the outside, melting away to reveal the deep, inky blackness of a two-dimensional portal.

“Um,” said a technician. “It is. Um. Ready. Sir.”

Dagan sighed, storming over to a technician and picking him up by his lab coat before hoisting him a foot off the ground. “Where does it lead?” he shouted in a voice dripping with angst.

The technician swallowed. Poor guy, just trying to do his job. Probably had no idea he nearly got us killed. “Um … the Archaic, sir,” he stammered. It was an ocean, big, angry, and dark. Full of hungry fishies with very sharp teeth.

Okay, he probably knew we wouldn’t survive that. Nice to know we escaped that horrible fate within a matter of seconds.

Dagan brought the technician closer to his face, and his irises blazed. He opened his mouth, fire crackling in the back of his throat, backlighting his white teeth. “How’d you like to go for a swim?”

“That’s not …” I started to protest, but Dipshit Scientist III interrupted me.

“The Darkness will f-find you,” he said. “And k-kill you all. It’s j-just a m-matter of t-t-time.”

I sighed. “Never mind; fuck him.”

Dagan chucked him through the portal headfirst, screaming, and we heard a muffled splash on the other side. Sound doesn’t travel particularly well through portals. Casey opened his mouth, probably to say something about proper ethics. Good thing he shut it again.

One bad guy down, twenty thousand to go. Slow progress.

“Anybody else feeling bold?” Dagan asked. He puffed out his chest, licked his lips, and seemed to revel in the room’s discomfort. Scientists looked at each other and shook their heads. None of them could tell what he was, surely, but no one dared risk making him angry, even if he were just a very aggressive human.

“We need to move,” he said to me. “Now.” More intense than I’d ever seen him, he was urgent, minutes from full-blown panic—not an emotion demons ever displayed. I bounced to my feet—swaying for a moment, and let the grey drain out of my vision. Then I nodded, pulling Casey’s arm to get him standing.

“Um. What’s the plan?” I asked.

We could have asked the technicians really nicely to change where the portal let out, but that would have taken time, time that we didn’t have. And if we could trust them not to dump us in some godforsaken desert or poisonous bog or something even worse. Yeah, we couldn’t trust them at all—not when they were probably mind-whipped by the Darkness or maybe they were the Darkness’s own people …

Dagan said nothing but held out his arm and drew a large circle in the air. His hand trailed red sparks—carving a hole in space. The magic he was calling on was unclean. Its source was a deep, dark, desolate abyss, full of moans and whispers and bellowing like a half-broken fever, an impenetrable wall of self-imposed silence, stitched together from all the worst sounds into a steady, unbroken hum …

“Get Silas,” I said to Casey.

But Casey was way ahead of me, hefting the elf over his shoulder fireman-style. Silas was unconscious and moaning, but alive. He’d have a monstrous headache when he came to, but hopefully, that would be all. Mind-control is tricky magic even when you know exactly what you’re doing. Never mind when it’s at the hands of a slack-jawed amateur! Somebody keener on making an impression than actually hijacking your brain. If he were massively unlucky, he’d get away with only a blood clot or brain damage as a result.

Dagan dropped his hands. There was a red spark-spitting circle hanging in the air now, a fiery ring with a flat, glossy, black center. It had to be a portal, a door that opened into the unpleasant hallway that led to the Underworld. Dagan looked at us.

“After you,” he said, gesturing to it.

“What’s that?” Casey asked.

“A portal,” said Dagan. “What the hell does it look like?”

“A portal?” I said. “You can just … make …” I turned on Dagan. I amplified my voice to thunder, roaring, my words echoing through every hollow place in the world. “You’ve been able to do this the whole time?” I screamed at him.

Dagan shrugged, clapping the invisible dirt off his hands. “You didn’t ask me for passage,” he said. “You asked me for a location, which I gave you.”

I grabbed him by the back of his neck, digging my nails into his skin. He melted under me, moaning and groaning, but I didn’t stop or care.

“You useless,” I hissed, “pathetic, selfish, motherfucking—”

“Sam,” Casey said, getting between us. “We should really go.”

I looked back at him through a haze of red, and he shrugged.

The flames went out. I dropped Dagan—seeing blood on my fingers.

“Oops,” I said. “Um. Sorry.”

“Remind me to raise your hackles more often,” Dagan crooned. He touched the blood I left on his neck, bringing it to his lips, licking it, and sucking on his thumb—

“Where does the portal go?” Casey demanded from Dagan, clearly irked by the demon’s interest in my blood.

“Same spot we’re in right now,” he said. “Nether side. Empty lot.”

“Empty?” said Casey, frowning. “It shouldn’t be empty.”

“Well, it is. And you have about ten seconds before one of these fools works up the courage to raise a proper alarm, and thirty more seconds before that motley group of heavily armed non-friends I mentioned before arrives. So … if you’re keen on getting the fuck out of here, I’d hurry it up,” Dagan said.

Casey glowered at him, adjusting Silas on his shoulder. He eyed Judy, who looked between Marcus and Kent. They both shrugged as they looked at me. I stared at all of them and turned to Dagan.

“If you’re lying, I’m going to cut off your dick and feed it to Kent,” I said.

Kent choked on his own spit and stared at me, wide-eyed. “You can do that?”

“Yes. She can,” Dagan said. I couldn’t tell if he sounded apprehensive or eager. But this was Dagan, so maybe it was a little of both.

Kent giggled. “That’s feckin’ brilliant.”

Dagan rolled his eyes, noticeably more tense than before. “Come on, then.”

The lights went out, replaced by a blinding. red and white strobe accompanied by a screaming alarm. The technicians ducked behind their consoles, cowering. Dagan sighed.

“I warned you,” he said.

I turned to Casey, sighing and stammering wordlessly for a moment. Scrambling for a different way out that just wasn’t there, I sighed. “Anybody got a better plan?”

Silence. Well, not silence, but nobody suggested another plan.

“Eh. Moost be worse ways ta die,” said Kent.

Running at the portal, he catapulted himself through. The black sheen rippled and spun around him until we heard a faint Wheeeee! echoing from the other side. We waited. Listened. And then came a muffled Scottish accent. “Joost joomp, ye feckin’ pansies!”

Casey and I exchanged a look. Behind us, the elevator door slid open.

“Ah,” said Dagan. “Right on time. Shall we?”

Somebody cocked a gun behind us. Lots of them. We jumped—and the room exploded into a shower of bullets behind us. Seconds later, we tumbled out on the other side, and I felt like I’d just been spat out of a pinball machine. Rolling in the dirt, gasping, grunting, I could only hope we didn’t land on anything sharp.

Dirt, I thought. Not hard veneer floors or glossy tile. Just open dirt.

I sat up slowly and looked around. A vast, greenish sky spread out above us, halfway to being starry—a Netherworldian twilight, and the sun scalded the horizon. Buildings were all around us: tall, old, angry concrete and tempered glass. And everywhere else? Just dirt, dirt, dirt. Grey and red and brown and black dirt. Soil and ash and brick dust.

Empty. Just like Dagan said it’d be.

Shit.

“Does this mean ’e gits ta keep ’is dick?” inquired Kent, almost sounding disappointed.

“Yes,” I answered absently, standing up. A massive square of dirt that was pockmarked with slabs of grey stone was all that was left of the broken foundation. Surrounded by scorched buildings, the delicate hum of a city on the edge was punctuated with screams and pops and car alarms. Everything had black streaks, red spots, orange shadows, and the signature hallmarks of offensive arcana. Not to mention a unique smell that tainted the air—charcoal, gas, and the incessant haze of a burnt-out fire.

“Rowena?” I said. She didn’t have to reply. The look on her face was tight and painful, like she could feel every scratch in every building on her skin.

“Something happened here. Something beyond what we can see,” she said quietly, wheeling to look around. Concrete monsters towered around us, scorched, grey-red towers with holes in their sides, eaten away by acid and magma, dematerialized by warlocks, and crumpled like paper by giants or necromancers with uncanny, powerful friends. We were sitting in the middle of a magicked warzone.

And there, at the base of the wall, spray-painted on the stone by someone obviously in a hurry, was their message: Humans go home! Civilian humans did not live in the Netherworld, so it could only mean the ANC.

Shit on a stick. So they knew about the explosions—or, more likely, the explosions must have been mirrored on this side. The general population of the Netherworld was probably making some really unhealthy assumptions.

Kent was sitting on the ground, his legs splayed out in front of him. He sniffed and stuck out his tongue, tasting the air. “Smells like soomebody ruptured a propane tank.”

“Casey,” I said, staring at everything.

“I know, I know.” He was standing now, spinning in circles with Silas at his feet. Staring agape at the Netherworld’s Los Angeles equivalent, so clearly out of sorts, it was just burnt enough, and loud enough, and silent enough to prove something was wrong. Smoke, so much of it, and deep gouges in the earth from massive claws, along with humanoid silhouettes plastered against the walls and black shadows were all the remnants of vaporization. Distant sirens, and still, so much screaming and shouting.

The ongoing chaos of a riot.

Or not, I thought. Maybe it’s a party. Or a city council meeting. Maybe it’s a peaceful protest.

Jitter-smack-pop! went an automatic rifle. Then another and another. Distant, but too close for comfort. Coming from somewhere north—close to the ANC.

“You hear that?” Casey asked. Stupid question, but I almost asked it, too. I’m not dreaming, am I? Somebody’s got a gun. A big one. And they’re using it in a place where there’s lots and lots of people screaming. You heard it too, right?

“Yeah, I heard it,” I answered.

I didn’t know why I was surprised. The Darkness wanted all the ANC offices obliterated. Off the map, eradicated, Netherworld branches included. Corporate genocide—it’s the only thing that explained how all fifty different bases could go up at once. That’s fifty portal hubs, gone! He couldn’t want the ANC for their portals, not if he were wrecking them to shit. Portals are hellishly sophisticated things, but even magical rips in space and time aren’t immune to flat-out explosions.

And if his murderous party existed in the underside, that would mean he’d have entire cities of supernatural citizens to contend with, most of whom were passively supportive of the ANC. It allowed them and their children a chance to escape the drab, seventies-locked Netherworld and visit more interesting places like Fresno. Most of the Netherworld civilians wouldn’t allow their sole anchor to a moderately less destructive world go up in flames, especially if the explosion seemed so premeditated and deliberate.

If this ANC were still intact, there’d be people: protesters, vigilantes, and protectors, defending one of the last links to a slightly better world.

A riot. A protest. And a gun. Probably more than just one.

“Do we check it out?” asked Judy, a gun in her hand, she was already slumped into a halfhearted but low and ready stance.

Casey looked toward the noise, scowling. We all glanced between each other uncertainly. Our primary goal: find the Darkness and put a bullet in his skull—assuming he had a skull to put a bullet through. We didn’t have the time or the resources to try and diffuse an angry mob. We’d do more harm than help.

Not far to my left, Dagan stood up from the dirt, making a show of dusting himself off and adjusting the cufflinks he didn’t wear. He was different here, like every magical creature was in the Netherworld. His skin was paler, and his cheekbones more pronounced. Lankier, skinnier, and all at once, more muscular—he seemed stretched thin before ballooning out into something excessively tall and angry-looking. He seemed mostly Dagan, except for his eyes—that were now black vials filled with red, merciless fire.

“That sounds unpleasant,” he said, nodding towards the shouting. “Shall we have a look-see?”

Judy shook her head. “We don’t have enough time. And we can’t do anything anyhow.”

“We should drop by it,” Rowena announced, “if only to read the climate. Something’s happened here, city-wide. We should know what it is before we attempt anything else.”

We looked between each other and swallowed collectively. Rowena was right, but that didn’t mean we had to like it.

“Fine,” said Casey. “But we stay on the periphery. And we get in and out, got it?”

“We should send some someone ahead,” Judy announced. “Separate the group. Seven people on the edge of an angry crowd will surely stand out to somebody.”

Casey nodded. “Okay. Rowena, Judy—”

“And me,” I said, stepping forward.

“No,” Casey said immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Rowena and I can perceive magic and auras in ways the rest of you can’t,” I said, placing my hands on my hips defiantly. “If the crowd’s been magically coerced into screaming, or somebody’s carrying a dragon’s-eye cluster bomb, we’ll be able to tell. You can’t.” And beyond that, I also knew the Netherworld and its social expectations far better than they did. If a draconian female stumbled up to them and asked how the sky’s color suited them today, none of them would know the correct reply, (fuck off, Janice, that’s how). No one would have known that it was an old joke from their folklore. Not being aware of that could result in significantly less skin on their bodies.

But I could tell Casey still didn’t like the idea at all. His face compressed itself into an expression I couldn’t quite read—something between unadulterated rage, outright denial, and fear. His voice sounded way deeper than I’d ever heard him use.

“No!” he said, before his arms started glowing.

No, not his arms—the runes on his arms. The glyphs and designs of shining blue that were carved into his skin. The only cosmetic manifestation of his magic. Weird. Hot, but weird. I wondered if those glyphs meant something to him, and if branding his skin with invisible ink was an integral part of becoming a Siphon.

“I can help,” I started.

Casey shook his head, and every part of him was as solid as steel. “No! Rowena can see enough for both of you.”

Rowena screwed up her mouth to one side. She was thinking maybe that we couldn’t, since every creature perceived the magical planes in different ways. Although I might be able to detect the calculated heat of a dragon bomb, she could point out who was actually carrying it, and where they intended to drop it.

“She should come,” Rowena said. “Or you should. You can see a bit too.” However, a bit couldn’t help us if things got hairy. “Or Captain Leather over there,” she added, waving her hand at Dagan.

“I could go with both of them,” Dagan said. “They can keep me in check, as you say.”

“And you want to help? Why? Out of the goodness of your heart, or what?” I asked, eyeing him with visible doubt. “I’m still trying to figure out what’s in it for you.”

Dagan grinned. “Maybe I just want to watch people shoot each other.”

Everyone ignored him.

Rowena sighed. “We’ll be quick.”

“We’re running low on time, ya’ll,” said Judy.

“I promise I won’t let your girlfriend get trampled,” Dagan said to Casey.

“Fine. You’ve got five minutes. If you do anything to Sam,” Casey started.

“I know, I know, you’ll cut off my dick and feed it to Kent,” Dagan said with practiced ennui. “You have my word as a businessman with precious assets he’d like to keep intact.”

“Uh-huh,” Casey said. He looked at Rowena, setting his jaw. “Go. And hurry.”

And then, before any of us could move, something barreled around a corner. It was bloody and smothered in grey and running like she had the Megalodon on her heels.

Christina. A fairy, and part of the ANC. Also a friend of mine.

She was screaming.

“Duck!”

But none of us did in time.

EIGHTEEN

Dulcie

I lay in bed, slick with sweat, but still freezing. Sebastian. He was breathing heavily, splayed across my stomach, smiling stupidly, lost in something between sleep and drunken stupor. At least he had the presence of mind to pay me a compliment every ten seconds or so, but not quite enough acuity to turn the sounds he made into actual words.

I just lay expressionless, absently staring at the ceiling. I’d already cried myself dry, and now I just felt … numb. Empty. Like all my insides had painfully dissolved, leaving me with only a hollow shell of a person. I started drifting off while listening to the thunder of my own breath.

I’d burst into the room screaming and wailing, telling the stupid voice to shut up, shut up, shut up! but it wouldn’t go away. Sebastian, ever the gentleman-in-training, decided the best way to soothe me would be by paper-blank sex. He tried to be slow, sensuous, perhaps his version of gentle, but he didn’t have it in him, certainly not in the capacity he was aiming for. Awkward, clumsy, and painful to see but much worse to experience, he had the gall to think he was doing well, and I failed to correct him. I tried to lose myself in it—if only to bury the persistent voice in his pathetically ill-timed strokes and caresses—but the voice never faltered.

Or maybe it did. When it seemed to have gone quiet, I could only torture myself with everything it made me see.

My reverie was interrupted briefly when the sounds of an enormous explosion rocked the entire house. Another strong earthquake? Moments later, the rumbling settled and I imagined the streets would soon be rife with chaos. It’s not everyday a dryad meets her doom—just another warning to the Netherworldians that they had better comply with Mother or else. Fall in line or fall flat. It was as simple as that.

“Lovely,” Sebastian murmured as he looped a tendril of my hair around one finger. He seemed absolutely impervious to what had just happened. Like he hadn’t even felt the house shifting abruptly with the intense, magical explosion.

Sebastian was drunk long before I entered the room. He was boozing himself up in preparation for the angry Dulcie. She always emerged after prolonged exposure to Mother’s damned dignitaries: all those self-important, dogmatic, heaps of skin, bone, and scale, tenaciously clinging to their romantic, pre-Earth ideals. Nothing they could think of could function any better than the system they’d just torn down. They must have known I’d be spitting bloody murder through my teeth by the time they stopped gawking at me.

My eyes roved across the ceiling, following the shallow sheen of recent paint until they landed on a mirror hung in the center of the far wall. In the reflection, I saw the burning scarlet bedsheets and their shadows, the gold tassels hanging from the bedframe, Sebastian’s limp smile and his effeminate physique …

Then I saw my face. Catatonic. Placid. Aloof. Resigned. The face of death.

I blinked at myself, trying to smile, frown, sneer, or do anything. But the muscles wouldn’t respond. I stayed stuck exactly where I was, the weary expression of a sleepy schoolteacher who abandoned her students and her responsibilities. Like shock or rigor mortis, my reflection revealed the emptiness of someone who couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening around her.

You can’t, she said. You’re missing something.

I turned away from the mirror in a huff and looked back at the ceiling.

“Quiet,” I whispered. All at once, the false cracks and aesthetic imperfections in the molding began to morph, and I saw a face. Blue eyes, a shock of black hair. Smiling. Perfectly content just to look at me.

I sat up suddenly, tossing Sebastian off me like a throw blanket. He clattered to the floor with a groan, then a grumble, and a loud thunk when his head took most of the impact, and I pushed myself sideways. Grabbing a fluttery, white silk robe, I tied it on hastily, walking to the French doors and throwing them open. I found myself inhaling deeply, and breathing fast like a drowning victim. The vision stayed in the back of my head, the blue eyes boring holes through my brain, looking down on the dark woods and chuckling softly. We were wondering what kind of beasts lived in there … and I began remembering one time when he and I were almost devoured by a river monster—

Enough! I thought, Of what?! I couldn’t say exactly what I’d had enough of. The voice? The memories? Sebastian’s feeble attempts at lovemaking? I didn’t know. Everything. This ragtag string of days and incessant hours, so full of confusion and pain accompanied by the vague sense that something was very wrong. And that stupid man Mother brought home! Now her prisoner, was he also a plaything? A toy? An instructive aid? No. He was too particular, too handsome, and too strong for sex to be the only reason Mother wanted him. He was my enemy. A traitor. A murderer. A usurper.

You killed Melchior.

I didn’t, I said, a pathetic denial.

Yes, you did. You killed him because you had to. Because he deserved it. Because it was you or him. Monotone and indifferent, it didn’t sound like her normal voice—it was too quiet and docile. Too grey. Too much like me.

Shut up, I thought, addressing myself.

I should have gone back downstairs and buried myself in the niceties of conclave talk, letting the drakes, the werewolves, and the vampires fuss over me like fond grandparents, and pointing out all the parts of themselves they saw reflected in me. So what if it pinched and burned and tweaked, being massively uncomfortable? I could do it, and I probably should have. If only so I could pretend nothing happened. Nothing was different, and there was nothing I’d overlooked. No bright red flags waving madly in a high wind and practically slapping me in the face.

Because there weren’t any. We’d proceed and follow through to the finish line like nothing changed, because nothing had changed. We were monsters full of magic, driven with great purpose, and the hell if Mother’s latest plaything would undermine that.

Relax, I thought. Inhale, exhale. Feel the cold, and let it wash over you. Smell the woods, the leaves, the mud, the distant blood. Think about something else, anything else. Anything but those diamond blue eyes and a long, white scar that spanned a vast expanse of sculpted muscles …

I sighed, leaning on the stone railing. I shouldn’t have watched. Mother’s glamour must have lost its potency on me. Her magic did that sometimes, spreading through the room and trapping anything semi-sentient within range, just because it could—especially when she worked herself into a tizzy. Now I was all hot-and-bothered for some floozy Loki I’d never met, and desperate to get my hands on him, while stupidly insisting he was innocent.

Innocent is not the right word, she said. But he didn’t kill Melchior, if that’s what you’re talking about.

I laughed hoarsely. I was too tired to tell her to fuck off. You know what? Sure. Maybe he didn’t.

What if Mother was lying? It wouldn’t be far out of character, even if the lie were intended only for my benefit—but if she were, she must’ve had her reasons, and I wasn’t about to question her. Not when we were so close to the end.

Maybe I could go downstairs and find her. I could hide in the kitchen and send Antoine into the crowd after her. He could lure her back with a Bloody Mary or something, and convince her to officially release her stupid spell … I believed the effects of it were probably the only reason I allowed Sebastian to fuck me.

Fuck, I thought. Weird word. Short, and to the point. Not the kind of word I used often.

Yeah, it is, she said, only softer now. All the fucking time.

I blinked slowly, suddenly feeling sleepy, of all things. I shook my head and widened my eyes. Mother would be here any minute now to pull me downstairs for the final call. The last moment to drink before we went out to set the world on fire. I had to be awake for that, or at least ready to fake it. The more observant vampires and dryads might notice something was off, but most of them would be slobbering drunk by then, if they weren’t already. Anything I did had to be pitch-perfect-professional. I could slit a throat in the middle of the room and the rest of the party would consider it a charming anomaly, a queer side effect from all the changes their poor, little darling had to endure.

Like going through puberty, I thought. But this time, it was some sacred ordeal, a ritual, and the realization of something that everyone in that room had built me up to be. Here, the watery blood of the old nymphs combined with the sap-thick sludge from the dryads, the blue vinegar from the draconian kings, and the shadowy scarlet from every vampiric House in the world. Blood on blood on blood on blood on blood, always more being added, homogenized inside a cauldron in a dark room. Spoon feeding a three-year-old who had no idea what she would become or what kind of gift she was receiving. And no clue what would be expected of her later because of it.

Not that I cared much. Destroying things for me was easy, and it seemed that’s all I wanted to do anyway. Mother was the politician. The drake who wanted to marry me was of the military viewpoint, and some other fool dealt with optics and propaganda. Me? I was a big, scary gun, a magic bomb bristling with clashing energies. Ready to burst on command. It would be fun for a while, before I was regulated to something far less …

Regulated. Why did that word strike a nerve? I’d meant to say relegated.

My mental tirade came to a standstill. It all stopped so I could examine that peculiar word. Regulated, regulated, regulated … something made me feel strange, cold and blue, something from the distant past, like a half-remembered smell.

Regulator, I thought suddenly. Not an action, but a person. But what was a Regulator? A person, a person, but what did they do?

They catch things. Evil, angry things and confine them forever. A darker voice thought enemy, and all the familiarity I clung to suddenly sank into nothing. The word was just a word again, absent any memory, if I still possessed one to speak of.

Memory. And that led to another thought. An odd one, one I hadn’t enough time to consider before, and never occurred to me until this very moment.

What did I remember?

Not just about Regulators or how often Mother lied, but about … anything. How old was I? Who were my friends? Where did I go to school? What did I look like when I was little? What books did I read? What magic did I know and possess?

All of it, the darker voice crooned. Everything and much more.

“More than what?” I whispered. More than nothing? Two weeks? Three weeks was more than nothing. All at once, with a terrible shock, I realized that’s all I had in my brain. That’s as far as my archive regressed—three weeks. Waking up in this room with Mother beside me, she was telling me to shoot some troublesome burglars, and I recalled watching them bleed out on my floor. But before that? Before that … there was nothing! Just a persistent darkness, an emptiness with a burdensome weight imbuing it, an absence with a bitter presence that refused to leave me. A deliberate awareness of nothing.

Maybe it was Mother’s doing. I’d been lost for quite some time, or so she told me, and the change could only resume very recently—three weeks ago, or just before that. Perhaps this was another known side effect of the material shift: losing the memories of everything that came before. Or maybe it was an unforeseen side effect, something that would doom my present self, preventing me from forging any new long-term memories. Maybe I had a tumor, or hit my head, or I was allergic to one or more of the blood samples Mother kept pumping through me. Maybe my brain was sick, like a computer with a virus that suddenly erases all of its files. I was left with a single program that was barely operable. I found myself constantly reaching back for relevant information, but finding nothing. I could only fail to complete the code.

I shook my head, feeling silly. Must be the glamour talking. I’d never known a glamour to do that before, but I’d also never been personally glamoured either, certainly not by someone as strong as Mother. I believed it was more hormone-based than mental. Glamouring affected the primal lizard brain and all of its baser instincts. It had almost nothing to do with higher mental functions—but brain chemistry still meant brain, and it wasn’t totally unfeasible for Mother to have temporarily wiped out my memory.

The glamour brought my thoughts back to that man, the prisoner, Knightley. Tall, dark, handsome, and so wonderfully mobile … Maybe I would go to him after all. Just to sample him, and see if sex with him drove the feeling away. Maybe I could satisfy the glamour’s obsession with him and finally silence it. The way he fought Mother looked painful, but far more stimulating than anything Sebastian could provide. The prisoner wouldn’t be hard to glamour again, especially not after what he just endured. And he seemed to know me, even if I didn’t know him. Hell, he might even want it … I wondered if that would make it any easier.

I looked down at my hands, turned slightly green in the light of my wings, which were flapping languidly behind me. I remembered something a vampire said to me once, but now it seemed like worlds ago. He was describing the behavior of glamours. He said they removed the subject’s inhibitions, giving them a green-light for whatever base urges lay beneath the surface.

He also said something about choices, and how even under a glamour, you still had them. No matter how powerful the caster was. Suddenly I felt sick to my stomach. The idea that Knightley could have engaged Mother willingly, even slightly … Ugh!

I didn’t understand why that thought bothered me as much as it did. There was no explanation, just a jumble of feelings. They twisted my stomach and made my eyes burn and my heart race. They also brought back the panicked choking from before.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bit my tongue, and inhaled the frozen air. You have to want it, I thought, but the voice sounded different, like a whisper from a memory I couldn’t completely recall. Some part of you, however small, has to want it.

So what could I have wanted so badly?

That struck me. I’m not being glamoured. The thought came slowly, like I was emerging through molasses with helpless arms. That’s ridiculous. Mother’s glamour, sure, but that was a wave of horniness, and nothing more. Absolute nonsense.

For a moment, there was silence. Not thinking anything, my mind came to a halt. Hesitating long enough to breathe. A cold wind tugged at my robe, picking up my hair, and making my wings shudder. Everything was shrouded in abysmal, desolate dark.

But if I were being glamoured, I started to say. The words crept into place, forming quiet sentences as though I were hiding from something. If I were being glamoured, which I’m not, and my thoughts weren’t really mine, what would I want more than anything?

I thought about it. Knightley, maybe. He was stunningly attractive, and maybe I knew him somewhere in my black past. Hmm. What else could I want?

Power? Fortune? Maybe, but I hadn’t done anything with the money Mother still possessed, and I didn’t particularly want to. Sex? I had Sebastian, but he was nothing to write home about. Hades! What else?

Maybe Mother, herself, her constant presence, or her tutelage. Yes, there was a hole there, a vague, a misty silhouette where a person could be standing in the back of my head—and a soft, warm voice to go with it. Yes, it was the mother that I wanted! It had to be! Because I missed her. Yes, I missed her! I could feel it now in my being, all the way down to the marrow inside my bones. I missed the way she sang to me when I couldn’t sleep … and her smile whenever I got off the bus … and all the fairy tales she told me that weren’t real, and how she braided my hair … and she always told me I could do anything I wanted, and be anything I wanted to be … her ice water eyes, blue as diamonds, were always smiling—

Wait.

Mother’s eyes weren’t blue. They were grey and red and orange! Sometimes, they were black. But never blue.

Mother’s eyes, no, I thought. But … Mom …

And then it all came crashing down.

NINETEEN

Sam

The air went red and mercury-white, hot enough to blister our skin. There were lights and shouting, the distant angry crowd going up in smoke, spitting debris, hocking bricks and bits of foundation, concrete and calcified bones, along with vaporized blood. A wave, like a gust of wind, flattened us all to the ground, and we lay on top of the dirt. With the air forced out of our lungs, I didn’t have the ability to even scream properly.

It was all over an instant later, leaving behind a blind expanse of heat. And then silence. Brooding, invisible, airless. Shadows moved across the edges of my vision. People, standing if they could, were complaining if they couldn’t. A voice, Marcus’s, asked Christina if she were all right—Christina, however, failed to reply.

Kent grunted. “Shite.” He coughed and hauled himself onto his feet with a lot of stumbling. “Whut the hell was that?”

I stared at the sky, the normal green was all awash with the wrong colors—the glittering aftermath of a very specific kind of explosion.

“That’s what happens when a really old spirit dies,” I croaked. It could have been anything, from the world’s first fairy to the mother of all dryads—although I couldn’t imagine who would have taken it upon themselves to abandon their hideouts in the mountains and forests just to go off and riot in the streets. Especially if there were guns involved! Dryads openly detested modern machinery, particularly anything with the capacity to kill.

Unless it was a demon. Drawn to the chaos, demons were the first to begin feeding on it.

Or maybe someone trying to help, I thought. Some godlike, old-world entity trying to do some good, standing in the wrong spot at exactly the wrong moment. Old things are powerful, but not impervious to harm. And something old and powerful would be the first on the Darkness’s hit list. I figured this carnage had to be from that—the Darkness killing something that should never have been killed.

I sat up slowly and looked at Dagan, who was still standing. The explosion hadn’t ruffled his feathers at all. He stood there stroking his chin, observing the smoky shadow hanging in the air.

Eventually, he said, “Well. So much for the riot.”

I felt myself explode—literally. My clothes and hair suddenly leapt to life with long tongues of violently orange fire. I wasn’t ready for it, and unfortunately, neither was anyone else. “Are you insane?” I screamed at him. “People are dead! Is this some kind of game to you? Did you just tag along so you could have a front row seat to watch the world burn?” Doing a crazed, odd dance at this point, my arms were flailing, and I was almost laughing. “What is wrong with you?”

Dagan’s grin evaporated. He looked grim, almost professional. “I’m sorry,” he said, but I wondered if he meant it. He probably didn’t. But I was surprised by his peace offering.

“Wait, what?” I asked, just to make sure I heard him correctly.

Dagan inhaled deeply and sighed. “I said, I’m sorry. Now is not the time for digs, I’m fully aware.” He looked around at the general carnage and took a few steps towards me—I didn’t step back.

“You and I have always been adversaries,” he started, looking over at Christina—she was slumped in Marcus’s arms, breathing and muttering to herself. She kept saying her boyfriend’s name over and over again: Quillan, Quillan, Quillan … “But now we have something much bigger than angry potion lords to worry about. And I’d very much like to preserve the tenuous diplomacy between the Netherworld and the American government. As much trouble as you and your coworkers have caused me, I am not ready to see you die, not just yet.”

“Not just yet?” I repeated.

Dagan shrugged and smiled, but for the first time, it wasn’t entirely shady. “I must allow for the shifting of my own morality.”

I scoffed—I couldn’t help myself. “You have morality?”

“Immorality is its own kind of morality,” Dagan said with a shrug. “If nothing else, it occupies one end of the spectrum. And so …” He offered me his hand. “In the interest of maintaining that spectrum, I would like to offer you my help. I don’t know what you might request of me now, but I’d prefer not to have to live in the Netherworld forever, if it’s all the same to you.”

I looked back at Casey, and he gave me a confused shrug. “You know him better than I do.”

I turned back to Dagan. “I’m not sure I do.” This was a side of Dagan, if it were real, that I never thought I’d see.

Dagan sighed. “I’m not asking you to trust me,” he said, “I’d never go that far. But I ask you to allow me to assist you, however marginally, in the service of continued prosperity and relative peace of the supernatural population on Earth. Whatever’s happening doesn’t look good for the ANC, and what’s bad for the ANC is eventually bad for everybody. Especially in the eyes of the human government, right?”

“Right.” I spent another minute staring at him. Then I took his hand and gave it one firm shake. I half expected him to pull me in for an uncomfortable, groping hug or an unwanted kiss, but he did neither. He simply shook my hand and let it go, standing up straight and looking as grim and professional as I’d ever seen anyone appear.

“Right, then,” he said. “Where do you suggest we start?”

It took me a moment to find my voice. There was a smell in the air now: hot, acrid—bodies had to be burning somewhere upwind. “By finding the Darkness,” I said at last, “we kill him, and this ends.”

Dagan scoffed. “And you think you can just mosey on into the home of a creature that’s powerful enough to endow Dulcie with the magic to do that?” He pointed to the silver scars at my throat. "And what do you expect to do? Just kill them? Squish them like bugs, no harm, no pain?”

“No pain?” I spat. “Dagan, we have no resources, no backup, nothing. We’re grasping at straws here, we are the last resort, so I’m sorry if it seems a little crazy, but we’re running out of time, and—”

I felt hands on my shoulders—Casey. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Breathe. It’s going to be all right.”

His hands crept down and he wrapped his arms around me, giving me a squeeze. I leaned back into him, almost reflexively, drawn in by his smell: sweat, dirt, and whatever remained of his cologne. His glasses poked my ear as he pressed his head against mine. I held his wrist and closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling and exhaling slowly. I was also trying to ignore the powerful stench of smoke and spray paint hanging in the air.

“Apologies,” said Dagan. “Are you, then, in need of a plan?”

I opened my eyes and nodded. Casey didn’t move away, but stood up, keeping his arms draped over me. I clung to one of them like a child. I almost felt like if I let go of it, the shaking ground would swallow me whole. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, we are.”

Dagan nodded. “We are in the Netherworld now,” he said. “Much closer to Dulcie, wherever she is. If you’d permit me, I can,” and he casually reached for my throat.

Casey left my side and grabbed Dagan by the front of his shirt, the lines of silvery-blue glyphs steaming along his arms and around his eyes. Dagan’s magic strained against his own skin, resisting the magnetic pull of an angry Siphon. I took an involuntary step back.

“Don’t. Touch. Her,” Casey warned. His voice was different, deeper, and echoing itself. Dagan looked over Casey’s shoulder at me and gave me what he might have been considered a demure smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with an affected air. His aura was close to visible, pulsating in yellow around his bones. Fear shown tautly around his eyes, as well as his teeth. He stepped away from Casey and fussed with his collar. Casey stepped back slowly.

Dagan sighed. “I can pinpoint exactly where she is,” he said wearily. “I am well past the point of lechery.” He omitted “for now” at the end of his sentence, and it seemed like that was all Casey wanted to hear.

“It’s okay,” I said, laying a hand on Casey’s glowing, bulging shoulder … Focus, Sam. “If he tries something—”

Dagan’s smile twitched. “May I?”

I imagined this would be a lot less pleasant in the Netherworld—but we lacked any backup plans. I pulled back my hair, squeezed my eyes shut, and let him touch the burns.

Then I promptly blacked out.

***

When I opened my eyes, I saw Casey hovering over me. He was holding me and asking me if I were okay. I blinked and sat up. Dagan was standing about three paces away from me, looking strangely bashful. I supposed he was trying not to appear threatening, so nobody would suspect he made me pass out deliberately. He eyed Casey when he finally noticed I was awake. Maybe he was afraid to look at me, in case I chose to make good on my promise to castrate him.

Casey twitched. Like he could tell Dagan was looking at him expectantly so he deliberately avoided looking back at him. I couldn’t have been out for long, but I got the sense they’d been like that for quite a while.

“I’m okay,” I said, sitting up slowly. Nothing hurt, and my head was fine. The scars on my throat pulsed and sang, the residual magic lingering in the tissue, and bright as a beacon. “I should have warned you. Everything’s worse in the Netherworld.” Worse in this case meant fire, brimstone, and the foreboding sense that a very powerful something wanted you dead—in contrast to the vague stinging I felt when Dagan touched me Earthside.

I strongly hoped that I didn’t make a face when the pain hit me since Dagan would have loved that.

“I’m fine,” I said when Casey gave me a dubious look. “Really. Come on, help me up.”

Casey stood first, giving me his hand. “Do you know where Dulcie is?” he asked me.

I nodded. Most otherworldly creatures with magic find that it doesn’t apply in the Netherworld—fairies trade their dust for wings, and witches get sparkly skin and an almost painful sensitivity to magic. Demons, however, are technically from somewhere else. Darker, more dangerous, and more vacuous. Less inherently “magical,” so they only kept whatever tricks they had up their sleeves. Lucky for Dagan.

But because we were in the Netherworld, where the atmosphere is three parts breathable oxygen to four parts raw, ethereal energy, everything was stronger—Dagan’s tracking magic as well as my sensitivity to it. I got a pixel-perfect view of the mansion Dulcie was currently in, and a foolproof map of how to get there without running into anything especially unpleasant. Like those gigantic, flying monsters with a propensity for eating tourists.

“Big mansion north of here,” I said. “Ten miles outside Splendor.”

“Ten miles?” Kent asked. “That’s … that’s it?”

“Yeah,” I said with a shrug. I thought it was weird, too—and never expected the Darkness to be camped out so close to home. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence?”

A coincidence that he lived within driving distance of the fairy he was so obsessed with? And her ANC? Hers had been the first one to get blown up. Somehow, all the coincidences ceased to seem so accidental anymore …

Dagan raised his eyebrows. “You believe in coincidences, Madam White?”

“No, but after all this, the universe owes me a damn favor,” I said, sighing.

“And you know how to get there?” Casey asked.

I nodded. “But we’re gonna need a car.”

“On it,” said Judy, pushing herself onto her feet. She’d been sitting in the dirt next to Kent, drawing circles and dicks with her finger. Kent was having a devil of a good time sweeping them away, while cackling under his breath. “Be right back.”

“Don’t break anything, sweetheart,” Marcus said, adding, “or anyone.”

Judy flipped him off over her shoulder as she walked away. “Fuck you, Marcus.”

“I chide because I care,” he called after her.

I turned to Casey—red-skinned and smoky from the blast. “How’s Christina?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said, gesturing to where she sat in the dirt behind him. She was chatting idly with the now conscious drow. “Shaken up, obviously, but she’s still in one piece.”

Which is more than we can say for everybody at the ANC, I thought. It popped into my head from nowhere, a big, ugly thought drank by a half-empty bottle of pessimism. Somebody might have made it out alive. Christina obviously had. Maybe, hopefully, she wasn’t the only one.

Or maybe she was, and that’s why she was unaccompanied. Alone and shaky, she was trying to have a normal conversation with Silas, who, as far as I could tell, was happy to oblige her. He leaned forward, smiling softly, and nodding and laughing sometimes, even when what she said wasn’t funny. They both had rusty iron in their eyes, indicating that they had seen too much in a very short time.

“Do we know why Silas was in the generator building?” I asked. I wondered if the building had an official name, or if everyone referred to it as “that place with the generator.”

Casey crossed his arms, shaking his head. “I haven’t talked to him yet.”

“Should we?” I didn’t want to make Silas uncomfortable by asking him what he’d been doing there. He’d spent the better part of five minutes under the influence of an incredibly powerful relic, and no matter who you are or what you’re made to do, it’s never a comfortable experience. Depending on the severity of the spell, it can be downright violating.

“Probably,” Casey said, sounding just as reluctant as I felt. “He said my mom was in Brokenview. I think he knew the shapeshifter was there and came to warn us. Which …” he whistled softly, “is bad. He didn’t have any reason to be monitoring us, or the generator room. And Silas isn’t the type to stumble onto things like this; he’s always very deliberate.”

“So we should talk to him,” I said.

“Yes. We should.”

We both nodded. But neither of us moved toward Silas. Even though it was necessary, the timing just seemed wrong. Questioning someone was something you did after your morning cup of coffee, when they were waiting for you in the interrogation room, and you had plenty of time to get to the nitty-gritty. It didn’t seem like something you did when the world was blowing up around you and you were next in line.

We stood there in dusty-red silence. A slight wind was blowing, and the sound of the distant crackle of flames while every now and then, a loud rumble indicated another building falling away. Christina and Silas, bloody, burnt, and tired, were whispering to each other. Kent was giggling to himself, while singing under his breath and bouncing on his heels.

“Do you think we’re gonna die down here?” I asked Casey as I looked up at him, shelving the task of questioning Silas for the time being. There were bigger fires to tend to.

Casey blinked at me. The question caught me off guard too. It was a stupid thing to ask—either we would, or we wouldn’t, regardless of what any of us thought. There was really no use in discussing it.

He looked at me for a moment, studying my face. Thinking. Then his features relaxed and he said, “I don’t know. Maybe. Hopefully, not.”

I nodded slowly, exhaling, and puffing out my cheeks. “Yeah. Hopefully, not.”

He wrapped his arm around me and squeezed. “We are going to be okay. I can feel it.”

The only thing I could say was, “Siphons aren’t precognitive.”

Casey laughed. “Says who?”

“Me?”

He laughed again, and I laughed too. Hades only knew why.

“We might die saving the world,” he said softly. “And we might not. But we’re going to do everything in our power to make sure everybody comes through this.”

I nodded, sighed, and stood up a little straighter. “Yeah. Okay. Come on. We should talk to Silas—and get that whole thing out of the way so we can find out what he knows and if it will help us.” I was probably just putting off the inevitable—our confrontation with the Darkness—but Casey didn’t call me on it.

“Right,” said Casey, giving me another squeeze before letting go. I took a step forward, trying to think of the most considerate way to talk to Silas about his possession …

Casey grabbed my arm, spinning me back towards him, and slammed his lips into mine. Harder than he meant to, like he had to get it done before he lost his nerve—but a second later, it became softer and much slower. The restrained urgency of somebody on the cusp of a very dangerous adventure, and the possibility of not returning in one piece. Casey dared not miss the chance to kiss me, not because he waited too long, or hesitated, or found himself dying.

He’d already kissed me before. Little pecks on the head and cheek, comforting little nothings. This, however, was different. This was intended to be different. He asked me a question before I lost the chance to answer him and make sure this was what we both thought it could be.

I lifted my hands to his head, running them through his hair, and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He pressed himself against me, his tongue snaking in and out of my mouth, his lips opening and closing around mine, without parting for more than a fraction of a second. Heat wove itself through me in a wave, building quietly at first, before fanning into a raging inferno. A rush of blood warmed my face, my shoulders, my stomach … everywhere.

Absolutely everywhere, I was on fire.

Then he pulled back. Too soon, way too soon. We were both breathing hard by then. Breathing hard and staring, that’s all. Not sure what to say, or needing to say anything. We just kept staring each other in the eye, flicking back and forth, searching. And finding all kinds of things.

We smiled at each other, refusing to blink, in case we missed something. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kent scowling when he handed Judy a bill. Judy, smirking, took the money without looking back at him. She was staring at us with her arms crossed, and looking smug.

“Um. I think Kent just lost a bet,” I whispered.

“Good,” Casey said, and he kissed me again—a light peck this time, and much too short, but sweet. It sent a bright flash through me, so strong it was almost painful.

“Okay,” he said softly. Our noses were almost touching, and our foreheads pressed together. “Now we can talk to Silas.”

“Yeah,” I said, flustered. “Um, yes. Silas.”

For another second, we didn’t move. Then Casey sighed, straightened up, and started walking. It took me a minute to remind my legs how to walk again.

“Casey,” said Silas. Silas looked up, but he didn’t stand. Christina narrowed her eyes at Casey—she could tell what he was, one of the many benefits of being fae. And she didn’t like what she saw. She looked at me curiously, wondering what I was doing cavorting with a creature designed (in theory) to kill us if we ever got out of hand.

I gathered myself together and said, “Hi, Christina. This is Casey James. He’s here to help.”

Christina looked between the two of us, her eyebrows hiking themselves up to her hairline.

“Honest,” I said. Christina screwed her mouth to one side, but said nothing.

“Um …” I swallowed. Where’s Quillan, I wanted to ask. Presumably, he was in the ANC with her. She’d taken him officially off Dulcie’s hands once Melchior was dead. He was registered as an informant, but he functioned as a partner, a mini Regulator without the badge, although he was working to get it back. He should have been with her.

But Christina was always good at reading people. She patiently sought all the microscopic words hiding in the folds of people’s worst expressions. “Quillan’s gone,” she said. “Not dead or anything, just … I don’t know where he is. In the city, I guess, we both saw the dryad die at the same time, so he probably ran …” She sniffed and shook her head. “I’m sure he’s fine.” She closed her eyes as if she were repeating the mantra to herself to make it so.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure. He’s pretty resourceful.”

She smiled at me, attractive as ever and glowing. Somewhere behind me, Dagan began panting, moaning, and purring.

“What’s the matter with him?” Kent asked, staring at Dagan—who was doing his best to contain himself but, predictably, failing.

“Fairies are …” I swallowed my thought. Another quirky side effect of being a fairy in the Netherworld. Dulcie often described the phenomenon as sexual crack. It was an absurd moment to be prudish, but somehow, I couldn’t get myself to say that with Casey standing so close. “Particularly … intoxicating … when in the Netherworld. Side effect of … something or other,” I said at last, gesturing to Dagan. “Ignore him.”

“Aha. Got it.” Kent continued to stare at Dagan, unabashedly fascinated.

“How you feeling, man?” Casey asked, turning to Silas. He extended his hand and Silas shook it.

Silas looked grim. “Been better. Rowena, good to see you, though.”

Rowena nodded to him silently, grinning. “You too.”

“What were you doing in LA?” said Casey. “You’re stationed in DC now, right?”

“I am. I mean I was.” Silas ran a hand over his face, visibly exhausted. “Case, we got a problem.”

Just what you don’t want to hear.

“What kind of problem?” Casey asked.

“Your mom,” said Silas.

Kent chuckled. Judy glared at him and raised her hand, threatening to hit him. He flinched and laughed more quietly.

“Right. You said she was in Brokenview?” Casey pressed.

Silas nodded. “She sent me a message,” he said, ignoring Kent, or perhaps he didn’t hear him. “Said she was working the Brokenview ANC site. She wanted …” He winced and took a deep breath. “She wanted me to send down an empath. Hana somebody. See if she could confirm something.”

“Confirm what?”

“That the explosion was deliberate. That it came from the inside.”

“Oh, shit,” said Casey, and he looked at me. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but this had to look really bad for the ANC. If it appeared to anyone that we sabotaged ourselves …

Not a fun thought.

“So Mom was in Brokenview—” Casey started.

“And something else was with you guys in the gen room,” Silas said. “Probably trying to prevent government brass from going someplace they shouldn’t. Like, you know, the Netherworld. Easier to keep people from using your equipment if you look like the person in charge.”

“A shapeshifter,” said Rowena.

“Yeah,” said Silas. “But not just that. I tried calling in Hana myself. Went down to her office. She wasn’t there.”

“So?” said Casey. “There’s got to be a dozen other places she could have gone to.”

“She wasn’t the only one gone,” Silas said. “Half the building was empty. More than a dozen offices, totally unmanned. And it looked like they left in a big hurry.”

“They? Meaning …?” Rowena asked.

“Meaning senators and congressmen and all of their personal staff.”

“And nobody left a memo?” Rowena said.

Silas shook his head. “Nothing. I thought it was a government shutdown, but the budget thing’s been over for a week, and the other half of the building still had people inside it.” He sighed. “Some of them told coworkers they were taking an extended holiday, but none of them would say where they went.”

We blinked and sat on that for a moment, thinking. Half of Rowena’s face fell—the other side, the ivory mask with its ocean-black eye, was gleaming, and lit from within by a sharp, green light. If anyone else could see it, no one said anything.

“And you were in LA,” said Casey. “Because you found out the shapeshifter was there.”

“Yeah. You radioed in to say where you were heading, but by then, your mom had already left for Brokenview and gone radio-silent. She was worried somebody would be listening in, which I thought was crazy, her line was secure, but when I went to Rickson about changing the keys, I got shot down. Hard.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean Rickson wouldn’t take my call. And there were some schmucks I’d never seen before standing outside his door, telling people the boss could not be disturbed. Nobody else would take my call either, which was weird, and all I was trying to do was make sure a replacement primary technician was stationed at the portal. The key to that thing is enormous and it’s not something everybody in the agency gets to carry around. That generator changing hands is, like, a huge deal.”

“Shit,” said Casey, grimacing like he suddenly understood. “Rickson wouldn’t take your call. And Mom thought she was being spied on.”

“Yeah,” said Silas. “That’s what I was thinking too.”

“Um … what?” I asked, not following.

“Rickson is one of two other people that has a legitimate backup key for emergencies,” Silas said. “And the only person besides Margaret that can give somebody else permission to run the show. Margaret didn’t think she was safe on a division-only phone line, and she kept saying she was being followed. She’s anything but paranoid.” Silas almost laughed. “It means the agency’s gone bad. Real bad. Totally lost control, and somebody upstairs isn’t letting anybody out in the field. Our best bet is to lie low, and wait it out.”

“Wait what out?” said Marcus. “This isn’t a blown black op! This is a hostage situation turned into a massacre. That’s not something you wait out.”

“I know,” said Silas, “that’s why I ducked out and found you. By the time I got somebody to answer a damn question, someone discovered what I was looking for. A bunch of guys in suits I’d never met before came swarming in from nowhere, insisting that the generator was in good hands and telling me to stay the hell out of your operation. That was obviously suspicious. I kept asking where you were and why we weren’t offering ground support, saying we had the clearance to know about this, but they shut me down every time. Said you were on your own and anything we might try to do to help would just blow your cover.”

Casey groaned while walking in an ever tightening circle. “And we’re not even undercover.”

“Yeah,” Silas said ruefully. “So, uh … I don’t know if it’s just the support team, but we’ve been compromised. At least, all the way to Rickson. This Darkness character has an in, or he paid somebody to pay someone else to stay out of it, or somebody’s trying to cover up something else, and I don’t know how the hell the congressmen are involved, but their timing can’t be another coincidence …” He shrugged. “I don’t know. But something’s up. Something really bad.”

“Did you call Johnson?” Casey asked Silas, adding, “Rickson’s boss? Last guy below my mom?”

“Yep,” Silas answered with a clipped nod. “And his wife, and also his brother. They haven’t seen him in days, and his secretary said he called in sick last Monday and she hasn’t heard from him since. And Casey? I called Odyssey.”

“And?” Casey asked.

“She didn’t answer. Hana did.”

“What did Hana say?” Casey asked warily.

“That Odyssey was not to be disturbed,” Silas said. “That she was busy. I told her it was about your op, but Hana wouldn’t budge.”

“Fuuuuck,” said Casey, turning, pulling on his hair. “Fuck fuck fuck fucking fuck!”

“Me too, man,” Silas said bleakly, resting an arm on his knee. He looked at me, not for the first time, and tried to smile. “Sorry. Who are you?”

“Samantha White,” I said. “Um.” Lone survivor of ANC Splendor. That was probably what he was asking. He wanted to know where I came from and why I was now part of Casey’s merry band of psychopaths. But I couldn’t say that out loud.

“Silas, do you think you could get back in? Give us eyes topside?” Casey asked.

“Probably,” Silas answered. “I could find a computer and a back door, and hack into the cameras. They definitely know I was in LA, so I can’t just walk in, but I’ll figure something out. But you know … I’d have to get back to the office first … and out of the Netherworld.”

“Right—the office which is in a different dimension,” Casey muttered. “Fuck!”

“Maybe the portal at the ANC here is still intact?” Christina asked, sounding hopeful. “I mean, I doubt it is, but it’s worth looking into, isn’t it?”

“Portal generators are really fragile,” I said with a sigh, shaking my head. “If we’re really lucky, it’s in a million pieces.”

“Pieces we could put back together?” Casey asked.

I cocked my head to the side. “Not beyond the realm of possibility.”

“And what if it’s not in pieces?” Marcus asked.

“Then it’s been reduced to a pile of dust beneath a bigger pile of dust,” I answered bitterly. “But … I don’t know, we’re kind of low on options. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Casey sighed. “We don’t have time to try and sift out a broken generator. And we sure as hell aren’t splitting up—luck hasn’t exactly been on our side lately.”

“Then what’s your plan?” Marcus asked Casey.

“Find and kill the Darkness,” Casey answered, his chin jutting out in a stubborn hold. He pulled his gun from its holster, dropping the magazine to check his bullet count before popping it back in and glowering. “We can figure the rest out when we don’t have a massive, powerful Netherworld monster blowing up my fucking country.”

I had a horrible thought. “And … what about Dulcie?”

Casey grimaced—then his expression softened, and he sighed. “Sam,” he started slowly. “She’s powerful. We’re going to do everything in our control to get her out of this in one piece, but if … if she tries something, we might not have any choice.”

My blood froze—but before I could reply, we heard tires squealing and the low hum and jitter of a muscle-car engine. Damn near everything in the Netherworld was on a three-decade cultural lag. Then a long, green station wagon rolled up to the empty lot, kicking up plenty of dust.

Judy rolled down her window and probably would have honked if she didn’t think something nasty could hear us. “Get in, losers, we’re going to save the world!”

TWENTY

Dulcie

I leaned over the railing and vomited. There was barely anything in my stomach, just acid, bile and lots of wine. But it kept coming up.

“What the fuck?” was all I could think to say. The word came out as a sob; no, a muted scream. A panicked declaration to no one in the room, not Sebastian’s unconscious body, or my reflection in the mirror, so ideally perfect I wanted to scream. No blemishes, no pimples, no moles, and I knew I had one or two before all this began … I felt violated, like I’d been fast asleep during something that was down-and-out dirty.

I wanted to collapse or cry, sob, and scream until I broke the windows. I began wondering if I were really back in control of myself again. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything I’d done under her influence: shooting Knight, sleeping with Sebastian, watching her rape Knight, standing idly by, screaming at myself to move, wondering why the fuck I didn’t move …

I gagged, but there was nothing left to eject. Just dry heaves that hurt my ribs.

No, I thought. I didn’t have enough time to panic. No, no, calm down and breathe. Stay in control of yourself! Whatever you do, you can’t let Meg have the reins over you again.

I took a shaky breath in. My arms and legs were jelly, barely holding me up. The sober part of my brain said, Stay calm. Play the part. Whatever’s happening, you have to stop her.

“What’s the matter?”

Her voice was coming from directly behind me. I stiffened and swallowed hard. Shit.

“Nothing, Mother,” I said, dissolving back into character. “Just admiring the woods.”

I turned to face her and found her standing in the doorway. She was wearing a long, black dress, her hair all in curls, and her face done up to the nines and beyond. Blisteringly beautiful. The sight of her set my blood boiling.

Meg, I thought, clenching my teeth. Bram’s stupid maker who turned my brain to putty and stretched it thin. The bitch who had me kidnapped, before she shrink-wrapped my soul, drained Bram, and raped my boyfriend.

I’m gonna kill you, I thought, and very slowly.

I smiled at her, feeling as cold as marble.

She smiled in turn and held out her hand. “Get dressed, my darling. It is time.”

Time. The word clanged between my ears like a gong. “All right.”

Meg nodded and started out of the room but stopped when she saw Sebastian, apparently for the first time, and smiled. “How did he do this time?” she asked over her shoulder.

Pitifully, I thought. But that’s not what I said. “Passably well,” I replied, trying my best not to speak through my clenched teeth. “You were right. He learns quickly.”

Meg inclined her head, smiling. “Good to hear.”

“He has a long way to go, of course. Would there be time for me to visit the Loki?” I asked, trying to sound innocent. “Strictly for the purposes of note-taking? He seemed to please you well enough.” Good, keep your voice level, look her in the eye, and smile, smile, smile …

Meg chuckled. “Later, princess. We’ve just a short meeting to attend to, and you can play with your new toy as long as you like.”

New toy, I thought bitterly. Still thinking I was under her influence, she encouraged me to prance back and forth between the incapable Sebastian and Knight, taking notes so I could teach my new lover how sex was supposed to be performed.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

Meg nodded, her eyes flashing—and I felt it, the crimson pull of an impossibly old creature trying to wrangle my spirit.

Well, that’s not very nice, I thought inanely. Lasting only a brief moment, just a cursory reassertion of her control, but already I was having trouble keeping my thoughts in order. They clustered, crumbled, and fell apart before they could become full sentences. I felt my anger draining away too, replaced by flat complacency and a dull hum like distant thunder.

No, I thought furiously, no, no, think about Knight. Think about Knight, focus on the blue of his eyes, his eyes that you know so well … My words came out in a jumble, falling through my teeth like sand.

Then, out of the din, a voice like satin and shadow: Think about Knight and think … about Sam.

Sam. The absent party in all of this. Totally removed from Meg’s house of horrors. I could see her face so clearly in my head … Sam, my best friend, my sister, my beloved witch … so wildly intelligent, so beautiful …

I heard footsteps descending the stairs. Meg left, and I hadn’t even noticed. Thank Hades …

I sighed, slumping back against the bed, feeling suddenly exhausted. My head was pounding … but it was still my head, my mind, and my asinine thoughts. Okay, I thought. Okay. Sam. I can do this. We can do this.

I dressed in a red, flouncy ball gown, something I vaguely recalled Meg requesting specifically for this event. She mentioned something about universal colors, so the more visually impaired creatures would be able to see me. She wanted me sticking out like a star in the abyss, glowing, a sweet, little something capable of devouring entire planets. The dress was more glittery than even Lady Gaga would find prudent, and shining brilliantly, like I was supposed to be a fairy princess.

Fuck, I guess that’s exactly what I was. Gross!

The rest of my ensemble? White gloves, black heels, and rosy lipstick. More blush than I’d like to admit, but it appealed to the Brainwashed Dulcie and reflected her taste. I put it all on against my better judgment—wishing to high hell I had a gun I could stash somewhere. When I looked in the mirror at my dollish face, I had to restrain a scowl.

Smile, smile, smile. Just a little bit longer.

I saw Sebastian on the way out and even toyed with the idea of waking him, but decided I couldn’t pretend I liked having his hands all over me in front of a crowd. Or even alone, for that matter, but that had to be shelved for another time. I could be with Knight, pretending it was for Sebastian’s benefit, and never come back, claiming Knight was the superior lover, which was absolutely true.

I couldn’t wait to see the look on Sebastian’s face. I wondered how Meg would take it—and if she’d commandeer my “toy” because she thought I was becoming too overly fond of him.

I sneered at Sebastian. “Showtime,” I said underneath my breath, and I went downstairs.

***

The party came to a screeching halt. Everyone held their drinks in their still hands, waiting, watching eagerly as I made my way to the front of the room. Heading to the vast marble expanse of a fireplace where Meg stood with a glass in her hand, I wondered what was inside the glass. It was filled with a suspiciously viscous fluid that stuck to the sides. People nodded deferentially to me as I passed, and I nodded back, wondering if that were the correct protocol, or more forward than the glamoured Dulcie would have allowed herself to be. I tried to look shy, concealing my insane urge to rip off their heads and start laughing like I’d gone completely mad. Bulky werewolves, vampires in pinstripe suits, draconians in colorful robes, and a hundred or more mixed-race creatures with physical features I couldn’t pin down. Many creatures that were a million times more powerful than the average fairy.

And yet, I felt like I could win, if I really wanted to. I could take it upon myself to wreck their shit, burn their stupid clothes, set their alcohol on fire, and watch Meg’s precious mansion burn down to a pile of cinders and ash just like what she’d done to the ANC, my home.

I almost stopped. The memory slapped me in the face, gold and glowing, blue and green and silver, all the signature colors of a really bad, and definitely magical, explosion. Ruined offices, a busted Mr. Coffee lying in a corner, and Blue! Sweet, little Blue barking up a storm as I wrapped my fingers around a pearly white throat. Burning her, I began melting her skin.

Then somebody swooped in to save the day, ripping me away from Sam and throwing me sideways before I could do any real damage. Hades bless him, whoever he was. I made a mental note to find him and buy him a drink—once I finished chopping Meg into tiny, little pieces.

“Dulcie, my princess,” said Meg, extending a hand. I took it, smiling as widely as I could manage, and stepped up onto the stone base of the hearth. She looked at me, her eyes rippling with pride, and the vicious gloat of success. “Dulcie. My Dulcie.”

To everyone else, it sounded like an endearing sentiment. In my ears, however, it rang like a battle cry, the shriek of a hideous, ancient beast.

I could kill you, I thought. Now that I was looking for it, the awful powers she’d endowed on me—a chaotic coalescence of power and magic beyond magic flowed through me. The fire of the drakes, the speed and shadow of vampires, the raw strength of werewolves. The liquid sense of purpose of the dryads, creatures that could call on the water or the wind or the trees to do anything they wanted. I could summon the chimera in here right now and have him rip out your throat.

But Meg wasn’t stupid. She had plans heaped upon other plans, plenty of backups and contingencies, last resorts, and enough replacements for every person in the room. People were already in place, ready to blow the whole world to smithereens if something happened to her and her coalition. This wasn’t just a power grab anymore, it was a sacred rite to her. It wouldn’t matter if she were dead, she’d find some way to get what she wanted. If she went up in smoke, Hades only knew what her people in the ANC would do.

Maybe they’d scatter and give up whatever they were set there to do once they had no one to obey, I thought and hoped.

But it was far more likely they’d all take matters into their own hands, presenting a slew of unrelated crises for us to deal with, most of which would, no doubt, escalate immediately into hostage situations. Better to stick around, read the room and play to win. Follow Meg to the end of the rainbow and strike only when it was far too late for her to call for help.

I didn’t have a plan to go with the sentiment, but an out-and-out massacre seemed, while extremely attractive, a rather poor choice.

So I didn’t kill her. Just in case.

“Greetings, friends,” she said, speaking in a language I knew but couldn’t identify—one of a thousand that were now embedded in my brain. “Allies and partners,” she continued.

It was an odd moment to critique Meg’s talent for public speaking, but I was cringing all the same. Her emphasis made every word sound passive-aggressive, a veiled insult she didn’t think anyone was smart enough to catch. She looked at me, smirking—which indicated she was doing it on purpose.

“It has been a long, hard road. But here we are. Only mere moments from our restoration.”

Restoration. Old world, old Houses. Drakes who wanted to marry me to solidify an alliance. Oh, Hades!

She didn’t have to say much more—all of her guests knew why they were there, and the goal they were so perilously close to accomplishing. I looked across at them, studying their faces, watching their eager eyes and their fingers drumming against their glasses. Standing with their chins up, all half-smiling. Most of all, they seemed so hungry.

“It’s a long time coming. A very long time.”

The crowd laughed and elbowed each other, like it was some secret joke they all shared. Remember the night we decided to take over the world? Good times!

“But we’ve made it. It’s done.”

Count your successful coups after they hatch, I thought. Unless she’d already done something excessively nasty and this was the celebration of victory. I assumed it was the sendoff for the final patch of fireworks that would incinerate whatever she wanted so badly.

“Tonight, we suffocate the thieves in their own smoke. We make them regret the moment they defied us. Tonight, we reclaim what is rightfully ours!” Meg raised her glass higher. Everyone raised their glasses with an approving roar, then tipped the strange fluid back into their mouths. Nothing like a stiff drink to temper the end of the world.

“To Vogahn!” someone shouted before the rest of the room took up the cry.

“What do you say, darling?” Meg asked me, placing a frozen hand on my shoulder. “Shall we pay President Odyssey a visit?”

Odyssey? I thought, all at once confused. Who’s Odyssey?

A second later, I understood.

Of course. Odyssey, President Odyssey. The deciding senate vote happened ten years prior after the case of The People v. Ala. She was the first magical creature to make herself known, and she established the precedent that allowed Netherworldians to live Earthside. She also heralded the rise of human influence in the Netherworld. The call for open travel between the worlds went up before a modest disagreement in trading policy spiraled into an all-out war. When it was finally over—and all the old government branches and their people had retreated, hidden, surrendered, or died—only one functioning government body was left in the whole damn plane.

The Association of Netherworld Creatures.

Regret the moment they defied us. That was the moment we swooped in after the dust settled, assuming the mantle of leadership as if it were a shiny penny we picked up in the street.

Smile, smile, smile. “Yes, Mother.”``

TWENTY-ONE

Sam

We drove for a really long time in stony silence. Everybody was patiently waiting for Dagan or me to tell Judy when to turn. The car was cramped, and the general air of oh fuck, we’re almost out of time hung over us like a black cloud, ominous and smothering.

“What’s the plan?” I asked after a while—but before Casey could answer, I added, “‘Kill the Darkness’ is more of a goal than a true plan.”

Casey smiled weakly and looked at Rowena. She was staring out the window, resting her chin in her hand.

“Rowena can do things,” he said quietly, “if she needs to. Hopefully, we’ll be able to sneak in, eliminate the Darkness, and sneak out again without any problem. But if we can’t … or if it’s too heavily guarded, or too many civilians, or we just straight up can’t find a way in … then we’ll send for her.” He grimaced. “God willing, it won’t come to that. It’s …”

“Painful,” I said. I could only imagine. Whatever lived in Rowena must have given her its sight, and most likely by accident. Whether she were connected to an entity in a far-off parallel or it was physically bound to her body, calling on it wouldn’t be pleasant. Especially if she asked it to do something particularly taxing—like turning her invisible so she could sneak into a heavily guarded enemy compound without being detected. The kind of unpleasant that having your skin sheared off your muscles might be compared to.

I’d seen somebody do it once, a long time ago. He called on an old god he was once connected to, asking it to manipulate something outside his body, something in the physical plane, although it didn’t have a direct connection with it. It tried and failed. There were lots of screams, and lots of blood. Way too much blood.

“Okay,” I said. “So we get there.”

“We see how well the place is guarded,” Casey said. “Judy and Rowena can look for a way in. You can help us detect any unfriendly magic, wards, traps, or other things. If we can find an easy way in, Marcus will enter first, quiet as a mouse. He’ll stay in contact and locate the Darkness. If Marcus has an opportunity, he’ll have to take it. If he doesn’t, he’ll tell us where he is and one of us will go after him, probably Judy or me. If we can’t find a way in, and not too many people are onsite, Kent can make us an entrance. And if all else fails, Rowena can summon her demon friend from wherever he is and tell him to raze the whole place to the ground. Or something.”

Rowena sighed. “He’s not a demon,” she said. “And he doesn’t raze things to the ground unless you ask him very nicely.”

Casey grimaced. “Well, hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

“Hopefully,” I said, thinking of every time Dulcie and I got thrown into the fray with no plan, no resources, no time, and no real training. That time Dulcie managed to deal with a dreamstalker in his own domain with literally no ephemeral backup. Another was when we had to go to war with no concept of how to maneuver a thousand-man army. And once, lacking even three-tenths of a plan, Dulcie broke into Melchior’s house anyway, going through a window and almost getting herself killed. Trey got killed instead … Yes, I was fairly convinced that a simple “just follow my lead” is the token recipe for miscommunication catastrophe a la death.

So, based on my professional track record, I didn’t have a lot of faith in the strategy of just getting there and seeing how it goes. It didn’t sound like that’s what Casey intended to do, but I didn’t know, since he seemed so calm about it. And so certain that everything would work itself out for the better that he didn’t need to worry.

He sounded like Dulcie. The voice she used when she knew she made a really stupid decision to save somebody’s ass and even though she knew how stupid it was, she insisted on sticking to it with everything she had.

“Sam, I know it sounds contrived,” Casey began, “but we’re not just a bunch of gun-hauling dumbasses with badges! We’re trained professionals. We were sent here for a reason. I promise.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m just … I’m sorry, it’s a huge house. And it wasn’t heavily guarded on the outside, from what I could see, but acres and acres of forest lie behind it, and there could be anything lurking in there.” And I fear you might try to do something heroic and stupid.

“We’re almost there,” said Dagan. “Ten minutes, tops.”

“Great,” I said. “Okay. Okay. We’ll be fine.” I sighed. “But.”

Casey nodded. “Dulcie.”

“Yeah. I know,” I said, before he could stop me, “I know it might … get bad. I know that.” I didn’t want to think about it though, knowing it was a very real possibility. “You’ll do what you can, but if you can’t…”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I promise we’ll try.”

I wanted to protest and scream something in Dulcie’s defense, but I couldn’t figure out what to say. Beg for us to hesitate long enough for Dulcie to miraculously pull herself out of it? Offer her cookies and ice cream and a trauma blanket in the hopes that they would be enough to stop her from blasting us into oblivion? My mouth hung open, full of words, but I was unable to sort through any of them.

They would try. He would try. But it might not be enough. I couldn’t think any other thoughts beyond that. Before Casey could say anything, Judy slammed hard on the brakes and swung the car off the road into a tight mesh of trees, jarring everyone forward.

“What the fuck, Judy?” Casey yelled.

“Everybody keep low,” she whispered, sliding her gun from its holster.

“Why?” I asked, ducking down.

“Big, scary, government-type vehicle at twelve o’clock.” She pointed with one finger, keeping her hands on the wheel. “Hang tight, it … huh … They aren’t going very fast.” She peered forward curiously, squinting in the dark.

The dreaded thought that we were too late crossed my mind—and I worried that this car was just the beginning of a long, evil convoy, the parade of monsters marching blindly towards the end of the world. What if this were the long drive leading us to wherever the Darkness intended us to go next? Perhaps we were ignorantly following his grand scheme without ever intending to.

At the very least, it was most likely a patrol vehicle filled with some random werewolves and trolls. They were packed tightly into a big, black something-or-other, watching for intruders like us. Their semiautomatic weapons probably filled to bursting with dragon’s blood bullets.

I peeked up. The SUV was meandering down the gravel path, slowly, patiently—or maybe at the mercy of a paranoid driver. No other cars were crawling along behind them—so we were alone, as far as I could tell. The SUV curled into the edge of the road, and stopped. The driver door opened slowly, along with the back passenger door. Three shadows tumbled out—one of them twitching his nose like he’d caught a scent.

“Oh, shit,” I whispered. If they were human, there was a good chance they couldn’t see us—but when I saw the one doing the sniffing, I had to think that wasn’t the case. Whatever he thought he smelled was dim enough that he had to search for it, and get out of the car to hunt it down. Muffled voices drifted towards us, arguing, and someone was growing irritated, insisting that there was something there, just give him a second.

“Three outside,” Judy whispered. “No more than two in the car. We can take ’em.”

I ducked back down. There was a soft rustling as everyone in the car went for their weapons. We sat silent, taut, still, and waited.

“Um. You don’t … know them, do you?” Judy asked me, pointing to the shadows.

“I doubt it, probably not,” I answered with a shrug. Everyone I knew in the Netherworld worked for the ANC, and none of them had any reason to ever be this far out into the country. “Why?”

“Because the shirtless guy is waving at us.”

“What?! Does he have a gun?” I asked as I peered into the dark, trying to see what Judy was seeing.

“Nope. Just … a shirtless guy,” she answered.

“What’s he doing?” Casey asked. “I can’t see him.”

“He’s off to the right of the road, cloaked in the dark,” Judy answered. “He’s walking this way. Just … waving.”

“At what?” I asked. “Us?” If we’d been seen, why weren’t we being shot at? Unless maybe this wasn’t one of the Darkness’s people?

“I guess not?” Judy asked more than said. “He’s not attacking, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I strained harder to see whatever Judy could see. Two shadows stood beside their own vehicle, aiming at the third, and their postures suggesting confusion. The one who kept waving at us wandered closer, until I could see dark hair, tannish skin … but I couldn’t make out much more … He was just waving, like he was desperately trying to get our attention … I reached over Casey and opened his door, popping my head out, and hoping to see better.

The man in front of us stopped short and brought his hands to his mouth, calling, “Sam?”

I froze, and my stomach felt like it was impaled by a glacier. “Knight?” I whispered. I couldn’t say it any louder.

“No fucking way,” Casey said with a laugh of disbelief.

“Get out of the car,” I said. Nobody moved. “Get out of the car! Come on, move!”

Casey pushed the door open all the way and I barreled out, practically crawling over him, before I tackled Knight in the most grasping hug I could manage, squeezing him so tightly that I worried I might break his ribs—I couldn’t, of course, since he was built like a Sherman tank, but I continued squeezing him as hard as my little bird arms could manage. I tackled him too, and he stumbled.

“Knight!” I started crying.

“Fuck! It’s good to see you,” he said, hugging me back, just as hard.

I paused. “We thought … I thought …” And then I started blubbering like an idiot. Knight hugged me again, and I cried into his shoulder, remembering somewhere in the back of my head that Knight was my boss and this was wildly unprofessional …

“I’m okay,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m okay, Sam.”

“Told you I could smell her,” one of the shadows said. Bram.

“Yes, and we’re all so proud of you,” said the other. A voice I didn’t recognize that was deep, old, and dusty.

“What are you doing here?” Knight asked. “How did you even get here?”

“We, um.” I stepped away abruptly, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. “I was …” I stopped. “Knight, you’re … um.” I blinked at him, my eyes finally adjusting to the dark. Naked, I thought. And I couldn’t look away. Dulcie always said he was well hung but … hot damn!

“Oh, yeah,” he answered, blushing furiously. He looked around for a minute, no doubt seeking a way to cover himself. Eventually, he dove back into the SUV and retrieved a black briefcase, which he modestly held over his substantial friend. “Forgot. Sorry, Sam.”

“You’re, uh … fine, I guess?” It couldn’t be angry at him for being naked … It probably wasn’t his choice, but it felt weird. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Knight,” Casey said behind me, “I’ll be damned. Thought you were dead.”

Knight stiffened. “Ah, hell. Casey James?”

Casey came forward, waving and smiling. “Nice to see you too?”

Knight hesitated, sighed, and relaxed, but with visible effort. “Do I want to know what you’re doing here?”

“Not really,” said Casey. “Dude, are you …” he chuckled. “Are you … naked?”

Knight just nodded. “Yeah. Long story.”

“Where were you?” I asked. “What happened?”

“Meg,” Knight answered. “Meg is the Darkness. She’s a vampire.”

“The Darkness is a woman?” Casey asked, shocked.

“If you want to call Meg a woman,” Bram responded icily.

“Bram tracked Dulcie to her base and we … well, obviously, it didn’t go well,” Knight finished as he looked back at Bram, as if he were waiting for him to add something. Bram sighed and looked away.

“The Darkness, apparently, is also my maker,” Bram said.

“Your maker?” I repeated—but I wasn’t as concerned with the Darkness’s connection to Bram so much as how substantially that increased her age. Bram was centuries old, a Master Vampire, and his abilities had advanced to insane degrees by the final change in his body. The part of his human self that hadn’t quite begun calcifying became even more powerful.

The older a vampire got, the further from his humanity he was separated, and consequently, the more magic he could contain. I guessed that Meg, Bram’s maker, had to be a hundred or more years older than he was. Why? Because vampires cannot create any offspring in their first immortal century. Thus, Meg had to be even older, putting her leagues ahead of Bram, lightyears even … I supposed that would explain how she’d managed to keep herself hidden all this time, even from her own people.

“Ah,” I said at last, looking to the left of Bram. A tall, dark, strangely calm person was standing with his hands in the pockets of a black suit coat. His skin was as pale as fogged glass, and he stooped and slouched, a man hundreds of years past caring about his sloping posture. “And this is?” I was almost afraid to ask.

“Meg’s maker, Ezra Grant,” Knight answered. “He’s with us.”

“Meg’s maker …” I repeated. That made Ezra the grand-sire of Bram—and, at a guess, close to a thousand years old. “Oh. Um. Hi?”

Ezra smiled sadly at me. “Greetings, Ms. White. I am sorry for this,” he said. “Truly.”

Dagan stepped forward, scowling. “Madam White, you saw this as well, so correct me if I’m wrong, but the household of the Darkness was extremely well guarded inside,” he ground out, throwing his arms across his chest. Then he glared at Knight. “How did you manage to escape with your conspicuously naked friend?”

“Knight’s on our side, Dagan,” I said underneath my breath, dismissing Dagan’s accusatory tone.

“Dagan?” Knight asked, baffled as he turned to face me. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“Pleasure to see you too,” Dagan managed. “Bram, I trust you are well?”

“Dagan? If you would kindly … do me an enormous favor …” Bram started, “and throw yourself into … the nearest active volcano …”

“Sam, what the hell is he doing here?” Knight demanded again, his eyes aflame.

“I am helping,” Dagan responded, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “For your information, this jolly party would have gotten nowhere without me.”

“That’s true,” I admitted to Knight with a frown. His frown drooped even deeper.

“And the question still stands,” Dagan continued. “How did you get out?”

“Yeah, I’d kind of like to know that myself,” I added.

Knight and Bram eyed each other. Knight coughed and looked away. Bram crossed his arms, and his eyes turned darkish brown.

“We managed,” Bram said at last. Behind him, Ezra chuckled.

“That’s it?” I asked, clearly unimpressed. “That’s not it.”

“Yes, I’d love to hear the story,” said Dagan. Knight’s hands curled into fists.

I suppressed a groan. “Dagan. Please.”

Dagan held up his hands and took a step back. “Apologies all around. Proceed.”

Knight shot Dagan a glare before turning to me. “We were looking for Dulcie. Bram tracked her blood to the place down the road and we broke into the house …” He grimaced. “It was too easy, and we should have known. We went upstairs and found Dulcie with Meg, but she was … different. Wrong, she was in some kind of trance … She didn’t recognize Bram, or me. Then at point-blank, Sam, she shot me! And she didn’t even blink!”

“Shit!” I said. Sounds about right. “Yeah, um … I ran into her too. She …”

How do I even say this? How do you tell your boss his girlfriend was possessed by a homicidal maniac? And she not only killed his employees, but also tried to kill you? She left a whole city in shambles, with burnt-out buildings that folded in on themselves like waterlogged origami cranes.

“Sorry if we thwarted your rescue,” Bram started before Knight could ask me to finish my sentence. “But it was getting rather stuffy in there.” He sounded out of breath.

Then I noticed for the first time how weird he looked. How slowly he was speaking. Vampire faces are frozen forever, and totally incapable of the physical changes that occur when you haven’t gotten enough sleep. But Bram was swaying on his feet, with his eyes half closed. And staggering whenever he moved, like he was half-drunk. That was impossible, and even if he did drink something, he lacked the metabolic process that pumps the alcohol into his system. Hell, he didn’t have a system to pump it into. He could not be out of breath either, for that matter.

“Are you okay, Bram?” I asked, taking a step forward. Not that I cared, but if he was about to pass out, we needed to know.

“I have had an interesting week,” he said simply.

“Interesting?” I asked. Interesting didn’t even begin to cover my week, and I could only assume it didn’t accurately describe his either.

“Meg tried to drain him again,” Knight answered. Bram shot him a look—probably not a point of pride for the illustrious Master Vampire. “And she damn near succeeded,” Knight added, probably to rub it in.

“Again?” I asked—I didn’t know she’d tried it already. “Shit, Bram. Maybe you should … I don’t know, sit down?”

Bram snorted. “I will be fine. We have … more important things to do … than to fuss over me.”

“So, let me guess,” Knight started. “You all were on your way over here to save us?” He probably guessed correctly that we were taking the backroad to the mansion.

“The plan was to kill the Darkness and, hopefully, free Dulcie from whatever spell she was under,” Casey answered. “But I’m sure your name would have come up eventually.”

He said it as a joke, but Knight didn’t laugh. “How did you know where Dulcie was?”

“Um,” I answered, my heart swimming with liquid dread. Time for the really bad news. “I … Dagan …” Just breathe, Sam. I released a quick breath and pushed my hair to the side, exposing the sinewy, grey burns on my neck.

“Dagan did that?” Knight asked, his eyes flashing with pure heat.

“No!” I nearly yelled before taking another deep breath. “Dulcie did.” I let my hair fall. “She attacked Splendor. I …” was the only survivor. I shook my head. “The ANC is gone. Not just ours, but all of them, almost every base we’ve got.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” Knight’s voice was quiet, tense. He sounded like he knew, or at least could guess what I meant.

“She means, they went boom,” Kent said sadly.

“Boom,” Knight echoed, shaking his head, but still not understanding.

“The Darkness, or Meg, made Dulcie blow it up,” I said. “She’s … I don’t know, glamoured or possessed or something. I thought it was to prove that Meg had control, convincing her to wreck her own building … but Knight, it’s all of them. The LA offices went up within minutes of each other, Earthside and here. It’s a coordinated attack, Meg has control of all the bases, and she’s deliberately …” I stopped. “You’re not listening to me!”

Knight was scowling, standing with his arms crossed, his face as stony as a pallbearer at a funeral. After a moment, he looked up. “Sorry, hang on. Bram. Where’s that book?”

“What book?” I asked. Bram pulled a small, black journal from his pants pocket, wincing as though it hurt him to touch it. Knight took it from him with his free hand that wasn’t holding the briefcase to cover his nudity. He flipped the book over and opened it, reading something. He scowled even deeper, if that were possible.

“Here,” he said as he handed it to me. “Take a look.”

I immediately noticed the golden D stitched into the cover. My fingers tingled wherever I touched it so I guessed it was probably a spell to render the paper inflammable, or to keep any offensive magic being used in the room from leaking into its pages. A basic, double-sided ward, the kind of spell you cast when you don’t want something to light up like a Christmas tree if an intruder who can see looks for magic in your evil lair.

“This is …” It had a physical weight to it, actually metaphysical, and the haunted aura of an abandoned church. It echoed of fixation, obsession, love gone sour … and a very particular emotion, something Meg had to have poured into it almost certainly by accident. Rowena was giving it a look, leaning in, and her onyx eye was glinting—she could feel it too, even from a distance. “Heavy,” I finished.

“It’s Meg’s,” said Knight. “It’s a log of Dulcie’s life, the progression of her change, letters—”

“Her change?” I said. “What change?”

“Ah, yes,” said Ezra, stepping forward. He was homely for a vampire, a little more square than the other ones I’d met. It made him look more human. “When Dulcie was quite young, Melchior and Meg began to inject her with various things. Blood, ground scales, and the liquid essence of other creatures. The reason they did it is still a mystery, and we do not know why, but it managed to make her exceedingly powerful.”

“The result,” Bram said, “is the new Dulcie. A living, walking weapon of mass destruction.”

“Which could explain this …” I touched the burns on my neck almost subconsciously.

“There’s a lot of not so great stuff in there,” Knight said, gesturing to the journal. “Sam, whatever they’ve done to her, it’s turned her into an impenetrable, magic tank.”

“That doesn’t sound good at all,” I said. But it sounded right, and it matched up with all the destruction she’d wrought in Splendor. It really sounded like Meg was headed for war, but she already had what she wanted, didn’t she? Control of all the portals, and a litany of explosions that would keep anyone else from interfering. What more could she ask for?

“Impenetrable? Damn!” said Kent. “This is gonna be a foon fight.”

“There isn’t going to be any fight,” I said. “Dulcie’s still my friend!”

“A friend who’s already tried ta kill you twice, darlin’,” Kent answered, unimpressed. “Ah’m sure she’s nice as anybody else, boot if she’s becoom a magic tank, I dunno what you expect us ta doo.”

“I expect you to try,” I said, my voice rising. Casey laid a hand on my shoulder, trying to smile.

“And we will,” he said. “I promise.”

“But if we can’t get through to her,” Marcus started.

“Then we’ll do whatever we have to do,” Casey answered with tight lips.

“Do what you have to do?” Knight demanded. “What the hell does that mean?”

Casey sighed. “Knight, I don’t know if you’ve seen Dulcie attack anything lately, but she’s insanely powerful now. Such as none of us have ever seen before! She’s that formidable. If we have a shot at her, we might have to take it, you know how this works. It’s a last resort, but if we’re not ready to make that decision when we get there, we’ll hesitate. However, we can’t afford to hesitate, not with Dulcie being whatever she has become now.” Knight took a deep breath and his knuckles went white from the fists he was making. Casey noticed it too. “I know, it’s awful, but it’s something we have to think about, and plan for.”

Knight was silent. We looked at each other, hunting for the right words. I was trying not to think about if we had to pull the trigger on Dulcie. Knight would be killing the only woman he loved, and I’d be killing my best friend.

“Just keep reading,” Knight said at last—clearly refusing to think about it any longer.

I looked at him a brief moment, but there was nothing else for me to say.

I kept reading.

I flipped through the book, scanning the lines in confusion. Lists of Dulcie’s powers were enumerated as they manifested: the fire of the drakes, which she so clumsily used to burn me, the speed of the vampires, and line after line after line of Meg extolling Dulcie’s virtues. She sounded like a doting parent, or an adoring fan—the first hints of chronic obsession, something vampires occasionally experienced with their offspring.

And then, the last entry. Black ink, and splatters of red. One line, no date.

“It is time to end their Odyssey, and begin ours,” I read aloud before I clapped the book shut. “Well, then.”

“That’s a bit—” said Judy.

“Dramatic?” Kent supplied.

“Yeah,” Judy answered.

“Hardly,” Bram interrupted. “If anyone dares to wax poetic about someone’s impending demise, it absolutely has to be Meg.”

Oh, shit. “Guys. Odyssey is capitalized.”

Casey’s face fell. “Oh, shit.”

“President Odyssey,” Judy said the words softly.

“End their Odyssey,” I repeated as I shook my head, my shock raging through me. “Meg wants to assassinate her!”

TWENTY-TWO

Sam

“Maybe Meg wants to assassinate Odyssey,” Knight started. “Or maybe she just thought it sounded poetic enough to write it in her diary?”

“Or it’s a planted statement, something to throw us off. Something she planned,” Marcus added.

“Meg is more ambitious than she is intelligent,” Ezra replied, shaking his head. “Even on a good day, there is absolutely no way she thought that far ahead. Besides, she doesn’t even think that highly enough of any of you to guess you’d ever find it.”

Bram twitched at hearing that, but he didn’t comment.

“But why kill Odyssey?” Casey asked. “If it’s portal control, she’s already had that for ages. Why blow up the ANCs and wreck her ports? And why kill the president? That act, alone, won’t gain her any favors. Nobody will take her side.”

I blinked. “Unless …” I started.

“Unless?” Casey repeated blankly.

Shit, shit, shit. “Unless that’s just something she told the kingpins to get them on her side.”

“What? That she’d kill the president?” Kent asked.

“No, that she would take control of the portals,” I reasoned. “That’s what Jax kept insisting was happening, and we still don’t have any reason to believe that wasn’t the case—or at least, that he didn’t think that was the case. But maybe Meg lied to the uppity-ups just to get their help.”

“What kind of help would she need from the rings?” Ezra asked.

“Manpower, for one,” Casey and Knight said at the same time.

“Maybe she asked to keep the ring leaders off her back. The potion lords have maybe five working brains between them,” Marcus said. “If they found out Meg intended to monopolize the portals they use to transport their product, they’d start causing plenty of trouble. So, how do you solve that? By bringing them in on the deal, if only to get them off your back, right?”

“And she probably also wanted access to the drugs, themselves,” Judy added, throwing a sidelong look at Kent. “Lots of things go boom if you know what you’re doing. She might have been looking for things like that mandrake-Adderall juice, you know, stuff to give her soldiers to get them all hot and bothered before a fight.”

“Soldiers,” said Marcus. “Great. That’s a fun word to associate with an ego-maniacal vampire overlord.”

“Overlady,” Judy corrected him. But somehow, overlady failed to have the same ring.

“Okay, so let’s say for the sake of argument that Meg lied,” Casey started. “Just to get manpower and drugs. Fine. But the question still remains: where does assassinating the president come in to play?”

I frowned. Casey was right. Anyway you looked at it, Meg had nothing to gain from Odyssey’s death. Killing the president certainly wouldn’t secure portal control, and would probably expunge every portal in the United States. Put them on total lockdown. She wouldn’t have access to the plane anymore, or the human customer base Jax was so revved up about. She had the whole circus of potion masters at her disposal, as well as that nameless mystery drug Jax mentioned, addictive as hell without any pleasantly fatal side effects—no side effects at all, actually. If Meg killed Odyssey, she would be cutting them off indefinitely from their primary demographic—those idiotic human teens, of which there was a small population in the Netherworld.

Maybe killing the president was just some petty wish, a pipe dream that had nothing to do with Meg’s overall plan … If it were part of the plan, the world would go into a frenzy. Everyone would start bitching about the ineptitude of the Association of Netherworld Creatures and its potential involvement. After all the explosions, we were bound to get some of the blame. Whatever happened, the aftermath would be a PR nightmare …

Wait.

Meg had nothing to gain, and everything to lose by killing the president. So what would she lose? What did she dare to sacrifice?

What would disappear if Odyssey died?

Why did she take the ANCs? Why did she blow them up from the inside? Why did she try to make it look like it was our idea from the beginning? If the ANCs went down, so did the portals. Along with all access, regulated or otherwise, to the Earthly plane from the Netherworld.

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

Unless that’s exactly what Meg wanted.

“Maybe she wants the ANC totally gone,” I said. “Just … gone. Obliterated.”

Marcus shook his head. “Wouldn’t do her any good. Odyssey, or whoever replaces her, will have to put up an ephemeral blockade if the ANC goes down completely. Nobody could go in or out. If there’s no regulation, there’s no anything.”

“Which is why it’s so weird that she keeps blowing up all the ANCs,” Casey muttered, drawing his hand over his mouth. “Meg had control, complete and total, and nobody knew it. Nobody. If she’d put more competent people in her offices, we’d never have noticed a damn thing. She removed all portal access and has complete and total legislative control over every aspect of Earthly preternatural existence, and what does she do? She blew it up!”

“Oh,” Bram started with a frown. “Actually, Meg has my portal ripper.”

I almost punched him square in the face, giving him a knuckle blast that would have shattered somebody else’s nose—but it couldn’t do a damn thing to Bram’s plastic skin. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and said in a voice shaking with rage, “What?”

“We used it to get here in the first place,” Bram explained. “And Meg took it when Vander and I were … accosted by Dulcie.”

And that matched perfectly with every horrifying thought I was having right then. “Then it never mattered?”

Casey looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Meg doesn’t care about the portals,” I said. “She doesn’t care about keeping them open or closed. And Odyssey …” Oh, Hades, this is gonna be so bad.

“Odyssey?” Casey prompted, but by that point, Knight already caught on.

“If Odyssey dies at the hands of the ANC itself, it goes under for good,” Knight said, nodding. “Catastrophic failure, no recovery, no rehabilitation. Shit, this has nothing to do with getting access to anything.”

“And everything to do with cutting it off,” I finished.

“Ezra, you said that Meg—” Casey started.

“Was the matriarch of an old house,” Bram finished for him. “Who now has a spiritual daughter carrying the essence of all the oldest races ever to walk the dark. She is more than ready to put the hammer down on the human scourge. Someone everybody in the underground will be salivating over, picking out the pieces of her that reflect themselves. Creating their version of the perfect Nether queen.”

“That’s why the shapeshifter pretending to be your mom could handle the amulet,” I said. “That shapeshifter was probably part of the house that made it.”

“Which means Meg has more than one of the old houses already at her disposal,” Ezra added. “Meg’s probably restoring the old order.”

“And she has my portal ripper,” Bram repeated with another frown. “The portals in the ANC offices were rendered unnecessary from the moment they started exploding.”

“And she’s got a way to get back once they’re all gone,” Knight added. “Blockades won’t go up immediately. She’ll have enough time to cross over to the Nether-side.”

I scoffed in disbelief—not only at the crazy genius of Meg’s plan, but at how little time we probably had now to stop her. “So she can blow it all to hell and not have to stick around for the consequences. And Hades knows how many government plants are ready to corroborate any story she wants them to tell.”

“That’s where all the congressmen have gone,” Casey said, in a voice thin with dread. “They know Odyssey’s directly in the line of fire.”

I nodded. “Meg needs the government out of the Netherworld completely. We’re the ruling body right now, and the only infrastructure the Netherworld has. Without us, there’s nothing—an empty place Meg can fill with herself and the old ruling houses. Maybe she’ll come back for the potion rings, I don’t know, but right now, that isn’t the point. She’s taking down our order and restoring hers, the only way to keep us out for good is to convince the world it’s too dangerous for the supernatural community to have a presence on Earth at all, or for them to have a human presence in the Netherworld. She’s trying to scare the planet into isolating the Netherworld again—and she’s doing it by turning our regulators into terrorists.”

“So this has now become a question of priority,” Knight started. “Whether we go after the Darkness or we go after Odyssey.”

“The president’s safety is always the number one concern,” Casey answered immediately. “Meg will have to wait. We secure the president’s safety first and worry about Meg and Dulcie afterwards.”

“That is, if Meg hasn’t already gotten to Odyssey,” I interjected.

Casey faced me and nodded his agreement solemnly. “Yes, if Meg hasn’t gotten to her already.”

“And there’s only one way we have to find that out,” I continued with a deep breath. “So we’re going after Odyssey no matter what?”

“Yes,” Casey answered as he faced Knight. “Are you on board?”

Knight swallowed hard. I could see that he wanted to go after Meg and, of course, Dulcie. “Knight, we will need all the help we can get—first with Odyssey and then with Meg and Dulcie afterwards. If we split up, we’ll be that much weaker.”

He nodded. “I’m on board.”

“First things first,” Bram nearly interrupted. “We need to get Vander some clothes.”

“That’s true,” Knight said as he glanced down at the briefcase. “I’m getting sick of carrying this thing everywhere.”

“Yeah, you should probably be dressed if we’re going to see the president,” I added with a nervous laugh. If we were lucky, this would amount to nothing more than a whirlwind meeting and quick crackdown on personal security, giving Odyssey enough time to do whatever she had to do to clean up this mess.

“Hades, fine. Christina, could you get me some clothes?” Knight asked as he turned to face her. “I’m not sure why no one thought of that before,” he finished, eyeing everyone with irritation.

“Including you?” I asked with a broad smile.

“Including me, I guess,” he responded before his eyes fell on Christina again. “Ahem! I haven’t got all day and it’s cold out here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Christina answered with a frown.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe magick me up some clothes!” Knight responded with a “duh” tone.

Christina scoffed. “From where, exactly?”

Knight shrugged. “What do you mean from where? From your magic.”

“From my magic,” she repeated incredulously.

“Yeah. Dulcie did it all the time.”

“Did what all the time?”

“I don’t know, she manifested all kinds of shit out of the air. I thought it was a fairy dust perk,” Knight shrugged.

Now Christina looked really confused. “No, it isn’t. Fairies can’t do that and, besides, even if I could do that, my magic doesn’t work in the Netherworld, remember?”

Knight stared at her blankly. “What do you mean fairies can’t do that?”

Christina groaned. “We can’t just make something out of nothing! Fairies can make plants grow and heal wounds, but that’s about it. Fairy dust is just positive, celestial energy that fairies pull out of the air to amplify their own willpower, for things like stitching skin or knitting bones back together. That’s why we have such an intensely sexual pull in the Netherworld—fairy dust becomes the most potent there, almost like a conscious morphine high. But we can’t just make shit. That’s not how it works.”

“Christina, I’ve seen Dulcie do it,” I said slowly. “She can make or summon things with fairy dust. Just by imagining them.”

“First time we worked together, she manifested leather pants and a red, flouncy shirt from nothing,” Knight added, nodding at me.

“I do recall that,” Dagan said wistfully. “Good times.”

We ignored him.

“Then she’s not a fairy,” said Christina, sighing. “Which I know isn’t true because I’ve met her, but guys, I don’t know what to tell you, except that fairies can’t do that. Do you have any idea how many laws of physics and arcana would be broken? Alchemists can transmute one thing into another, but you can only use up the matter you have, and it has to be the same mass and basic chemical makeup …” She trailed off, biting her lip. “What the hell? How could you even do that?”

Knight and I looked at each other. We’d both seen Dulcie do it a hundred times. And we never met another fairy until Christina—since they were so very rare—so we never had any reason to think Dulcie was different. Hell, now that I thought about it, I’d never even seen Christina use her own dust.

“I don’t know what creature they could have pulled it from,” said Ezra, “but this is undoubtedly another side effect of Melchior’s experimentation.”

Yeah, thanks, Sherlock, we already got that far, I thought, but the word “experimentation” sent shivers up my spine. I didn’t want to think of Dulcie as the lab rat of a mad scientist and his manic vampire friend—that spelled trouble in a lot of ways. Enhancement was one thing, but they were trying to turn Dulcie into a fusion of the races, somebody to rule the old world when Meg was done with it. Experimentation implied a more fervent degree of uncertainty—not only the attributes of other races, but new powers we didn’t even have categories for. Like spontaneous materialization.

“I was under the impression we had a president to save,” Bram said. “Perhaps we can discuss this later?”

“Um. Yeah,” I said. “Right. Everybody just keep that in mind. Dulcie will have a lot of unknowns in her arsenal, so be ready for anything.” I offered Knight an apologetic smile. “We’ll just buy you something to wear or maybe we can find a curtain somewhere or a pillow case or something.”

“A curtain or a pillowcase?” Knight repeated.

“Just trying to be helpful,” I said.

“Well, please stop,” Knight replied.

“I mean, that’s if we even find the time. There’s a really good chance when we get to Odyssey, something catastrophic will happen and you’ll have to save the world … naked or not,” I finished with a laugh. Everyone else, minus Knight, also laughed at it.

“If we’re lucky, we can get there before Meg does something inflammatory,” Casey started. “And put Odyssey somewhere safe, play an ally card, and get an unbiased body of people to sort through Meg’s agents.”

Shouldn’t be too hard, I thought. The vast majority of Meg’s personnel had the cumulative intelligence of a Fabergé egg.

“Sounds like fun,” said Judy. “How we gonna get there?”

Silence. Crickets chirping, cold night wind blowing. Everybody looked between each other, waiting for somebody else to solve the dilemma with a brilliant idea.

“Dagan,” I finally said, groaning.

He smiled innocently at me, knowing what I was about to ask and thinking about what he would ask for in return. “Yeeeesss?”

“Could you make a portal that can transport us to DC?”

“Where in DC, madam?” Dagan batted his eyelashes, clasping his hands together. I almost slapped him.

“Pennsylvania Avenue,” I answered, resisting the urge to be equally glib.

“Ask me nicely,” he said.

“Please.”

“There, was that so hard?” Dagan flourished a bow, his shirt billowing in a nonexistent wind. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

Not something you want to hear from someone who thrives on other people’s pain. But, you know, we suffered from a distinct lack of more attractive options.

“Relax, Knightley,” Dagan said. “As I’ve already explained to your colleagues—I would really prefer not to be confined to the Netherworld forever.”

“Just do it,” said Knight, crossing his arms.

Dagan spun his hands through the air, his eyes shut tight, muttering to himself. First came the address, then a slew of words in a demonic tongue I didn’t recognize, and a modified dematerialization spell I did recognize. More complicated this time, probably because the portal generator topside was so big, we had to rip a hole in the dimension barriers. That was one thing. Traveling through the in-between places to get somewhere other than the exact mirror-reflection spot of where you are now, is another. And the District of Columbia and its beloved leader were very, very far off.

Or maybe he was just killing time to irritate me.

Dagan went quiet before he snapped his fingers, and sparking, orange lines materialized in the air. This time, the portal appeared as a tornado, a swirling mass of fire and wind, spun from the vacuum created between here and there. It was the kind of entry you can only get when you’re asking the universe to bend in really uncomfortable ways.

“After you,” said Dagan, waving his hands at it. I eyed the portal dubiously, and he sighed.

“Darling, if I wanted to kill you, I simply wouldn’t have saved your life the first time around,” he said. “Go on. Time’s a-wasting, as they say.”

Not wrong. Not reassuring either, but not wrong. “Whatever,” I said before taking a flying leap into the little, red storm.

***

The experience was only slightly more miserable than I thought it would be.

We swam through a vast swathe of oppressive emptiness for the better part of three-and-a-half seconds, invisible hands twisting our skin and pulling our organs, before becoming liquid in the airless, deep space. We sought the half-world of the under-places where the bigger, badder creatures lived and worked, weaving their chaos through the material world.

And then with a hop, a skip, and some muffled shrieking of the damned, we landed on blackened grass. We found ourselves behind the brick and steel of a crushed gate, surrounded by smoke. Everything was lit up red in the dark, and shadows were writhing on the walls. I could hear lots and lots of screaming.

“Oh shit,” I said.

I stood, jumping sideways when Casey and the rest started coming through the portal one-by-one, stumbling and cursing as they recovered from the shadow plane. The city was wreathed in fire, choking on smog that was black and blue and green, while rippling with magic. Lightning spun across the metal rails and exposed the cording, winding up the walls like ivy.

And everywhere I saw hordes of blind-furious supernatural creatures—werewolves in full form, vampires tearing through civilians with a red-eyed blood frenzy, dryads and naiads and nymphs, all ripping through the concrete and glass with their massive roots, tearing the covers off manholes and fire hydrants, directing the water with shaking hands into cars and windows, burrowing into the ground with the force of a crashing plane, and making everything shake violently. The National Guard, shouting in their heavy gear and carrying big guns, were on every corner, doing battle with the various monsters. Every ten seconds or more, one would fall, shrieking, its skin fizzing as dragon’s acidic blood spread throughout its system. Every fifth soldier was glowing. The Siphons were drawing on their mediocre power to electrocute, burn, and shatter the creatures too weak to resist them.

In front of us stood the White House, its noble face reflecting fire and shadow and smoke. The gate was smashed in. Armored cars peppered the lawn, smoking and burning. Soldiers in full fatigue and security officers in suits and Kevlar vests were sprawled out on the fire-scarred grass. None of them were moving.

The ANC wasn’t anywhere near here, and there was too much smoke in the sky, not to mention all the congealed magical energy everywhere, to know if it had been destroyed as well—but it was probably fair to assume it had. Meg’s people were fighting out in the open, so, clearly, whatever hostage situation they’d been maintaining before was now no longer the case.

We landed in the middle of a war zone. Probably one of many since I couldn’t imagine this was the only venue for an uprising.

“Jesus,” Casey said, standing up with his gun in his hand. I could barely hear him over the din. “What’s happening?”

“Meg’s already here,” I answered. It was too noisy to be another distraction. Odyssey would have been taken to a bunker the second the noise began—if this riot stood for anything, it was for making a statement. A formal declaration of how badly the supernatural community detested humans, capped off with Odyssey’s death. This was Meg’s final game, flooding every possible street with what anyone on the ground would have assumed were certified ANC employees. “We need to move. Now.”

The White House, itself, seemed in modest condition, but if Meg had planned a nationwide riot, she probably would have cut the power, too, jamming all the signals, turning the whole city dark … Then again, Meg wasn’t operating under human standards. All her offense was magical, any jamming would prevent the ANC survivors and Siphons from casting spells—which she clearly hadn’t done. In fact, we seemed to be at exactly the same point where all her concise planning came to a screaming halt.

Nobody had seen us yet, and I didn’t suspect they would for a while unless one of them blundered over to the front of the building on their own. They were smashing, burning, electrocuting, ripping, and eating their way through the street, but every creature seemed disconnected from the rest—as though their only orders had been to wreak havoc. Were they allowed to roam? Perhaps, since not a commanding officer could be spotted among them. I wondered if that were deliberate—if Meg intended to leave her people to rot after she’d done the deed—or if this were an example of her grip slipping. A herald of the steady decline of a leader’s control.

Maybe this is where we get lucky, I thought.

Or trampled by that draconian alchemist who was riding a giant, orange, armadillo-looking beast and currently taking a large bite out of a downed mannequin from some poor boutique.

“Dulcie will be in there,” Bram said. “I can’t imagine Meg would leave her behind for something like this.”

Dulcie, I thought, my heart panging, and feeling more than hollowed out. Glacier cold, tight as a collapsing star. Dulcie’s in there.

What if she’s turned permanently? I heard the words echoing through my head. What if she’s beyond the point of saving? What if the real Dulcie is already dead and gone?

The questions slammed into a wall, turning into static, and refusing to develop any further. The answer was: we might not be able to stop her—and she might have to die.

“I’m going back to the DC office,” Silas said. “See if I can get you some eyes on the inside.”

“Do you see this?” Casey said, gesturing to the everything. “You’ll never make it.”

“Would you rather I go blundering in there with you?” Silas pointed to the White House, scowling. “I’m not a field agent, man. I can do you more good from the console. I have access to every camera in the building.”

Casey drew a hand over his face, sighing, as if he were about to protest again.

“I can accommodate him,” Dagan said, sparks dancing at his fingertips. Becoming all grim and quiet, a dark look shadowed his face. He was suddenly down and devoted to the business of saving our little corner of the world. “The Preternatural Division, I assume?”

Casey hesitated another moment, then nodded. “Fine. Marcus, go with him. And don’t let him touch anything.”

“So much for not separating,” Knight said with a frown at Casey.

“I will return as soon as I deliver Silas,” Dagan announced.

“Just go,” said Casey.

“Any address, my friend?” said Dagan.

“Seven blocks south of here,” said Silas.

Dagan nodded, spinning his hands before he ripped a portal open in the air—and a second later, they were gone.

“Uh. Guys,” said Judy.

“What?” I said.

“I, um.” She swallowed, staring out into the city. “I think I know what happened to the Netherworld’s LA.”

We followed her gaze. There, digging its claws into the crystal walls of a skyscraper, its wings casting mountain shadows and tail lashing back and forth in the air, something was dragging itself through the torn steel beams and electric wires. Wreathed in fire and lightning, it was screaming thunder. Scales glinting green, bright as glass.

“Dragon,” I whispered.

“Kin I blow it up?” Kent asked, glancing down at his grenade.

“You’re welcome to try,” I said.

TWENTY-THREE

Dulcie

“Go,” Meg said to her people at the party. “You will know when it is over.”

They all nodded and departed at once. Those who could dematerialized immediately, letting their wine glasses drop and shatter on the floor. Most of them formed a line to pay their respects to Meg personally before they departed for private portals and anchored wormholes. The werewolves bowed, and the vampires who stayed behind kissed my hand. The drakes had a very particular way of showing deference that involved using their tongues and the tip of the other person’s nose. Meg leaned into it readily, fully expecting it. I smiled and tried not to flinch because it was, in a word, gross.

When they all left, Meg sighed contentedly, staring into her empty glass. Antoine swept up the glass debris and the bones of several small animals that sadly wandered in from the forest and became midnight snacks.

“Finally,” she said. “After all this time …” She smiled widely, hideously, nodding with sweltering pride. Then she turned to face me. “But now is not the time for a monologue, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, Mother,” I said.

Meg grinned. “We are so close,” she said, appearing on the verge of tears—tears she couldn’t shed. Her tear ducts had calcified centuries ago, along with every other organic part of her body. But her face still remembered how to receive a hard-won triumph. So she smiled and laughed, setting her eyes someplace far away. “When it is over … when we are done …” She clenched her fist, breaking her glass.

“Done with Odyssey?” I asked innocently.

Meg looked up and patted my head. “Yes, darling. With Odyssey.”

“What are we going to do?”

She smiled at the we. “We,” she said, “are going to kill her and take back everything she stole from us.”

“Don’t we have everything already?”

“Almost, my princess,” she said. “But … not quite.”

She got down on her knees, tossed away the glass, and took my hands. “Are you ready, my dear? My darling Dulcie?” She was talking to me like I was a teenager, getting ready for my first big dance. As if I were nervous, and she thought it was cute.

Her eyes pulsated and glowed, dragging me under a sea of liquid steel, cold, alive … hungry …

Fight it, Dulcie! I told myself. Resist her power!

“Yes, Mother,” I said, pulling myself back, away from the precipice of Meg’s authority, and her power. “Yes. Of course.” My head was swimming, throbbing. Hopefully, it didn’t show.

“Good,” Meg said, and her smile was genuine. Excited, she displayed the eagerness of a child at a theme park. “Good, Dulcie. Come, then.”

I thought I would get a moment alone to change clothes, and ask for a gun, and say goodbye to Sebastian (and sneak in to see Knight), but Meg grabbed my hand. She whispered a single word, and the room around us disappeared.

The air contorted, turning grey and black and blue, blurring, sputtering cold wind—the essence of dematerialization, the kind that spins you through the shadowy dimensions where the really nasty things hibernate between the apocalypses. It lasted for a fraction of a nanosecond, and then I was on the ground again, but dizzy as a top.

Standing in a smallish room with curving walls and powder-white couches, the shelves were full of books, and I saw side tables with black lamps. Flowers, a boorishly official, brown coffee table, and doors concealed in the walls. The legislative seal was stamped into the beige and blue carpet.

Meg stuck something in her pocket—a smallish, red thing about the size and shape of a can opener. Bram’s portal ripper!

“Where’s the party?” someone inquired.

I turned and found a woman sitting at the desk. Hands folded in front of her, she was flanked by flags and two bodies, bleeding from their throats. Dark hair pulled tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck, she was staring at us. And absurdly calm.

“President Odyssey,” Meg said with a sneer. Odyssey only adjusted her posture slightly. Meg noticed and smirked. “It is a pleasure,” Meg continued, flourishing a bow. Blood stained her fingers and her mouth. It was from the officers she’d just killed, slitting their throats in less than a nanosecond. Faster than light. “My name is Meg Vogahn. This is my daughter, Dulcie.”

I curtsied and felt clumsy.

“Dulcie,” said Odyssey, putting no inflection into the word. She turned to look from the security officers to me with a blank expression. “Pleased to meet you. Lovely dress,” she said, her words slightly tighter now. Did she recognize me? At least, she knew my name.

Meg wasn’t looking at me, so I took the moment to mouth help—not that I didn’t think I could take Meg on my own. It was probably a good idea to sound an alarm for whatever errand she’d sent her lords and ladies on.

Odyssey looked from me to Meg without any acknowledgment, and sat back in her chair, feigning nonchalance. Or maybe she was giving herself an opportunity to trigger the silent alarm she hopefully planted on the underside of her desk.

“To what do I owe this unexpected visit, Meg Vogahn?” Odyssey asked. Behind her, the world was red and flickering. There was too much noise and too much light, but none of it was coming from the sky—everything capable of combustion was exploding: gas tanks in cars, generators in buildings, even the batteries in phones being discarded by the fleeing civilians. Everything that could went poof on the whim of one or another of Meg’s warlocks, snapping their fingers and throwing glass bottles against the walls—Molotov cocktails, with a little extra something to make them burn and burn and burn.

A city at war. Creatures descending upon humanity with oppressive force, demanding the return of something they didn’t even know was missing. I didn’t want to think what kind of hell would rain on the supernatural community when this was all over. If it ever was over.

“Nothing in particular,” said Meg, disappearing into a blossoming cloud of black smoke and reappearing behind Odyssey’s chair. She put her nails at Odyssey’s throat, drumming her fingers against her skin. My heart started to pound. “Just a social call.”

Odyssey didn’t flinch. “I see. Tell me, is this a hostage situation, or an assassination?”

Meg put her face right next to Odyssey’s, drawing her tongue up to Odyssey’s jaw, all the way into her ear. Pushing her nails into Odyssey’s skin until she drew blood, the pinpricks of red trailed down, staining the president’s blouse. Meg inhaled sharply, savoring the smell of it, and letting it paralyze her. She was waiting for something. Listening to the thunder, the rough-and-tumble shutter of sounds beyond the window in some street we couldn’t see.

In a threadlike whisper, Meg said, “What do you think?”

Here it was. The last moment, all of Meg’s people coming into play. Whatever backups she had planned, if any, they were too far off now to do her any good. She had nobody on hand to take up her mantle if she dropped the ball.

Or if, for some reason, her beloved daughter shot her in the face with a dead man’s gun.

A glimpse of movement was all it took for me to dart forward, snatching a gun from the hands of the security officer—dragon’s blood on principal. Flying backwards, I was aiming and firing …

Bang!

I was fast, but Meg was just a hair faster. She dodged to the side, pulling Odyssey with her, maybe hoping to catch the bullet with the president’s head. But I adjusted as she moved, becoming no more than a black blur with a broken smile. It scared me for the two seconds I spent thinking about it. I shouldn’t have been as fast as a vampire, I shouldn’t have been able to see her move.

I moved with her and pulled the trigger. Just a tad slower than her. I was aiming for her head, and the bullet struck her hard in the shoulder, leaking out the green dragon’s blood.

She didn’t even flinch.

“Fuck, how old are you?” I screamed at her.

The dragon’s blood should have taken her down, or at least given her a run for her money. It was a contact-lethal substance, so she shouldn’t have been able to touch it without going down, never mind cantering through her bloodstream like an overeager tourist.

Meg stared at me. For a moment, she looked genuinely shocked. Devastated, even, or something just at the edge of a human emotion. Then the expression fell away, replaced with snarling teeth, and a gnashing, guttural, animal sound that began rumbling in the back of her throat.

“I love you,” she said, her words splintering and breaking. “I loved you!”

“Sure you did,” I said. My words slurred together, but they were mine, and sounded mostly unhindered.

Don’t look her in the eye, Dulcie!

I fired again. Another bullet sank into the skin below her collarbone. She howled, with rage or pain, I didn’t know. It was a hideous sound, like the moaning of a wolf in the middle of the night, or the chittering cries of the chimera in the woods, wailing for something that got away.

She sprang back to Odyssey’s side, grabbing her by the back of her shirt, holding the knife to her throat. Odyssey looked at me, calm as a morning lake. Her eyes flicked to the window—maybe listening for the sound of her city being destroyed, or perhaps she was indicating to me that help was on the way.

Not that we could afford to wait for it.

“This is the culmination of everything we have worked so hard for!” Meg seethed at me.

“No, it’s everything you’ve worked so hard for,” I replied stonily.

Then she just looked at me, her eyes swimming with a glamour on a hook, sharp and glinting; she was calling me. “This is what you want, Dulcie, this is your mission!” The words clawed their way out of her throat, and she began sobbing and pleading.

“This is never what I wanted,” I protested.

“This is your destiny!” she screamed at me. “With me at your side, your mother, the one person who loves you above everyone else!”

“You are not my fucking mother,” I ground out.

She didn’t like that at all.

But instead of slitting Odyssey’s throat, Meg screamed. Eyes shut, she was wailing at the top of her lungs.

I shot again. This one hit her squarely in the mouth, punching through the back of her throat and landing in the wall behind her with a violent, red splattering. She slumped back against the wall, letting the force of the shot carry her backwards—dropping mostly from shock than anything else. Her knife slid across Odyssey’s throat and she nicked it, drawing some blood before it fell away and clattered to the floor.

I darted forward. Odyssey’s face was mostly expressionless, but her eyes reflected her jangled nerves. I lifted her up in my arms—and she weighed no more than a child’s doll.

“Madam President,” I said, nodding inanely before I threw open a door and started to run.

I immediately stopped at the end of the hallway half a second later, startled by the sudden white-on-black blur that surrounded me. I looked at the door twenty yards away. Meg’s screams became lung-stretching sobs, coughing, gasping, shrieking, banshee kinds of sounds.

Speed, I thought. One concise word, another instance of something I shouldn’t have possessed.

Fuck if I wouldn’t use it, though.

I turned a corner and ran down a flight of stairs, the world going crystal-white around me the faster I went. I became no more than a shadowy blur—but I could make out every detail and see every chair I might bump into, as well as every discarded book I might trip over—but not seeing them so much as knowing they were there. My awareness was far more disturbing than my new speed, mostly because it wasn’t something that came from vampires.

Something to brood about later, I thought. I’d been drinking potion after potion after potion at Meg’s behest, cocktails of vampire blood and honey and Hades knew what else. With no clue how much of it affected me, I’d have quite an arsenal to sort through.

The sound of wood splintering and metal tearing alerted me that Meg was ripping a door off the wall.

“Where’s a way out of here?” I asked—searching for any door: front, back, maintenance access, I didn’t care. Odyssey was shaking, her face still blank, her body rebelling against both options: a non-human speedy escape; or the prospect of being murdered by a lunatic vampire.

After a moment, she pointed somewhere without looking up.

I ran and I kept running, ignoring Meg’s doomsday screaming, and not giving the time of day to the hundreds of scattered corpses I found throughout the building. They were stippled with bleeding green bullet holes, and I began leaping over banisters to floors two stories below, landing hard enough to put cracks in the shining floor … Keep moving, and don’t look back! Move!

I was fast—but Meg was faster.

She plowed into me from behind, sinking her nails into my back. I stumbled forward, pulling myself out of the monochrome glitz long enough to drop Odyssey and turn on Meg. I grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her the rest of the way down the stairs and onto the ground. We made it as far as the entry hall, a vast expanse of beige and brown checkerboard floors, pillars, and red carpeted stairs. Littered with bodies, the men in suits still lay with their guns at their sides, steel shells scattered around them like confetti.

Blood was everywhere.

I feared the blood might send Meg into a frenzy. But perhaps it would distract her long enough for me to grab Odyssey and get away, burying myself in the chaos outside. Her people had no reason to believe I was anything but a loyal daughter. If they saw me running off with a ragdoll president, they’d surely assume she was already dead, and I was looking for someplace to display the cadaver.

But Meg didn’t seem to notice the blood surrounding her. She was on all fours now, with blood on her palms, her face, and her back. Mine, too We rolled a short distance before coming to a stop. Now we were barely inches from each other, staring, glaring, and waiting for something.

Meg started crying. Soft little sobs, she tried to keep quiet, but they echoed in the room.

“I don’t understand,” she said as she shook her head. “Why … why are you doing this? You are supposed to love me as much as I love you!”

She looked so pitiful then. And breakable. So impossibly fragile. If I touched her, or pushed her a little too hard, I feared her skin would fold in on itself, and she would disappear.

So I hesitated. I looked at her for half a second longer than I should have, feeling sorry for her. Until she lunged forward. Snarling like a rabid animal, she sank her teeth into my neck.

I didn’t know what she thought she would do. Kill me? Maybe. Drain me until I couldn’t move? Or just stay there, her fangs in my skin, and not do anything? Was she forcing me to be close to her again, if only to allow her broken mind to pretend everything was okay?

Whatever she wanted to do, she didn’t get the chance. I froze underneath her, staring at the ceiling and shook my fist behind her back. The golden dust was gathering between my fingers, absorbing my thoughts. Shaping itself into a long, curving blade of pure silver.

It glinted above her, catching the distant firelight. I saw my reflection in it, my eyes narrowing hard, my mouth clenching. I plunged it into her back, dragging it down as hard as I could.

She screamed and pushed me away. I let go and the blade stuck in her back, halfway down her spine, wedged between the marble bones. Blood, deep scarlet, gushed from the jagged, red line. She reached back, wrenching the knife free, and tossing it aside.

“You ungrateful bitch,” she hissed, the blood staining her teeth. Maybe it was mine, or hers, or maybe it belonged to one of the dead men lying all around us.

“You’re fucking crazy,” I said—making a very astute observation, but not much in the way of a taunt.

She charged—slipping in blood, and stumbling rather than running. She was also blurring every third second like she couldn’t control her own speed. Drunken with grief, she was three seconds slower than she ought to have been. Giving me three seconds longer to wonder what vampires were afraid of.

The first word that came to mind was fire … Then there it was! Glimmering in the palms of my hands, the flickering bulbs of orange flame began reaching and twisting. Blinking like static, it was barely fluid enough to control. I lifted my hands up, my palms forward like a shield, resisting the ward, and I imagined them growing, coiling around Meg, daring her to get close enough to burn.

She stopped. But she didn’t just stop—she stumbled, and slipped on a slick of blood, her eyes going wide. Staring in wonder, fear, and awe, she began suddenly gasping for air she didn’t need. Clawing her way backwards, and never blinking, she never took her eyes off the fire as it winked in and out of existence. Power surged through me, too much to control, too much for me to try to contain. The flames grew and spread, rearing back their heads like dragons roaring, lurching towards her, their mouths open, hungry …

They sank into her, like teeth of burning amber, and she screamed.

Bloodcurdling screams, a high whine of pure terror as the gleaming, orange bodies wrapped themselves around her, blistering her skin. I watched, my face growing hard, my eyes even harder. Staring, my hand curling shut, I drew deeper heat and brighter light from the fire.

Something shifted. Meg blinked, and her breathing slowed, then stopped. Her eyes changed too—from brown to black to blistering red, and to black again. Swimming with all the magic she had inside her, every ounce of her control.

And then she was right in front of me, and faster than I could follow. Trailing orange and white smoke. She was grabbing my face, forcing me to look at her.

“You are nothing,” she hissed, her voice sounding thin, her eyes wild, “without me.”

My mind went blank. The dark pulled me in, swaddling me, in warmth and quiet. The flames died. A glamour entered my soul, turning all my nerves to stone.

“What do you say?” she demanded. Her hair smoking and clothes scorched, half her face burned pink and white, webbed with layers of skin that didn’t remember how to scar.

“Y … es. M … Mo … ther …” I said, incapable of thinking anything else.

The anguish melted off her, and she smiled. She let me go, and I sank to the ground. My dress billowed out around me, soaking up the blood, turning black at the edges.

“There, there,” she said, leaning down to pat my cheek. “It’s all right. Everything is going to be okay. I forgive you.” She kissed the top of my head and spun around, pulling a sharp, needlelike knife from her belt, before sauntering towards Odyssey where she lay on the stairs. Blood was gushing from her nose—maybe it was broken from when I dropped her, maybe. Dropped her? Why was I carrying her? Where were we going?

Away, away from here, away from her. Focus, Dulcie, focus. Fight Meg’s power! a distant voice railed inside me.

Mother—no, Meg, not Mother, Meg, Meg, Meg—Meg put her knees on either side of Odyssey’s stomach and leaned over her, waving the knife above the president’s face like a stick of incense.

“Time to meet your doom,” she said, tapping Odyssey’s nose with the flat blade. Odyssey’s eyes snapped open and she blinked, staring blearily up at Meg.

I looked at a gun on the floor. The magazine was half open with three bullets still inside.

Move, I thought. Move. My words could have been spoken underwater, the soundwaves trapped in amber.

My fingers twitched. Prickling and numb. My arm moved. Spastic, uncontrolled.

Meg began carving a thin, red line into Odyssey’s cheek. Even from here I could smell it, rusty iron and the dull tinge of pheromones—anger and stoic resignation. Fear. I moved my hands to the floor. Shaking and forcing myself to breathe.

“This is the end of everything,” Meg whispered to Odyssey.

Stand. Up. I did. Slowly. Agonizingly. Fighting every muscle in my body.

Walk.

Meg drove the blade into Odyssey’s shoulder, deep enough to pin her to the stairs.

Keep walking. Pick it up. Close the magazine. Carefully. Slowly. Don’t make a sound.

“The Houses of the Nether appreciate your valiant sacrifice,” Meg said. She took three precious seconds to laugh and that was all I needed.

I lifted the gun. Higher, higher. Fighting for control. I pressed the barrel firmly against my temple.

“Mother,” I called to her.

Meg turned to me. Her eyes went wide, yellow swallowing their hungry red—fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

“Step away from Odyssey,” I said.

She did.

TWENTY-FOUR

Sam

The dragon reeled toward us, spinning through the sky in a wild, uncontrolled dive. Its eyes were flashing furious red.

“Go!” said Casey. For a fraction of a second, nobody moved. We just stared at the massive, lurching body of the wyrm, careening down …

“Go!” he shouted again, and we took off across the lawn.

As though we thought we could outrun it! Sure.

Its shadow fell over us, eclipsing the splintered glow of the city. A wash of orange fire split the earth beside us, drawing a fine, black line through the grass. I lifted my hands, shielding my face, my skin searing while the fire licked the air, remaining just out of reach. Then, with a violent thud, the beast landed in front of us, its sharp teeth glinting and wings outstretched.

Casey fired at it. Everybody did on reflex, but the bullets didn’t make a dent in its scales—some disappeared into the soft spot just beneath its jaw, which wasn’t much more than a small thorn to a dragon. The Preternatural Division carried dragon’s blood-tinged weapons—which were absolutely useless against the very dragons they came from.

The dragon reared its huge head back, roaring, and sounding more irritated than anything else. It opened its mouth, the embers coiling in the back of its throat, preparing to spit fire again.

“Duck!” I screamed as I dove to the side, seeking shelter behind the burnt-out skeleton of an armored car. I saw people’s shadows also diving for similar cover, behind slabs of stone from the busted fountain, or mounds of bricks and dust and mortar, or the pillars, now fallen on their sides. The dragon followed us with molten eyes, twitching, squealing, and dragging itself backwards and forwards and sideways—it seemed to be at war with itself, and scrabbling for control, or running scared, like in a bad dream.

It opened its mouth, and the smoky red and orange and white it exhaled singed a half-circle inferno onto the lawn. The heat blasted right past me, burning the air, scalding my lungs before it was gone, rotating, trying to find us all. Running its hot, iron claws over the bodies already fallen on the lawn, it seemed to be turning calm at seeing the bloody faces of pink and brown and black.

The downed soldiers looked a lot worse up close. Most of their bodies were mauled into nothing, scratched and bitten into bloody pulp by the werewolves and draconians, both races too old fashioned or bloodthirsty to use more efficient magic. The SUVs weren’t faring well either—an armored car is a fortress, but even steelplast and automatic rifles can only do so much when facing a battle-mad dragon with an agenda. The car windows were busted in, the doors ripped off their hinges, and deep gouges ran the length of the exteriors, the painted metal curling up around the deep impressions. Melting, now, the rubber tires sloughed to the ground like jelly, too hot to touch, even on the car’s far side, where I was hiding.

I peered around the corner. The dragon was on all fours, crouching, its neck pulsing like it was choking on something. Smoke curled up from its nostrils, its latest round of fire spent and dead. Its breathing sounded thin, ragged, like a razor on a piano wire—and it kept digging its claws into the earth, clenching them like fists, its eyes squeezing shut and popping open, wild, frantic, searching …

Those eyes.

Its eyes were red and burning. I spotted the starry, black swirls of a glamour. One that was just barely keeping hold of its host. And could be commandeered by a more powerful vampire.

“Ezra!” I screamed, and he popped out from his hiding place on the far side of the lawn—the only vampire in the world who was older than Meg. And the only one potentially capable of slipping an established glamour out from under her.

“Glamour!” I said, pointing at the dragon.

I didn’t have to say anything more. Ezra followed my hand, locating the dragon’s eyes, and his expression went dark. Not just grim, but physically darker, his eyes twisting to match the dragon’s corrupted colors. He mouthed “Bram,” too quietly for me to hear, but a moment later, I saw Bram emerging from a mass of ruined cars. His eyes had the same blistering darkness. Staring comets into the dragon, he was muttering under his breath.

The dragon’s head twisted left until it hit the ground and started digging its horns into the grass, turning up divots of turf and crimson flowers. Its rear claws buried themselves, clawing, churning, howling, before its entire body began writhing—the eyes going from black to red to yellow to black again. Bram and Ezra were playing tug-of-war with its mind.

Now was as good a time as any to get inside the White House. Bram and Ezra were standing out in the open now, their magic rippling the air around them. Behind Bram was Casey, who was slowly standing, watching in wide-eyed wonder as the dragon slowly pressed itself into the soft earth and closed its eyes—twitching, still struggling for control, but losing the fight.

Casey turned to me, Judy, Rowena, Christina, and Kent, in turn, pointing us towards the front door. He began drawing a long circle in the air with his finger, mouthing “go around it.” We nodded and ran off, skirting the dragon, venturing only as close as we dared. Its tail rose up in the air and thrashed, slamming down hard enough to make the ground shake. I stumbled, fell, rolled, and popped back up. I began running, my heart pounding and ears ringing—and beneath the ring, I heard a subterranean roar, the metallic hum of magic weaving itself through a powerful mind.

I slammed against the front wall of the building, panting, with only the pillars and a hundred feet separating me from the monster. Casey and the rest were with me half a second later, appearing from nowhere as I watched the dragon struggle. Bram and Ezra continued chanting soundlessly, flanking the beast now, staring unblinkingly into its soul, pulling, pulling, pulling—

“Talk to me, Silas, what are we looking at?” Casey said into his phone from where he stood right next to me. His back was against the wall, and he was breathing hard. He was dusty black with smoke and dirt.

Silas’s voice rumbled through Casey’s phone, just loud enough for the rest of us to hear. “Besides the dragon?”

“Yes, besides the dragon!” Casey spat. “What’s inside?”

“Well, nobody’s going to stop you.”

Casey looked at me—I couldn’t say why. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s basically nobody in the building. Nobody alive, anyway. It looks like a lot of people cleared out of there in a hurry. A lot more than before. There’s nobody here.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Casey muttered. It sounded like a hell of a lot of somebodies had known Meg was coming and scurried out instead of warning anybody. Which didn’t bode well for any help we thought we might receive.

“Where’s Odyssey?” Judy asked, leaning forward. She was standing still against the wall—a gun in her hand, I guessed it was probably missing more than half of its magazine.

“Hang on, I’m looking, I’m looking …” said Silas. We heard the click and clack of scuttling keys, the clicking of a mouse, and Silas murmuring to himself. “Holy shit.”

“What?” we all said together, looking at each other.

“Entry hall,” said Silas. “Like, right inside the front door. Meg’s on top of her! You need to move!”

“We’re moving,” said Casey.

We ran in a straight line for the door, and Judy and Kent leapt across it to the other side, plastering themselves against the wall. I snapped my fingers, and a wick of fire sprang to life in my palm. It fluttered there meekly, making Casey’s gun shimmer.

Casey and Judy locked eyes and nodded. They counted down under their breaths. Three … two … one …

Kicking the door open, the air exploded with a hideous scream.

TWENTY-FIVE

Knight

I was still outside, crouched behind a mountain of rubble, watching Bram and Ezra mentally wrestling with a fucking dragon. I couldn’t deny that I was impressed.

Casey motioned for the others to move, and I started to follow.

Before I could take another step, I heard a voice.

I see you survived, said Hades, appearing in a rush of black smoke. He was steaming and calmly appraising the situation at hand. Or have I spoken too soon?

“I don’t suppose you’re here to help?” I grumbled, knowing damn well he wasn’t. No, he wanted to send me to Magic Mountain where all the Lokis could get together and have a fucking party.

Hades’s eyes flashed, sparking silver. I am here to remind you of your purpose.

“Isn’t my purpose to kill Meg?”

Your purpose is to claim your army from the depths and destroy everything she is from the inside out. That means more than just her death.

“I don’t have time for that,” I spat back at him. “There’s a dragon on the White House lawn and a crazy vampire somewhere inside that wants to kill the president. Not to mention, I have no idea where Dulcie is.”

And there is an army waiting for its general, Hades said impatiently. This is not where Meg meets her end.

“I’m not gonna walk away,” I said, starting for the front door—which was open now. The high whine of a distant scream suddenly spilled out from within.

You are, Hades said, manifesting in front of me a moment later. If you value your life and the continuation of the world, you will depart at once.

“For the mountain?”

For the mountain.

“Where I can get all the Lokis together and have a tea party before the world ends?”

You mock me at your own peril.

“If you’re this all-knowing god, why the hell haven’t you realized that Meg is here! If you want me to kill her, I can do that right now!”

As I’ve already told you, Meg does not meet her end here, not on this day. This is not the way it will unfold.

“Then change the fucking story!” I railed back at him. “What sense does it make to run away from an enemy who’s lying in wait for me?”

I am warning you. If you value your life and the lives of every creature on this planet, you will depart this place at once.

“Get out of my way.”

But he refused to move. No. She does not die here.

“That’s not the point!” I said, screaming. I was steaming, and fire could have been leaping from my eyes—Hades’s spirit gift was boiling in the back of my heart, bubbling over, spitting acid, and my temper broke and flared. “Dulcie is in there! And I damn well intend to get her out. Fuck you and fuck your stupid fucking army! I have people to worry about, do you get that? Do you see that there is an entire fucking city on fire behind me? Do you realize that if we let Odyssey die today, the whole fucking community of supernatural creatures is going to get booted off the planet forever? We’ll never recover from an attack of this scale, which you know we’ll be blamed for, and if you’re not here to prevent the whole fucking world from going apeshit on your people, then I have no idea what you want with me.”

I want you to go to the mountain.

“You know what? I don’t care.” I shook my head, more than furious. “What kind of worthless, piece-of-shit god can stand in the middle of all of this and say that he’s got better things to worry about?”

Hades was silent. His expression suggested he was thinking.

You will not defeat her here, he said at last. You have no chance. The powers she draws on are too effective. This is not where it ends.

I shook my head in disbelief. “Fuck you!” And I made to storm off.

A cold, ethereal hand grabbed me by the arm. Wait.

I scoffed. “For what?”

If I help you now, will you go to the mountain and claim your birthright?

“Birthright?” I asked. “What do you mean birthright?”

Will you, or won’t you?

I sighed. “If you actually do something useful? Sure. I’ll go to Magic Mountain to get your army and do whatever the hell else you want me to, but that’s only if you help me now.”

Hades let me go, straightened up, and sighed, his teeth clacking together. He turned to look at the dragon again, as well as Bram and Ezra who tried to take it over. The dragon was back on its feet, now, standing at half its height, choking out roars and rumbles and whimpers—steadily gaining ground. Whether its strength came from within or from the original glamour, I couldn’t say.

Hades clicked his tongue and said, A valiant effort. But Ezra should really know better.

“What do you mean?”

Meg has augmented her powers, he said. Inflated them with magic from the Abyss, and siphoned power from creatures like Leviathan and Geress Mountain-breather. They are monsters of ancient repute, much older than their own names. And friends of mine. She drinks their chaotic energies, too many for her to control—which may have driven her quite mad by now, but her power will not wane with her insanity. Ezra was there when she underwent the change, calling on them the first time. He should know they don’t have the power to overtake her glamour.

“Okay,” I said, wondering what that kind of power and insanity would translate into in a final confrontation. Abyss sounded really bad. “So what’s your plan?”

He spent another moment looking at the dragon. I have an idea. But first, a question.

“What?” I asked warily.

Hades turned to me. His face didn’t change, but I got the distinct impression that he was smiling. You aren’t afraid of heights, are you?

TWENTY-SIX

Dulcie

Meg’s scream echoed through the room and she looked at me with wide, horrified eyes. I saw more panic than I’d ever seen on anyone.

Good.

The door crashed open across the room, splintering with orange light and loud thunder. Some shadows glided across the floor, long and dark, peeking in from either side of the entrance. I could smell them, six of them in all—humans and a fairy, each one radiating magic of varying strength and potency. One of them was laughing quietly.

Meg didn’t notice.

“Dulcie …” she said slowly, standing away from Odyssey. Swallowing and shaking, she didn’t have the muscles to get jittery, so that was all for show as well.

“Keep moving,” I said. “Get away from her. Go.”

Meg scuttled away, holding up her hands. “Dulcie,” she said, verging on tears, “please. Please don’t do this. I love you, I love you!”

“No. You don’t,” I said. “If you loved me, we wouldn’t be here. Nobody would be dead. Nothing would be burning either.”

Meg looked out the front door—but failed to see the four silhouettes hovering there. The fire beyond, along with the thunderous roaring of her dragon, and the background shatter-and-scream of a shambling DC were all she noticed.

“But, but I did this for you!” she said, lurching forward. I adjusted my grip on the gun, and she stopped.

“Call them off,” I said. “All of them. Now!”

“Dulcie, I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“You can,” I said. “You will. Or this is where I die.”

Meg stiffened. “No!” she said. Eyes wide and yellow, she was panic stricken. “No. No. Dulcie. Princess,” she said, her voice lilting, trembling, “put down the gun, sweetie. Put it down. It’s all right now, Mother’s here.” Meg held out her hand and started walking towards me again. “Mother’s right here, my darling.”

I took a single step backwards. “Call. Them. Off.”

Meg’s face twisted with anguish. “I can’t, I can’t, it’s not that simple …”

She kept talking, and the silhouettes crept farther inside—quietly whispering to each other, carrying guns in their hands that reeked of rust and steel and dragon’s blood. Meg either didn’t hear them, or she was doing a spectacular job of ignoring them.

“Fine,” I said to Meg as I cocked the gun—or rather, I pretended to cock it. My weapon was already set to shoot, so I tried to emulate the click-pop. I opened my mouth and the sound poured forth perfectly. It sounded very realistic and believable.

Meg stopped cold. “No,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “No!”

“Yes,” I said. “Call off your people. Send them home. Now.”

The shadows crept around the edge of the room, keeping to the walls, but now they had faces. Dark, angry, and worried, they were all faces I didn’t recognize, with laser-blue eyes and scraggly beards and an ivory half-mask and … and Christina, of all people!

My blood froze. Sam.

Standing a hundred paces behind Meg, she held fire in her hands. She was staring at me with terror in her eyes and standing next to a tall, handsome man I’d never seen her with before … somebody with spirit strings that linked the pair of them, heart-to-heart and soul-to-soul. Glittering blue, it was an accident of amateur magic and something else I shouldn’t have been able to see.

I had to wonder who he was. And why he was here. Was this the man who saved her from me in Splendor? The ghost with a blue heart? The Siphon?

Maybe. I hoped it was.

Then I heard something—actually, I felt it more than heard it. The distant rumble of a beast in the air, and the rippling thud! of it landing on the roof, but light as a feather. Then the stippled-lightning rhythm of stored energy. It must have been getting ready to breathe a blaze strong enough to bust through two floors of solid stone and steel.

I looked at Sam. Fire rose in her hands. Fire …

“You … you wouldn’t,” said Meg. “You couldn’t. You can’t. I won’t let you.”

Meg’s eyes went dark with a glamour—weak, thin as spring ice, nine-tenths panic and one-tenth desperation. Too much of her own desire blocked it, but she had enough, just barely enough, to tweak my mind.

But not enough to make me do anything more than smile.

“Mother,” I said, in a level tone. The word was mine, and a huge improvement from Glamoured Dulcie’s devotion.

Meg sighed, visibly relaxed. “Dulcie,” she said. “My … my darling Dulcie … my daughter … come to me.” She held out her hand.

The building shook and the ceiling cracked, dust and rubble falling everywhere, echoing with a fantastic roar. The metallic stench of something with blood and scales, scorched lightning in its throat, and the glacial tugging in the pit of my stomach that could only mean it was a dragon. My fairy’s awareness overcame me all at once. I was stretching upwards through stone, snatching the beast’s identity right out from under it.

Meg looked up, then back at the sound—then she saw Sam and the others for the first time.

Her fingers twitched, forming shadows in the palm of her hand—dark magic, cursed energy. Deep and dangerous, it was something I’d never seen her use before, and she seemed fully ready to drive it like a spear through their beating hearts.

Rumble-thump-shake went the building. Three seconds later, the roof came down. I had only one more second before Meg would start her killing rampage.

Even as that thought crossed my mind, Meg raised her hand. Shadows fell on her body like lightning bolts.

“You,” she hissed, and Sam took a step closer. Fire was spitting and flickering in her hand as the void of a vacuum occupied the space, drawing magic from a place no physical creature should have been able to call on. The roof collapsed above us, caving in and splintering—one floor to go, and two more seconds. Not enough time! Ribbons of inky black danced across Meg’s fingers, as she kept rearing back, ready to lurch, but only managing to choke and swallow.

Above us, the dragon on the roof—now the second floor—took a deep breath. The air burned in preparation, igniting the kerosene at the back of its throat. Ready to bust through the final floor to reach us, and fully intent on burning us to cinders.

But something else was there. Not just the dragon, but something smaller and bolder, straddling its back. Coaxing it downwards with softly whispered words, its heart was pounding. It wasn’t quite human, which, on any other day, would have been concealed by the dragon’s own essence—however, today my own strange sight and this person’s peculiar, volcanic strength combined to shine as brightly as a beacon in the dark.

I thought I recognized him, but he was so much stronger than he should have been—bolder, a firestorm of emotion and magic. A burning silhouette of what he used to be. Just slightly more than he was.

But if I were right …

It was time to risk a gamble.

“You,” I said, “were never my mother.”

Meg turned just in time to see me pull the trigger.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Sam

“No!” I screamed, lurching forward until Casey caught me by the arms.

Dulcie crumpled where she was, collapsing backward and landing in a pool of blood and dust. Meg forgot about the rest of us at once and lost herself in a scream, an abyssal lament, loud and heartbreaking, a pitiful sound of fury combined with every grief in the world.

Half a second later, the ceiling fell inward, and the dragon landed on the floor with a loud crash.

Floor tiles began splintering and shattering, forming a deep crater around its feet. The wretched beast cast its eyes around the room, no longer black and red, but a deep, iridescent blue. Its wings, now neatly folded at its sides, previously managed to collapse the wall pillars and snap the stair rail right down the middle, showering the unconscious Odyssey with bits of stone and wood.

The dragon turned slightly, its shoulders shifting, its head thrashing. Then I saw the person on its back, buck naked! Eyes glowing an icy blue, and rippling with magic that didn’t belong to him.

“Knight, what the hell?” I shouted, but he didn’t hear me. Nobody could for all the cacophonous cracking and rumbling the dragon created.

Knight had his hands on the dragon’s neck, and he was whispering to it. It leaned back and seemed to listen before taking three steps backwards into the building. It stepped over Odyssey carefully, driving its hind legs through the walls in the conference rooms and the hallways beyond.

Meg didn’t pay the dragon any mind. She was on the floor beside Dulcie, hefting Dulcie into her arms and wailing, her eyes shut tightly. Knight turned and spotted Meg, then Dulcie, and the blood on her face and her throat, along with the gun in her hand …

But Dulcie was breathing. Albeit slowly. Meanwhile, Meg, who was drowning in her own panic, didn’t notice.

I couldn’t tell if Knight saw it, but he leaned forward and whispered a command to the dragon, which opened its mouth, blowing out a flame at Meg. Then it wrapped its teeth around her and bit down hard.

It lifted her into the air, letting her head thrash back and forth, snapping her limp body hard enough to break all of her bones. The beast’s throat stretched and convulsed—gathering fresh fire, ready to incinerate her to ash. Its teeth were lit from within, a pulsating red and orange light that gleamed on its tongue. Meg thrashed and screamed, her puny arms helpless and as useless as a bag of bones.

The fire roared, rumbled, and blasted through the dragon’s teeth, enveloping her. Her scream vanished in the thunder and she disappeared in an orange flash.

The world went still. Frozen solid for a miniscule fraction of a second. Long enough and slow enough, however, to see Meg’s fingers curl up, and an arc of razor-sharp shadows form in her hand. As the fire faded around her, she drove her shadow straight into the dragon’s snout.

The dragon opened its mouth, screaming, and spewing what remained of its fire skyward. Meg dropped and fell hard, splashing down in a crimson puddle of blood. Ankle deep, she was burning up, a shrieking pillar of fire, spinning like a top. She fell, rolling in red, and drowning the blaze with her blood.

The dragon’s head reared back, dropping its mouth open and ready to strike her again. Demolishing the building behind it, the poor beast struggled to gain purchase on the slick floor.

Meg sprang to her feet, whirling on the beast, her eyes yellow and wild. Her skin was all red and blistered, melting like wax. “No!” she protested, her voice breaking. “No!”

It sprang forward with teeth and claws before collapsing to the floor, rolling sideways, and pitching Knight into the wall. The impact was hard enough that we all heard something crack. The dragon twitched and screamed, steaming, and dissolving from within—its green scales turning black as ink before evaporating. The muscles began to peel away, drifting up like blackened ash in the wind. Blood streamed from a wide gash in its throat, black blood. Shadows were coiling up from the edges of its wound like smoke, floating through the air into Meg’s open hand. Glinting like steel, and sharp as cold wind, she was drawing the whole room into itself, using the shadows for concrete weapons, powered by an unholy presence.

The manifestation of the Abyss. Empty, cold, dark. The icy wrath of the void.

Five seconds later, the dragon vanished. No bones, no blood. Just a dark spot on the ground where a single shadow now lingered, waiting.

Meg stood there a moment, panting and smoking. Her hair was burned half off, and her clothes hung in greyish-black tatters. She stared at the huge crater the dragon made when it landed, seeing something that wasn’t there. Her eyes had a vacant expression.

“No,” she whispered. “No. No, no, no, no-no-no. No. No.” Her hand curled into a fist. “No. Never again.”

“Well, she’s not very nice.” Kent blinked at Meg. He appeared rather entranced, either by Meg’s bloodstained appearance or the awful ruckus she was making. If Meg heard him, she didn’t look up. Kent’s eyes flashed as he lit the fuse of his grenade, cackling with joy to finally set it off. He wound up his arm, preparing to throw the device. Meg suddenly snapped back to reality, her eyes going wide—then narrowing and turning a violent red when she saw us.

Before he could throw it, she dematerialized in a rush of black shadows. Kent waited.

“Where’d she go?” Casey asked, turning around the room and pointing his gun at anything that moved. Judy mirrored him, guarding his back.

“Shh!” said Kent. Grinning, he turned around and threw the grenade straight at the open front door.

A split second before Meg rematerialized.

Hades only knows how Kent timed his action so well.

Her plan was to catch us off guard, and flank us, so she never expected to encounter the little ball of fire and fury. She realized what was happening a split second too late—and by reflex, reached up to catch it.

“Boom!” said Kent.

The grenade happily obliged.

Meg was consumed in a burst of white-hot flames. We dove out of the way, our ears ringing. Those of us who were armed pointed our weapons at Meg, firing over and over and over again into the cloud of dust. The doorway collapsed around her, the walls buckled, and everything began to cave into the swampy foundation far below. The roof above us trembled and shook, raining debris outside as the façade continued breaking off in chunks. I briefly wondered if I could sue an organization that didn’t exist anymore for property damage.

The powder-grey cloud vanished, and Meg was definitely gone—but she reappeared a second later on the other side of the room. She was babbling frantically, rolling around in pools of blood to put out flames that clung to her coat.

“No,” she muttered, “No, no, no, no!”

The fires were finally extinguished, and she pushed herself to her feet, panting! Since that was a human reflex, I had to assume it was a sign of her desperate fear. She looked at us and laughed, sounding like the frenzied pizzicato of a lonely coyote. She was bleeding from everywhere, green and red and black, signifying her own bad magic. But she refused to die.

She continued to twitch like a malfunctioning android, turning her back to us. She gave us a crooked smile and choked on a laugh as she cocked her head.

“I tire so quickly of your games,” she said as she opened her arms, as if she were stretching. Her voice changed, turning deeper and more abrasive, echoing too. Then her eyes rolled back into her head, and she dragged the room into the Abyss.

A wave of force shot us backward before pinning us all to the walls. Ribbons were swirling and dancing in the air, their tips dagger-sharp, their spears aimed toward us. They cocooned us, like spiders spinning webs around flies. The air evaporated, turning to dry ice that burned when I tried to breathe it in. It stuck to my lungs like wet sand, clogging the air ducts, and leaving me choking. My skin tightened around my bones and began squeezing, then I was burning, stretching, tearing … The lights dimmed until we could hardly see our hands in front of our faces. The only light came from the fires beyond the collapsed door, a shivering, red flicker that cast long shadows on the floor.

The will of the shadow plane seemed to be caught in the emptiness of space. The vacuum became oppressive, crushing us into specks of dust. Meg remained standing in the middle of it like the self-proclaimed goddess of chaos, screaming, laughing, but making no sounds.

I snapped my fingers and concentrated on fire, lightning, ice, the cosmic pull of gravity, anything but what I saw. My mind went blank. I had no magic, no light. And no air. Nothing for a fire to consume, or lightning to travel through, no moisture in the air to freeze so I could sharpen the droplets into tiny daggers that I could throw. I had nothing I could call on.

My lungs shriveled and shrank. They dried up, empty and vacuous because there was nothing for me to inhale. For two seconds, nothing changed. Everything came to a standstill. A hush of sound that seemed without end, everyone waiting to see who would be the first to drop.

I looked around when there was enough light to see. The barest remnants of the real world indicated where everyone was. Meg was spitting toxic shadows, aiming them at us, suffocating us by vacuuming our oxygen. Kent, Judy, Casey, and Christina were plastered to the wall like decorative dolls, their arms splayed, staring at the cold, empty darkness or just waiting for it to swallow them whole. Everyone’s limbs were straining, reaching for guns, or throats, or anything they could grasp.

Rowena had her arms out and her eyes closed. She seemed totally removed from the blackness, standing in a spotlight, an untouched circle of tile. Her shadow stretched on the wall beside her, morphing into something tall and thin, almost skeletal. She was ringed in suspicious light, which probably wasn’t light at all. Glowing with a power that shouldn’t have existed, it was older than alchemical magic.

Rowena’s skin stretched, ripped, and bled, turning from talcum white to grave-dirt black. Her eyes glowed, and light poured from her mouth. It was shining in the depths of her being, swelling inside her, filling her body with an ancient power, the parting gift of the creature that burned her so long ago.

Changing. An iridescent green glow, like the prismatic rainbow shine of a bubble—seemed only seconds from bursting. Casey’s eyes went wide as he realized what she was doing. He mouthed, No! But if he made any sound, it was swallowed up by the ether. Not that it mattered. Rowena was already past hesitation. The light pulsed and shrank before it exploded from her in a rush of burning, emerald fire.

It wasn’t like any other fire. It could burn where there was no air. The shadow plane dissolved, and we dropped to the floor, all of us sucking in breath, or trying to. The light returned, orange and grey, the colors of sunrise and fire.

Meg screamed and fell before she scrambled backwards, shrieking and wailing. When she hit a wall and the persistent fire reached her, her skin was the first to regret it. Her clothes were green and glowing, feeling hot even from a distance. Sulphur and brimstone, Greek fire, something that could not be put out. It fed on the blood of others, spreading, devouring, and filling the room with towers of contorting color.

“No, no, no, no!” Meg screamed before she started tearing off her clothes. Ripping the fabric, shredding it with her nails, she bit all the latches and buttons that stubbornly refused to come off on their own. Her eyes were alive with panic, and the fire itself left her trembling. The human part of her still remembered how it felt to fear death.

She began to stammer, screaming wordlessly, slamming herself against the wall and rolling on the floor, but the fire clung tenaciously to her. Blistering her skin before slowly melting it, she was turning to charcoal despite her dire attempts to frantically push it away. She lost the battle and all of the homicidal impulses drained out of her. There was nothing left but raw fear.

Until she simply vanished. Wrapping herself in dark shadows, she began screaming at the top of her calcified lungs. Then she popped, fizzled, and strangled herself on her own dark chords. She just disappeared, leaving behind a smoky silhouette and no more than a whisper of white fire.

Gone!

The light gradually diffused in Rowena, contracting into her core. The skeleton shadow vanished in a rush, his purpose fulfilled. The flames that remained snuffed themselves out. Rowena collapsed beneath a lingering shadow, a darkness with no tangible form. It caught her and set her gently down—staying only long enough to kiss her forehead and stroke her hair.

Then it faded, washed away like sidewalk chalk in the rain. Rowena lay motionless on the cold, broken floor. Still breathing, yes, but out cold, and the steam radiated off her skin. For ten blissful seconds, we all just sat there. Breathing. Observing. Listening.

Dulcie got to her feet slowly. She tossed the gun aside and looked down at herself, scowling at her dress and the pervasive bloodstains.

“Dulcie!” I shouted.

She looked at us. Then, specifically, at me. “She’s gone,” she said. I got up and walked over to her, wanting to run but I was hardly able to stand. Dulcie met me halfway, tackling me in a bear hug. We gripped each other and I started crying, listening to Dulcie shush me, loving her smile, laughing all the tension away. My legs buckled, but she held me up—without a flinch, she supported me, like I weighed no more than a paper doll.

“Dulcie, what … what the hell …” I said through my blurry tears. “You … you shot … you shot yourself—”

“No,” she said, sounding sleepy. “I didn’t. I just pretended to. I’ll, um, explain later.” She smacked her lips and looked around. “She’s gone?”

I nodded. “She’s definitely gone.”

Dulcie nodded slowly, squeezing her eyes shut like her head hurt. “Ow,” she said, pressing her hand on her temple.

“Dulcie?” I said. A thousand questions filled my head, cramming themselves into my mouth, and I started stammering. “I can’t believe … what happened … Meg and you, and … Knight …”

“Dulcie?”

Landing on my feet, I was ready to support my own weight again, and I graciously stepped aside. Knight was not far behind me, and blood crusted one side of his face. Still naked and gleaming with sweat, the blue glow was gone from his eyes. It was replaced by the molten copper glow of a Loki’s claim when he sees his love, the greatest source of his terror, and his chosen mate, Dulcie.

“Dulcie,” he said again, his voice sounding heavy. His eyes began watering.

“Knight,” Dulcie said quietly as she turned to face him. Then they both just stood there, staring at each other. For a moment, neither of them moved until they began embracing. They remained totally silent, just breathing each other’s scent in and holding on tightly, as if by letting go, they risked losing each other again.

“Dulcie,” Knight whispered. “I … I’m so sorry.”

She squeezed him tighter. “Not now. Please don’t say anything now.”

Knight nodded, resting his chin on her head. He didn’t say anything else, but he kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, clinging to her like he’d never release her.

The room became very quiet and the rest of us stood up. My shoes were sticky with blood, and the distant fires made grey shadows dance across the broken walls, spilling in from the busted ceiling.

I felt warm hands on my shoulder as Casey turned me to face him. He was smiling, despite being covered in dust and dirt and blood. His glasses were crooked on his nose, and one lens was shattered beyond repair.

“Hey,” he said, placing a hand on my cheek. “Are you okay?”

I nodded and met his hand with mine before I squeezed it. I just wanted to soak up his warmth. “Yeah. I’ve been better, but I’m all right.”

He nodded and kissed me. Slow, cozy, and still recovering from the sudden calm.

I pulled away first—we had work to do. “Odyssey,” I said, suddenly remembering why we were here.

“Right.”

We ran to the stairs where the president was still pinned to the floor, a knife buried in her shoulder two inches deep. A fine, red line was scored on her cheek, and she had scratches damn near everywhere. Blood was oozing from around the knife in pulsating, scarlet waves.

“This is going to hurt,” Casey said.

Odyssey was barely conscious or breathing, like a heavy weight was crushing her lungs. “Just … do it.”

Casey nodded, grabbing the blade by the handle.

“Hang on,” Christina said as she pushed herself to her feet. She walked over to the stairs on quivering legs, sitting down hard next to Odyssey, and shook her fist, conjuring a mound of fairy dust.

“Dulcie,” Knight whispered behind us. “There’s something I have to tell you …”

“Okay,” Christina said. “Go.”

Casey nodded and slid the blade free. No serrations, thank Hades—just a flat, sharp blade. Christina let the dust fall over the wound before she closed her eyes and began humming softly. Slowly, the skin stitched itself back together. Odyssey sighed and sat up. She looked around at the brave, dead bodies, and her expression was grim.

She sized up all of us. Turning her eyes to the door and the city that was being torn to pieces, she said, “I need to make a call.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Sam

Justin Trudeau is a remarkably accommodating man.

President Odyssey returned to the Oval Office with us—the same one which Meg had ripped and shredded and torn to shit, but that didn’t really matter. The phone was still intact and, thankfully, secure. Odyssey sat on the desk and dialed the number. Within hours, we had the entire Canadian militia helping what was left of our home-base military sweep the streets of more than a dozen cities, arresting all the creatures who surrendered and killing the ones who refused to surrender.

Nobody called it a loss.

The officials who weren’t onsite when Meg launched the attack arrived quickly, moving into a large tent on the front lawn—a temporary office until the building could be cleared, the photos taken, and all of the bodies carted away. The rubble from the walls and ceilings and busted mirrors also had to be removed. Everybody was talking with Canadian officials, trying to decide how to repay their kindness—but maybe not in so many words. A whole cupboard of diplomatic implications and consequences could result from this impromptu aid, and we had to be prepared for anything.

A man named Simon Richmond was particularly miffed about the whole thing.

“How did this happen?” he railed, pacing the length of the tent. Kent uncovered a bottle of something, which might have been rubbing alcohol from a paramedic kit—and he kept taking shots every time Richmond repeated himself.

“Somebody helped Meg get her people inside,” Casey insisted with a shrug, like that much should have already been apparent.

“You can’t just replace senators and reps with shapeshifters,” Richmond balked.

“True,” Casey replied. “Meg already tried to, but the shapeshifters she employed didn’t know enough about anything to be convincing. When she learned that lesson, she resorted to less extreme measures.”

“Really? Those measures being?” Richmond asked.

“Bribery, blackmail, and threatening to slander every government official until they agreed to look the other way while Meg blazed her murderous path through every agency in the country. Those officials who didn’t join her, died for their cause.”

“Our people would never take bribes or allow themselves to be blackmailed,” Richmond protested huffily.

Judy snorted. “Have you met, like, any of your coworkers?”

Judy, Casey, Kent, and I were the only ones still here! Bram and Ezra had vanished almost immediately after Meg disappeared, and Dulcie was in the hospital, along with President Odyssey. Rowena was lying on the lawn, being treated by paramedics for what amounted to a moderate stroke.

I had no idea where Knight was. At the hospital, maybe, getting his head examined. He hit it pretty hard when Meg’s dragon threw him against the wall. Hopefully, he’d found some pants too.

After giving our statements to every agency that requested them, and running through our stories, we were asked to describe the dethroning of Melchior O’Neil. Apparently, we hadn’t done nearly as good a job at covering up as we assumed. Even if the ANC proved innocent of corruption and conspiracy to commit treason, we expected some kind of legal trouble.

“Who’s missing?” I asked. “Excluding the White House employees. What people who would have had the pull to call for replacements?”

Richmond shrugged. “We don’t know yet. Half a dozen secretaries, some speech writers, who might have been persuaded not to go to the media … Senator McCarthy, a big, federal reform guy, the secretary of state … and we won’t know the identities of the dead or missing until the building’s been emptied.”

A man in a black jacket with FBI stamped on the back in bright yellow letters stepped into the tent—Agent Thompson. He was only one of many people taking notes about all the trouble we’d caused.

“If you’ve given your statements to everybody, then you are free to go,” he said, eyeing me in particular—the only one without a scrap of government clearance. I really shouldn’t have been inside the tent at all, but Casey insisted. Keeping me close to his side, he was trying to guard me from any jumping shadows or angry teeth that might have barreled out of the ether.

Casey looked at me now with gentle concern. I smiled at him.

“I really should go see Dulcie anyway,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

“We can escort you to the hospital,” said Agent Thompson.

“That’d be great,” I said. Casey reached over and squeezed my hand, smiling.

“I’ll be done in a bit,” he said. “Wait at the hospital, and I’ll come find you.”

He’d probably be here for hours, I guessed, since he was directly overseeing the whole mess.

“Okay,” I said, wondering what his reports would say about me.

TWENTY-NINE

Knight

“Dulcie?”

She looked up. Sitting in her hospital bed, she slowly dressed herself in her normal clothes. Her honey-blond hair was pulled into a ponytail and her eyes were as green as summer, but I noticed a heaviness in them now that I hadn’t seen there before. The weary expression of someone who’s seen too much tragedy, or witnessed too much pain. The expression of someone haunted by unpleasant memories and images that never abandoned her.

She froze when she saw me, turning still as stone. A vampiric paralysis she’d never displayed before.

“Hi,” she said with a timid smile as she glanced down at her small hands.

For a long time, we just stared at each other. Watching. Trying to come up with any kind of issue to discuss. Some words to describe what happened. It wasn’t just her being possessed or the crimes she committed under Meg’s direction or because the ANC was in very deep shit; we all were mired in very deep shit. The conversation at the top of both of our minds was what could have happened between Meg and me and Sebastian and her.

There didn’t seem to be any good way to introduce it.

“Dulcie,” I said, fighting the urge to move onto the bed, grab her in my arms and kiss and hold her, but I couldn’t. Dulcie kept staring at me with broken-spirited, doe eyes, looking more than fragile, almost skittish—as if I came any closer, she could start screaming.

“I’m … I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” she said shakily. “Knight …”

“I don’t …” I pursed my lips, my heart pounding before folding in on me like a house of cards in the wind. “I don’t know why I didn’t … stop … her. I tried, and you must believe that I tried. I tried with all of my power and strength, but it was no good.”

“Meg’s power exceeded everyone’s imagination,” she answered softly. “I, of all people, should know.” She took a deep breath. “There was no way you could have defeated her. She was basically invincible.”

“Just so you know,” I started as I tried to clear my throat. “I don’t blame you for anything that happened while you were … you know, under her influence.”

She took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “I can’t believe the death and destruction,” she said as she shook her head. “All in my name. At my hands.”

“That wasn’t really you,” I nearly interrupted her.

“Me,” she said with a rough snort. “I don’t know who me is anymore. I don’t know what I am.”

“I do, you’re Dulcie,” I said simply with a shrug and a little smile.

But she shook her head and looked up at me with wide, sad eyes. “No, I’m not,” she started. “I’m not the me I used to be, and that’s for sure. Everything about me is different.” She flexed her fingers and focused on them for a few seconds. “I have powers and abilities I never had before, and I discover a new one almost every time I turn around.”

“Then consider it a wonderful gift,” I said.

“A wonderful gift?” she asked me, her eyes narrowing. “How can you call this curse a gift?”

“Because what else can you do?” I asked as I breathed in deeply. “You are different, just as you said you were. But that doesn’t have to mean it’s bad to be different. You can realize all your newfound abilities and use them however you choose to. It’s up to you to embrace the new you or despise it. But one thing I can tell you is this: your life will be a hell of a lot easier if you simply accept what you are. You can only be stronger for it.”

“You sound like a sappy after-school special,” she said with a smile, but I could tell she didn’t feel it.

“I know we need to talk about what happened between Meg and me,” I started, dreading the conversation but recognizing its necessity, all the same.

“I’ve really tried not to think about it,” she started.

“But you can’t stop thinking about it, I’m sure,” I interrupted. “Just like I can’t stop thinking about it. Or seeing you with that vampire.”

“Sebastian.”

“Right. At least, for me, I didn’t have to see it.”

She nodded and exhaled heavily. “And I did.”

“Can you forgive me?” I asked hollowly, afraid of her response.

She faced me with tears in her eyes and smiled. “I want to, Knight, I really fucking want to.”

“But you can’t?” I asked, and my stomach dropped all the way to my toes.

“I don’t know,” she answered as her gaze settled on her fingers again. “My head is such a mess right now, I don’t even know what’s up and what’s down.”

“You’ll need time to make sense of it all, and process everything that happened. That’s natural.”

She nodded. “I just keep asking myself how we come back from this,” she said as she glanced up at me again. “How do we forgive each other, and more importantly, ourselves for what we did?”

“Because we both have to realize we weren’t in our right frames of mind.”

“I tell myself that until I look at the facts and then I … I just want to throw up.” She was quiet for a few seconds and focused on the scenes outside the window along with all the devastation beyond it. “Do you know how glamours work?” she asked quietly.

I had to admit I did. You have to truly want whatever you’re being glamoured into doing, I thought. At least a little. I said nothing for a long time. And then replied, “Yes.”

Dulcie pressed her lips together, shutting her eyes, like she was fighting back the urge to scream. Then the words came spilling out of her, released before she could think better of it or try to retrieve them.

“Knight, that means you let Meg have sex with you,” she said quickly.

“No,” I started, shaking my head.

“There is no way she could have glamoured you into doing that, not unless there was a small part of you that wanted it.”

“Did you want to kill all those people and destroy everything you did?” I demanded, throwing my arms across my chest.

She laughed and shook her head. “I’ve thought about that too. Of course I didn’t want to, but I did it all the same, and Meg managed to glamour me into doing whatever the hell she chose. That thought keeps haunting me and won’t let me go. I keep asking myself if it means I really wanted to do those things.”

“No, it doesn’t mean that,” I countered. “All it means is that Meg was one sadistic fuck who happened to be incredibly powerful. She forced us both into doing her bidding, not ours.”

She started sobbing and I reached up instinctively, stopping myself before I could touch her. I sat there, staring at her, trying to think of what I could do, something useful that wouldn’t feel wrong. I didn’t know why but I felt dirty, tainted. Like my tryst with Meg was tattooed on my forehead. If Dulcie didn’t feel like the same person she was before all of this, I was right there with her.

After a moment, she looked up. Not at me but the wall, staring with red, puffy eyes at a watercolor painting of a purple flower. Her voice was rough as sand and coarse as iron.

“I can’t be around you right now,” she said. “I can’t. I can’t even look at you, and I know, I know that’s not fair, but … I can’t.” She shook her head and sighed. “I feel like I’m caving in on myself and drowning in all of this and I can’t take it anymore. I just need some space to think, and breathe.”

Silence. A tangible mass of it wedged between us, stifling us. For a while, I didn’t say anything but just looked at her. Dulcie, my beautiful Dulcie, who couldn’t even look at me anymore. I understood what she meant, because I couldn’t look at me either.

THIRTY

Sam

The hospital was crowded. Full to bursting with people and creatures, burnt and blistered, electrocuted, half-drowned, some who were thrown off buildings, or through glass, or pounded by slabs of concrete. Conversations, along with screams and yelps and crying and laughing all blended together, refusing to let one travesty overshadow another. The smell of antiseptic was everywhere, only slightly more powerful than the smoke drifting in from the outside and clinging to the skin of every patient that was brought in. The waiting rooms were crammed with people, patients with shards of glass in their hands or cuts on their arms. The ones who could afford to wait slightly longer were standing next to the parents and friends of the ones who couldn’t. Every fourth step, I heard a doctor say, “I’m sorry,” and the crying in the room would grow louder.

Our fault, I thought. This was entirely our fault. This should have been a contained conflict, a blip on the ANC’s radar. No more than a “we had some trouble, but it’s fine” scribbled hastily at the bottom of someone’s final report.

Instead, we had this. A massive blunder on the scale of a natural disaster. A supernatural disaster. A small part of my battered brain almost found that funny.

When I got to Dulcie’s room, I started to walk in, until I caught Knight’s voice. He was almost whispering, his voice breaking like small waves against a ship.

“I’m … so sorry, Dulce.”

“Madame White?”

I squeaked my surprise, whirling around and almost punching Dagan in the face. He caught my fist and lowered it slowly, grinning.

“Apologies,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, sure, is that why you snuck up on me rather than announcing your arrival like any normal person?” I asked, pulling my hand back.

He shrugged, turning his ear to the room with a grimace. “Oh, that doesn’t sound good,” he said.

“It’s none of your business,” I said sharply.

Dagan held up his hands. “Forgive me, I only wanted to see that everyone managed to make it out all right.”

I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms. Doctors bustled around us, jostling Dagan and me when one of us strayed too far from the wall.

“Honest,” he said. “I haven’t quite returned to the totally immoral, decadent soul you’re so fond of and familiar with.”

Fond wasn’t the word I would use. “Why are you actually here?” I asked.

“Checking on my friends,” Dagan responded. “As I said.”

“You don’t have any friends.”

Dagan grinned, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Says who?”

“Says me and literally everyone who’s ever met you … ever.”

“Sam, I’m hurt,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m a changed man. Need I remind you that I saved your life—and, by extension, the entire world?”

I hesitated and sighed. Point taken. Trying to relax, I ignored my temporary irritation and sleepiness, reaching in my heart for the undying gratitude it required to thank a demon, even if I weren’t convinced by his explanation. The day that Dagan became a good, law-abiding citizen was the day I bought a bridge in the desert.

“Thank you, Dagan,” I said. “Really. You’re a very peculiar kind of guy and I don’t know why you helped us, but we really appreciate it.” I cleared my throat. “And I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before you tell me exactly why you did help us and exactly how much it’s going to cost the ANC.”

Dagan grinned lasciviously at me. “Of course I will wait until the ANC is back on its feet before sending you my bill,” he said, in a voice as slick as oil. “Say, but if you ever find yourself wanting to really thank me …”

“I’ll put you on my Christmas card list,” I said, rolling my eyes. And for a second, Dagan’s smile looked halfway genuine again, almost playful. Bordering on innocence, or whatever he thought innocence could encompass.

“I will—” he started.

“Not send me a damn thing,” I said, thinking immediately of a long list of unsavory toys Dagan might have taken it upon himself to give me. I had no intention of waking up anytime in December to find an X-rated Christmas card contaminating my other correspondence.

“Very well. Adieu, Madame White. I pray we meet again.”

After he vanished in a puff of red smoke, I could only wonder to whom a demon might pray.

***

Knight walked out of the room a minute later. He didn’t acknowledge me as he passed. I turned to watch him wiping his eyes and figured he didn’t want an audience. After waiting ten seconds, I walked in.

Dulcie was … okay. Mostly. Sitting on her hospital bed in street clothes provided by the FBI, she was getting ready to leave and vacate the room for somebody else. Patched up by stitches and staples as well as pinches of Christina’s fairy dust, only a couple of persistent bruises and a general sense of dread were left to show for her ordeal.

“Hey,” I said, knocking lightly.

Dulcie looked up and smiled weakly, wiping tears from her eyes. “Hey.”

I sat down on the bed, looking at the door. I waited another moment before I said anything. “How are you?”

“Great. Except I feel like I got roundhouse-kicked by a fucking elephant.”

I laughed. “That’s better than bad?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Dulcie sniffed. “Sam, I am so sorry.”

“For what?”

“Trying to kill you,” she answered. “And blowing up the ANC—and for all the other horrible things I did.”

“Dulcie, no,” I said, “no, don’t you dare apologize.” I hugged her head and began rubbing her back. “You were glamoured; you didn’t know what you were doing.”

She sniffled, holding back tears. “Sam, I … I called her Mother. She wanted me to believe she made me …” She trailed off, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Sam, glamours only work if you want them to work. Even just a little … and I must have wanted … Well, I mostly wanted my mom back. So badly that I almost killed you.” Tears streamed silently down her cheeks, her lips trembling—and she tried not to make any noise.

“It’s okay,” I said, squeezing her hand. “Really. Meg was at least a hundred years older than Bram, and she was drawing on abyssal magic like I’ve never seen before. We’re shocked you could break away from her control long enough to think, let alone shoot yourself in the head.”

Dulcie nodded, drying her eyes on her sleeve. She smiled at me and looked at the floor.

“Um. About shooting yourself in the head,” I started.

Dulcie laughed. “Right. I didn’t really. I just needed to scare Meg. I magicked myself into making the noise.” She opened her mouth and a soft bang rang through the room—a perfect mimicry of a gunshot. Sound replication was something draconians could do. “I heard the dragon and I thought I could sense Knight nearby or something. And I knew she was going to kill you …” Dulcie shrugged. “I gambled. I made a bang noise and fell and I hoped that would be enough.”

“Wow,” I said—more concerned with the sound she made than anything else. “That’s …”

“Scary,” she said. “Yeah. I’ve, uh … probably got a lot more skills now.”

A lot more power too. And a lot scarier things she shouldn’t have been able to do. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” I grinned. “Maybe you can test some of them out on Dagan.”

“I thought he was helping you?”

“It’s Dagan,” I said. “By helping, he just means he wasn’t actively trying to kill us. I’m fully expecting a bill from him. In some form or another.”

Dulcie nodded and laughed. There was a long silence.

And then.

“He, uh. He had sex with her,” she said.

My heart stopped. “What? Who?”

“Knight,” she said. “He slept with Meg. She glamoured him, and I had to … watch … and now, I can’t …”

Oh, Hades, I thought. Not for the first time, I wondered why Knight was naked when he left Meg’s house. Now it all made sense—but a horrible, terrible, awful sense. Dulcie started to cry. I pulled her against me, hugging her, letting her tears soak my smoke-stained shoulder. Stroking her hair, I kept telling her it was all right to cry, and let it all out.

We stayed there a long time.

THIRTY-ONE

Knight

I sat on the curb around the corner, listening. Not quite ready to face Odyssey again, or explain to her why I lost contact. I had no excuse for chasing after my girlfriend, or leaving my post totally unattended. My single, stupid decision nearly toppled an entire country.

Instead, I just listened to the sounds of the city around me. Cold gusts of wind, car horns, sirens, the spiral and splash of fire hoses. The hissing and pops of bending spacetime.

Hades materialized beside me. Sitting on the curb, resting his wrists on his knees, he was staring out at DC and watching the last of the smoke drift away.

That went well, he said.

I scoffed.

Problem?

I scoffed again, louder this time—if only to convey my disbelief, shock, and wonder. That went well. Like the dragon was his backup plan, or a lucky contingency, like we’d had the power inside us all along! Easiest thing in the world. “You almost got everybody killed.”

Really? How so?

“Your stupid dragon died,” said Knight. “Meg popped up with her shadows and it was just …” I snapped. “Gone like that.”

Yet here you are. Alive, if not slightly unscathed. I wonder how on Earth that happened?

His voice was laced with sarcasm. I frowned at him. “You knew about Rowena.”

Hades nodded. I did. The entity she carries is an old friend of mine.

“Old friend?” I asked incredulously as I shook my head.

Is it so hard to believe I have friends?

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, it is.”

Hades sighed. I knew about Rowena’s abilities … and that she would not summon her spirit unless all other avenues had been exhausted.

Unless we could scare the Darkness into playing her power card by setting her on fire ourselves, and proving once and for all there was nothing anybody else could do. We had to cash in as a last resort.

By killing a dragon.

“Seems excessive.”

Hades shrugged, his bones clicking. Her passenger is vast and immovable—painful and dangerous to call on. Anything less spectacular, and Rowena would have hesitated long enough for all of you to die.

I nodded slowly. For a minute, we were silent, listening to the white noise of a slow recovery.

If you’re finished here, Hades said at last, you have a contract yet to honor.

“An army I must collect?”

Yes. And an absolute Darkness to vanquish. You saw what Meg is capable of. The powers she calls on are darkness beyond the darkness, and evil of the worst caliber. The Darkness of the Abyss lives inside her—and it must be undone.

Darkness? Abyss? I thought he wanted me to kill Meg, not to send me gallivanting off into the ether to look for ancient monsters …

Oh.

I scoffed. “You’re here because Meg’s tapped into something big, bad, and off limits,” I said.

She has opened a gate to the Abyss, yes, said Hades. That gate needs to be closed, or it will swallow this world and all of the rest.

Not because the lives of Odyssey or Dulcie were in danger, I thought, not because Meg was going to take over the world. Just because she left a fucking door open!

Yes, he said. In a sense. I forgot that he could read my mind.

“So you never gave a damn about the fate of the nation or all the people that died today,” I said through my clenched teeth.

As I’ve said. Those were not conflicts that concerned me.

I turned away. Glaring at nothing and hoping if I looked at something else for long enough, he would just disappear. For a while, he didn’t say anything.

“And I’ll need the Lokis in order to do this,” I said. “To close the gate to the Abyss?”

Yes.

I sighed. A long, heavy sigh. I was dreading what came next.

But it wasn’t like I had anything keeping me here—not as long as Dulcie needed space away from me.

“So how do I locate this mountain?”

The End

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The Game

Alaskan Detective #1

by H.P. Mallory

(read on for a sample)

The Game

Chapter One

I’d been at work all of five minutes when Grant plopped a to-go cup of gas station coffee on my desk and said, “widow, three o’clock.”

Disoriented, I turned around and, sure enough, a red-faced woman in her mid-fifties with swollen eyes and a weary expression made her way to my desk. I turned to ask Grant who she was, but only caught a glimpse of his back as he slid behind the door to his office.

Jerk.

Grant really wasn’t a jerk—but he was hot as hell, but that’s another story…

I hurried to clear the papers still cluttering my space from the night before and offered the woman my most convincing smile (difficult at seven am) as she approached me. I gestured to the chair in front of me.

My smile wasn’t returned. She stood before the desk and made no motion to sit.

“I’m Claire,” I said, grimacing as my sip of searing hot coffee burned the tip of my tongue. “How can I help you?”

“Look, as I already told the receptionist, I’m here to see a detective, not another receptionist… or secretary.”

It wasn’t the first time someone had mistaken me for a receptionist. Apparently, being five-three, curvy and blonde, I didn’t fit most people’s image of “hard-hitting, small-town detective.” It didn’t matter that I’d proven myself time and time again. Few people took me seriously. In fact, Grant, the captain of the station, was the only one who acknowledged my value. Maybe that was why I had a little crush on him.

I mean, a really little crush.

You’d think that after years of dealing with people underestimating me, I’d have tougher skin, but it was seven o’clock on a Tuesday in the podunk town of Howard, Alaska, and I was feeling less than understanding.

I removed the stack of papers from in front of my nameplate and plopped the placard down in front of her. It read:

Sakaugus County Police Department

Detective Claire Darrow

The ruddy-complexioned woman looked from me to the nameplate and then back to me again, surprise registering in her eyes. I raised an eyebrow at her, daring her to call me a receptionist again.

“How can I help you?”

She stood silently for a minute. Her hair, a curly mop of red that was balled loosely on top of her head, highlighted the bloodshot hue of her eyes.

“Isn’t there someone else I can talk to? A more… senior detective maybe?”

My eyes shifted to Monty who was currently rearranging the baseball themed bobble heads on the side of his desk. One fell and he reacted by knocking two of the figurines into the trashcan beside him and spilling the entire contents of his coffee cup onto his keyboard.

I looked back at her and shook my head.

The woman’s eyes followed mine and we both watched the overweight detective dig inside his trashcan for the fallen bobbles. She looked back to me and I shrugged. I was tempted to send her his way, but Monty was still running follow up on a case I’d solved two months ago. I figured it was best not to overwhelm him. I mean, he had a lot going on with the rescuing of the bobbles as it was.

“I’m it,” I told her, gesturing again to the seat in front of me. “Now, for the final time, how can I help you?”

She sighed, but finally sat down. “My husband, Philip, passed away last week.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling somewhat guilty that my voice still retained its icy edge. It was just that death was pretty routine in my line of business, so I wasn’t exactly surprised to hear about her husband.

“I think he was murdered,” she continued.

“Was there an autopsy?”

“That’s just it,” she started, shaking her head. “The autopsy said Philip was in good health. The coroner couldn’t determine a cause of death at all.”

“So what makes you think he was murdered?”

“I don’t think,” she corrected me. “I know Philip was murdered.”

“Okay, so what makes you know he was murdered?”

“He started going to this… this place, Virtual Escapes Enterprises, about a year ago.”

“Virtual Escapes,” I struggled to place the name. “Wait… as in Virtual Escapes, the gaming company?”

“Yes, that’s the one. I don’t know much about it. I do know it’s this weird, video game thing… actual reality, I think it’s called.”

“Virtual reality?”

She nodded. “Yes, virtual reality, that’s right. They do ‘excursions.’ Very expensive.”

“Okay,” I said.

“My husband went to Virtual Escapes for these excursions quite a bit, actually. And every time he came back, he’d be… different.”

“Different how?”

“Distant, tired. He started to lose a lot of weight and I noticed he missed quite a bit of work because some days he couldn’t even get out of bed. At first the doctor thought it was depression but the Zoloft he was prescribed didn’t do anything. Then the doctor switched him to Prozac, but that was just as useless. And I couldn’t get him to talk to me at all. All Philip wanted to do was go back to Virtual Escapes. He must have spent a fortune there! I still haven’t been able to figure out how much he actually did spend.”

“Do you have any proof that his decline in health was connected to Virtual Escapes?”

“Well, Philip’s last trip was just two weeks ago and then he died the day after he got back.”

“Hmmm, that’s not enough to link his death to the company. Could have been a case of coincidence.”

“Yes, it could have been, but wouldn’t you find it curious that Philip’s best friend, Tony, also died a few months ago under mysterious circumstances too?”

“Mysterious circumstances?”

She nodded. “Two days after Tony’s last visit to Virtual Escapes, he was dead. Tony’s the one who first told Philip about Virtual Escapes. And the same thing happened to another one of their colleagues, Peter Cohen.”

I took out my notebook. In my seven years working as a detective, I’d heard some crazy theories but “video games killed my husband” was a first. Of course there was something interesting about the fact that two other men had died of seemingly the same cause… but ‘interesting’ might have been the extent of the situation.

“What was your husband’s name?”

“Philip. Philip Tatenbaum. My name is Florence.”

“Okay,” I said as I wrote down both of their names.

“I tried to get ahold of the owner of Virtual Escapes but he’s impossible to reach,” she continued. “I’ve left messages for countless Virtual Escapes employees, but I can’t get anyone to return my calls.” She sighed as she dropped her attention to her small, white hands which were folded primly in her lap. Then she looked up at me again and her eyes shone with tears. “Virtual Escapes is responsible—I just know it. They killed my husband; I know they did.”

“There’s a good chance we won’t be able to prove that,” I said, watching her shoulders deflate at my dismissal. I was used to this sort of situation: spouses or family members of the deceased coming to us with crazy theories. When someone you care about dies, the instinct is to look for someone to blame. Often, it’s easier to create a villain than it is to just give in to the grieving process. If I took every one who sat in front of my desk seriously, I’d never get any work done. Still, it was the sign of a weak detective if you dismissed the paranoid crazies at face value. It was rare, yes, but sometimes they were right.

Tears balanced precariously on the edge of her large brown eyes. I fought to rewrite my opinion of her and offer some sympathy. “I’ll do some digging and see if there’s anything I can do for you.”

She glanced up at me. “Virtual Escapes is hiding something, I can feel it.”

I nodded and after taking down her information, I watched as she made her way out of the station. Around me were the typical stirrings of morning office life: officers exiting the break room with stifled yawns, computers powering on, uniformed men grabbing their jackets and keys to their squad cars. I rubbed my eyes. Monty was still cleaning up his desk, spluttering a slew of curses as he haphazardly waved his papers around in an attempt to dry them.

I took my coffee and walked into Grant’s office, not bothering to knock.

“Hey,” he said, glancing up from a report as I walked in. He was leaning so far back in his chair, it looked about ready to topple over. His large feet were crossed on the edge of his desk. He was wearing his reading glasses that made him look like Clark Kent.

Goddamn but the man was sexier than he had any right to be.

“Who was that?” he asked, casually sipping his coffee.

“Florence Tatenbaum,” I answered. “She thinks her husband was killed by a videogame company.” I expected an eye roll or a commiserating chuckle, but Grant locked his eyes with mine. He rocked forward in his chair, bringing his feet to the floor. Setting the report and his coffee aside, he leaned with crossed arms over his desk, never breaking eye contact with me. I swear, he enjoyed making me squirm. Not that I’d ever squirm in front of him—I’d learned how to school my expressions and the way my heartrate increased whenever he looked at me.

“Videogame company?” he started in that deep voice. “As in… Virtual Escapes?” Grant removed his glasses and looked up at me expectantly.

I was surprised. ‘Yeah… how did you..?”

“I was just reading about the company in the paper this morning. They’re based not seventy miles from here, over on Mukunta Island.”

I walked away from the door and took a seat in front of his desk. Grant had a look on his face that I knew well—one that said I had his full attention, that we’d found something worth exploring.

Grant had been my captain for four years and, in that time, I’d become familiar with many of his facial expressions. When it came to me, his most common expression was ‘entertained exasperation’; he typically responded to my outlandish plans and theories with a barely concealed grin and twinkling eyes. He knew well enough by now, however, to trust my methods and let me do things my way. We both knew I’d end up doing it with or without his permission anyway.

Truth was, I was lucky to have Grant as a boss. We all were. He was honest and fair and he had good instincts. There wasn’t a person at our station who wouldn’t take a bullet for the man. And, yes, he was hot: six-three or six-four and well built, with super broad shoulders, a narrowed waist and long legs. His hair was sandy brown, but streaked with gray around his ears and around his face. His olive skin was always tan and personalized with deep laugh lines and wrinkles leading away from his kind, blue eyes. He was getting into his forties but still unmarried—an unfortunate reality of working as hard as we did—a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the other women in the office. Whether or not he knew that, however, remained a mystery.

I, however, was brutally aware of their affections. Most of the women in the office were unhelpful and distant where I was concerned. It was like being back in high school. There’d been a target on my back since the day I’d arrived here. While it was true Grant and I received our fair share of ribbing from everyone over how close we were, Grant was truly, honestly, one of my only real friends in this town. And despite our mutual attraction, neither one of us was stupid enough to jeopardize our working relationship.

“Well, fill me in,” I said to him, curious to hear what all the fuss was about.

He began rifling through the papers beside his desk until he found the morning’s newspaper. He passed it across the desk. I caught the headline.

Seth Channing: His Covert Rise to the Top.

The caption was accompanied by a photo of a dark-haired man wearing a gray suit. He was good-looking, with an intense brooding expression and a strong jaw, thin nose, and carefully maintained beard.

“Who’s Seth Channing?” I asked.

“He’s your guy,” Grant answered, pointing at the picture on the paper. “Virtual Escapes was just your standard gaming company until about two years ago when they took on augmented reality simulations. Totally changed the name of the game. They went from being a company that dwelled in relative obscurity to topping the Fortune 500 list and disrupting a nearly two billion dollar a year industry. Channing made gaming something for business execs, not just losers in their mom’s basements. The guy’s supposedly some sort of genius. Thirty-four years old and already one of the richest men in America.”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with dead husbands?” I asked, dropping the paper back on his desk.

“Well, I don’t know anything about that,” Grant responded, shrugging his large shoulders. “But the company’s known for being extremely secretive. That’s what that article is about,” he continued, pointing to it. “A few months ago, no one even knew who this guy was and now he’s one of the most talked about names in the industry.”

“Sounds like someone’s in love.”

Grant rolled his eyes as he smiled and looked ten years younger. Grant had one of those smiles that instantly made you want to smile—it was honest, genuine and real. Just like the man, himself. “What can I say? The guy’s got style.”

“You could definitely do worse,” I said as I took another look at the photo on the paper. Channing didn’t look like much of a killer, but, then again, few people do. I looked up at him again. “Worth checking out?” I asked.

Grant shook his head, “Doubt it.”

I arched my eyebrows at him in a charade of “explain.”

“Like I said, the guy’s disrupting a huge industry,” Grant started. “Chances are he’s ticked some people off along the way.”

“So you think Florence Tatenbaum’s got ulterior motives for targeting the company?”

He shrugged, “Tell you what: scope it out and then we’ll talk about opening a case if you get something.” He swiveled his chair to face his computer. It was his go to method of signaling the end of the conversation. I started to make my way out of his office as he called over his shoulder, “the ferry to Mukunta Island leaves at ten. Now, keep in mind part of the island is public property but there are other parts that aren’t.”

“Cool, thanks, Grant,” I said, walking out of his office as I shook my head.

“Sure thing, kid,” came the muffled reply. It was funny he called me kid because at thirty-two, I wasn’t exactly a child. And Grant only had ten years or so on me… I figured the term of endearment was really more to put space between us. Like I mentioned before, we both were attracted to each other. No, we’d never admitted it, but it was as obvious as the way our gazes lingered on one another a little too long.

I returned to my desk and sat down in front of the computer. My subsequent Google search on Channing and Virtual Escapes yielded few results and left me more confused than ever. There was no company website, no contact information, nothing. The only thing I could find were a few forums in Internet chat rooms and fan pages for Seth Channing. Beyond that, it was like the company barely existed at all. When I searched Channing in my police database, my results were much the same.

I grabbed my bag and coat and headed to the door of the office.

***

It was barely spring. The sun sat high and exposed in the sky, but it did little to stop the aching chill that refused to leave your fingers and toes until long after you’d returned to warmth. A snowplow made its way slowly down the street, scooping up the bright, heavy sludge. I walked briskly to my Toyota 4runner, turning it on as quickly as I could to blast the heat and warm my hands. Pulling out onto the snowy road, I made my way toward the ferry dock.

At the station, I purchased a ticket to Mukunta Island and sat down to wait for the barge. Removing a glove to do a search on my phone, I looked up Seth Channing again. The same picture from the paper popped up. He was very good looking, but in a Jeffrey Dahmer, handsome but crazed, sort of way. His amber eyes seemed to hold more years than his purported thirty-four suggested. His dark hair had that carefully disheveled look of rock stars and high-profile actors. He wasn’t looking at the camera, but his eyes had a cautious expression that let you know few things happened without him knowing about them.

While I was still skeptical about Florence’s claims, the secrecy of the company along with the illusiveness of its creator posed a few red flags. If Florence was right and Virtual Escapes was responsible for the deaths of three men, then it was essential I find out all I could. Cases like these were costly and time consuming, but the thrill of a new mystery was exactly why I loved this job.

I was one of three people on the ferry to the island. I stuffed my mittened hands into my pockets and attempted to swaddle myself tighter in my coat. Spring offered a welcome break from the relentless darkness of winter, but the Alaskan seasons were rarely interested in peaceful transitions.

Over the water, the temperature dropped significantly and the wind that hit my cheeks was sharp and biting. I zipped my coat up all the way and wished I’d known today would include a fieldtrip so I could have coordinated my outfit a little better.

The two other passengers didn’t seem to mind the cold. Both were men. One was dressed like a fisherman, with a baseball cap beneath his hood. I couldn’t see his face. He was wearing Carhartt overalls and muddy black waders that came up past his knees. The other man was wrapped in a puffy green coat and jeans. There were a number of small islands that peppered the archipelago chain beneath Alaska’s largest island: Kodiak.

I’d never heard of Mukuntu Island, but then again, most people (including me) didn’t have a lot of business going out to the smaller land plots. A few were privately owned but more were barren and uninhabited. I wondered what would be taking these two men toward the island. Assuming Virtual Escapes’s headquarters was all Mukuntu had to offer, I could only assume they were employees. Grant had said the company targeted business executives. Florence was well dressed and obviously well taken care of. It seemed a safe bet to say these fisherman types weren’t the organization’s target clientele.

I approached the man in the baseball cap. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked, having to strain my voice over the frigid wind.

He looked confused for a moment so I pointed at the snowcapped peaks visible over the crystal blue water. Glaciers stood stark and ominous against their north faces, host only to the most resilient of wildlife. Despite the adjustments to seasonal light changes and the at times inhospitable weather, Alaska truly was gorgeous. The scenery filled me with a sense of fullness I’d never found anywhere else in the world.

The man looked out at the scene before us: the gentle waves, the soaring peaks and smaller foothills decorated with a dense layer of evergreens. He nodded, clearly not interested in conversation. You could usually count on an Alaskan’s chattiness. In my four years here, I’d learned the real challenge was getting them to stop talking.

Leaving him at his seat, I went to the other man who was standing near the ropes lining the front of the ferry. My second attempt at conversation yielded nearly the same results and I resigned myself to sitting in one of the hard red seats near the ferry’s bow. I squinted into the wind until the barge finally came to rest at our destination. I departed with the two men and followed them down an empty road.

From the looks of it, Mukuntu was completely abandoned. A few shop fronts lined the road but they’d clearly been closed for decades, if not longer. The paint was faded and peeling—pastel greens and yellows that had dried and cracked so much, there was as much exposed wood as there was remaining paint. Windows were broken or cracked and doors opened and closed in response to the occasional gusts of wind. A creaking sign that said “Food and Grocery” hung from a rusted pole. It teetered in the wind, groaning eerily. Large tire tracks appeared through the snow on the road. The ground crunched beneath my feet as I walked.

The two men who’d arrived with me kept their heads down and walked at a quick pace past the shops. The snow reflected the light of the midday sun and made it difficult to look out without squinting. My eyes watered from the cold of the wind. I bowed my head and followed the men, hoping they would lead me where I needed to go.

After a while the old town receded into the background and we approached a tall chain link fence with barbed wire guarding its top. Large signs proclaiming “Private Property, Keep Out” were placed every fifteen feet or so along the fence that went on endlessly in either direction. It was impossible to see what was inside the perimeter of the fence, owing to the dense trees. The two men who’d been walking silently next to each other for the last twenty minutes broke off, one heading east while the other stood still. He appeared to be looking at the fence.

I felt a buzz from my pocket and looking down, pulled out my phone. I had a text from Grant. It read:

Be careful out there. Don’t want anything happening to my best detective.

The text was followed with a happy face emoji. I didn’t respond, but put the phone back in my pocket.

After a moment I heard the unmistakable sound of an engine coming from the crisp blue air above my head. At first, it was impossible to know where the noise was coming from, so I turned my gaze upward in an attempt to locate the source. The noise continued to swell until, finally, I spotted a black helicopter passing onto the property beyond the fence. It was gone as quickly as it came and the sound of its engine receded as it disappeared from sight.

When I looked at the fence again, the second man was no longer there. I started toward the fence to see if I could catch a glimpse of where he’d gone, but before I could even take a step, I heard a low, creaking voice from behind me.

“Miss, it’s about time you headed home.”

I turned around. It was the first man I’d talked to on the ferry.

“Sorry?” I asked.

“You have no business here,” he stated bluntly. His cap was still pulled low over his head and it covered his eyes. All I could see was a thick beard that receded into the darkness of his hoodie.

“Do you work for Virtual Escapes?” I asked. I was doubtful I’d get a straight answer, but I figured it was worth a shot at least.

“Follow the road the way you came and don’t come back,” he said.

“And why would I do that?” I was starting to get frustrated. It was a public ferry; I had every right to be here. Officer or not, I didn’t understand why this guy would have a reason to be as inhospitable as he was.

Florence Tatenbaum’s words came rushing back to me.

They’re hiding something, I can feel it.

The secret island with the extreme chain link fence and scary bouncer did make it seem like Virtual Escapes was hiding something. The only issue was, I had no way of finding out what, exactly, they were hiding. I didn’t even know where to start looking.

The man’s face went rigid. “Don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” He pointed back down the desolate white road, making it clear he expected me to return to the ferry dock. I decided to do as the man said in order to regroup.

Now, more than ever, I wondered if Virtual Escapes was worth opening a case against. I gave one last beseeching look to the imposing chain fence and turned to leave. After I’d walked a few paces down the road, I turned to see if the man was still watching me, but no one was there. That was when I recognized my cue.

Slowly, I made my way back to the abandoned stores.

It was like the shops had been stuck in history, likely left over from when the gold rush found its way to Alaska and the many islands that lay just beyond the mainland’s shores. I walked up to one building and stepped on its creaky wooden porch. My boots made dull thuds as I walked along the old entrance. Peering through the window of the dilapidated structure, I could see a wooden floor and what looked like a bar at the far end. A few upturned chairs sat on its counter. There were bits of trash (old scraps of paper, twigs, empty aluminum cans whose labels had long since faded) spread around the floor. I left the porch and walked back toward the main road.

Off the main road was a smaller road that extended past the shops and faded away into the east. I hadn’t noticed it when I first arrived and so I started down the path, curious to see how far the old town extended. I didn’t make it very far before I came on a small house. It looked like it had once been blue but now the color wavered between the brown of the flecked wood and a worn gray. The windows had worn white shutters and the porch looked like it was seconds away from collapsing.

Sitting on the porch, on an ancient rocking chair, was an old woman. I almost didn’t notice her at first because the faded gray of her raincoat blended in so well with the building behind her. I was surprised to see another person, considering there was nothing out here but this derelict town. But person she was.

She had long gray hair that was tied into a braid behind her and beautiful copper skin that radiated vitality despite her obvious age. She was looking directly at me.

“Hello,” I said. The last thing I wanted to do was spook her, especially when I had no idea where she’d come from or how she was here, in the middle of this deserted town.

She bowed her head forward in greeting, but remained silent. Her gaze was directed beyond me, toward the trees that lined the small road. I turned to see if there was anything in particular she was staring at, but behind me were only trees.

“Do you live here?” I asked.

She nodded, her gaze still locked on a fixed point in the trees.

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“I won’t be able to give you any of the answers you’re looking for.” Her voice was thick and somber. The wind stirred when she spoke, almost in response to her words.

“And why’s that?”

“Because I keep my nose out of other people’s business.”

“By other people’s business, whose do you mean?”

She shrugged but then shook her head. “I’ve lived here my entire life. My father was a fisherman, my mother raised six children in this house.”

“Wow,” I started but she interrupted me.

“But now the town is pretty quiet. You’re the first person I’ve seen in a long while. Aside from those ferry operators.”

“Do you mind if I take down your information? I’m a detective with the Sakaugus County Sheriff’s Department over on the mainland. If you’re willing, I’d love to be able to call at a later date to ask you a few questions about your house and the island.”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Frustrated, I stared up at her, but she didn’t say anything more. Not wanting to retire a possible lead, I searched for another topic. “Why don’t you want to live on the mainland?”

She took a few seconds to rock back and forth in her rocking chair. “Got no business in the mainland.”

“But how do you survive here?” I asked, frowning as I tried to understand. We were literally miles from civilization. Unless someone was bringing her food, I didn’t know how she was feeding herself. Let alone how she was getting electricity, plumbing and other necessities.

“I find a way,” she answered, continuing to rock.

“Do you know anything about what goes on here? On this island?”

She rocked a bit faster. “It’s none of my concern.”

“But don’t you wonder? Where did all the people go who used to live in this town with you?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, refusing to look at me.

“How do you feed yourself?” I continued, glancing around even though I already knew there was no functioning grocery store on the island. The nearest one was probably forty miles away… at least.

The woman didn’t respond but continued to rock.

“Do you have a phone? Are you able to reach someone if you need to?”

She said nothing.

“What if you have an emergency?” I continued.

She shrugged but then shook her head. “I’ve lived here my entire life. My father was a fisherman, my mother raised six children in this house.”

Chapter Two

“You just said that,” I started but then my voice faded as I inspected her further. She continued to rock back and forth.

“But now the town is pretty quiet. You’re the first person I’ve seen in a long while. Aside from those ferry operators.”

I didn’t say anything but walked away from the road and up the steps to her front porch. She continued to stare out at the ocean.

“How come you don’t live on the mainland?” I asked, continuing the game as I took another few steps nearer her.

She paused just as she had the first time around. “Got no business in the mainland.”

I didn’t know what prompted me to do it, but I reached out and touched her cheek and found it ice cold. She didn’t glance up at me, but continued looking out at the ocean, never stopping her constant rocking.

“How do you survive?” I asked as I reached down to her neck and tried to take her pulse. Just as I expected, there wasn’t one.

“I find a way,” she answered, continuing to rock back and forth. She wrapped herself deeper in her raincoat and then stood up, the motion way too fluid for a woman her age. “You should leave,” she said.

I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a few pictures of her. Then she looked right at me and I realized there was nothing human behind her eyes. They were as cold and lifeless as steel.

“I’m thinking exactly the same thing,” I said, casting her a final bemused expression but she didn’t respond. “Enjoy your day.” I gave her a brief wave goodbye but it wasn’t returned. Instead, she fixed her intense gaze on me but her eyes were hollow, unfocused.

I jumped down off her porch, onto the dirt patch below it and then walked down to the main road, heading in the direction of the ferry.

There was no one manning the dock when I reached it, so I took a seat on a bench by the water and waited for the next one to arrive. I glanced around, wondering why a ferry would come here if no one ever requested one and that was when I noticed an old school, push-button phone mounted to a beam at the far end of the dock. It was protected by a clear plastic enclosure. I walked over to it and noticed a sign that read:

Press 333 to request a ferry.

I did as I was instructed and reached a recorded message that said a ferry would be heading my way shortly. I returned to the cold, wooden bench and waited for my ride.

Today had been chilling and the island gave me a bad feeling, especially after coming into contact with a… robot? Was that what the old woman was—a robot? What else could she have been? But even though her appearance had fooled me, at least in the beginning, her programming hadn’t exactly been state of the art. And that surprised me because I expected more from a company that was supposedly leading the way in VR.

The air, so fresh and crisp on the ride over, felt almost oppressive now. Finally, I saw the small dot of a tiny ferry making its way across the water toward me. The boat got larger and larger until at last, a lone deck hand dismounted and readied the boat for me. Not waiting for any other passengers, we departed once more.

Back on the mainland, I was eager to find Grant and tell him about the strange events of the day. I couldn’t help but speed on the freeway as I made my way back to the office.

When I returned, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the reflective brightness of the crystalline snow to the dim fluorescent lighting inside our building. Carey, the receptionist, smiled cattily at me as I unzipped my many uncoordinated layers I’d found haphazardly strewn around in my car.

I didn’t bother saying anything to Carey because she was a bitch and, instead, sped past her, saying a quick hello to Monty, who was apparently trying to win the “fewest bites to finish a burger” competition. Fast food wrappers littered his desk and he had yet to notice the large blob of mustard on his chest.

Making my way into Grant’s office, I opened the door, causing him to jump in his seat. He’d been leaning back in his chair, with his legs propped up on his desk, no doubt taking a little snooze. I only regretted my surprise visit hadn’t caused him to completely fall over. Even so, I couldn’t help but laugh at his expression of horrified shock.

“Jesus, woman, can’t you knock?” he tried to look offended, but I could tell he was happy to see me.

“Looking a little jumpy there, boss,” I ribbed him. “You guilty of something?”

“What are you, a detective?” he joked back. I laughed. “How’d it go over on the island?” he asked.

“Not great. Everything’s pretty closed up, they’ve got a huge fence like they’re some sort of max security prison. But that wasn’t the highlight,” I said, pausing to take a breath.

“What was the highlight?”

“While I was nosing around the island, I came across an old, ghost town. And I met an older woman who appeared to live there year round even though the town is completely deserted and falling apart.” I reached for my phone from inside my pocket and then clicked on the photos icon, pulling up the pics of the old woman I’d taken. Then I handed the phone to Grant.

“Okay,” he said, clearly unimpressed so far.

“And so I started asking the old woman some questions and pretty soon, she started repeating herself.”

Grant frowned up at me. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but that’s what old people do, Darrow.”

“No,” I said and shook my head. “She repeated word for word, line for line, exactly what she’d said to me in the start of our conversation.”

“What do you mean?”

“She said to me something about living there her entire life. And that her father was a fisherman and her mother raised six children. But she said the exact same words both times she brought it up. People don’t do that, Grant.” He frowned and appeared perplexed so I continued. “Thinking our interaction was beyond weird, I walked up to her and touched her cheek and she was freezing cold. And not like a person standing out in the Alaskan air for too long. This was cold like… like metal cold. When I went to take her pulse, I couldn’t find one.”

“And the woman just allowed you to do all this without balking?”

I frowned at him. “Yes, Grant, because she wasn’t a person.”

“She wasn’t a person?” He frowned up at me. “Then what was she?”

“A robot! God, I thought you were following along!”

“A robot?” he repeated, his forehead furrowing as he faced me.

“Yes, a robot! Or an AI. Whatever the hell you call them.” He took a deep breath. “Think about it and it will start to make more sense,” I continued. “Virtual Escapes is a gaming company, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, would it be so farfetched to think they were also creating robots?”

“I guess not,” he answered with a shrug.

“What was even weirder than the robot part though, was that this robot wasn’t really programmed well at all. She kept repeating herself and clearly couldn’t communicate with me like a real person could.”

“So?”

“So, didn’t you tell me Virtual Escapes was a fortune 500 company that was leading the way in VR and gaming?” Grant nodded. “Well, I have to admit I wasn’t exactly impressed with their robot.”

“So what do you think was the point of them planting the robot there?”

I shrugged. “I’ve been considering the same question myself. Maybe she keeps an eye on the place. Like she’s simply put there to record the comings and goings of whoever is coming and going?” I took a breath. “One of the very first things she told me was that she wouldn’t be able to answer any of my questions.”

“Huh,” Grant said and then sighed. “Oh well, guess you tried.”

“Wait, what?”

“I mean, unless there was some sort of major pipe leak or a murderer-at-large, I don’t see where you hope to get with this.”

“Grant, are you serious? Did you hear me when I said the old woman was a robot?”

“I heard you.”

“So, don’t you think that’s odd?”

“Sure it’s odd, but what does that mean?”

“Um, hello!” I started, not meaning to sound so irritated, but there it was. Grant just smiled up at me. “Clearly, the robot was there for a reason! As some sort of monitoring agent. And why would Virtual Escapes need to have a monitoring device unless they were afraid the public was going to find something they shouldn’t?”

“Private property doesn’t equal guilt. And I’m sure they get tons of kids over there trying to sneak in and spy on what they’re doing all the time. Kids and you, Darrow. No wonder they’re a little uptight.” He smiled at me again. “Should I be worried about getting a phone call from someone upset about you traipsing around on private property?”

“Only if you’re worried about getting a phone call from a robot!” I answered, glaring back at him.

He chuckled. I frowned.

“So that’s it?” I demanded, throwing my hands on my hips. “We have three unexplained deaths and the biggest thing linking them is that they all visited Virtual Escapes within the last six months. And you’re going to say it’s not worth looking into?” My voice started to rise.

“You were the one trying to get me to laugh at the crazy widow’s hair-brained theory this morning, I don’t know why you’re so upset over this now,” he countered with a shrug.

“I’m not upset. You’re the one who told me to check it out.”

“Yeah, because that’s your job. But you didn’t find anything. And so now I need you to focus on leads we know are worth pursuing.”

“Didn’t find anything? I found a robot!”

“And you’ll be given a Scooby Snack as your reward,” he answered with a hearty bellowing laugh.

“That wasn’t funny,” I huffed back at him.

“It was a little funny,” he answered.

I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t at all.”

“Fine. You’re in a mood today,” he grumbled.

“I’m not in a mood. I just… I think there’s something here.”

He breathed out a long and hard sigh and then frowned up at me. “How are you on that double homicide down off Parker Road?”

“We have our guy in custody, I’m just waiting on an official warrant from the judge to seize his phone records,” I answered. “Have Monty take over Parker Road, it’s your standard domestic case, it’s cut and dry from here. Besides, Monty is clearly in need of some work,” I continued as I glanced at the person in question and found him yelling at his computer screen—something he only did when he was losing at whatever game he was playing. I paused, probing again, “I have a feeling about this one, Grant. I need to find out more.”

“What are you planning on finding out, exactly?”

“I don’t know yet. I just need some time and a warrant to get behind that fence. Let me get together enough evidence so I can call the judge and get a warrant. In the meantime, I’ll talk to the other widows and I’ll see if I can get in touch with someone who works there.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest, realizing somewhat self-consciously that I was acting a bit like a pouty child. Luckily, it seemed to have the desired effect.

Grant sighed. “Fine. I’ll give you three days, but if you don’t make any headway I need you back here and ready to focus.”

“Three days? That’s not even enough time to put in a request at the courthouse! I need at least a week.”

“Goddammit, Claire. Why even bother calling me your boss if you’re going to make all the decisions yourself?” he eyed me angrily but we both knew I’d won.

“Trust me, Grant.”

“Fine, you have a week. But I want you to get a definitive lead before this goes any further and a robot grandma isn’t a definitive lead.” I frowned at him. “Report back if you find anything.” He cleared his throat. “And next time I text you, text me back.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” I answered mockingly.

“Darrow, you can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?”

“Yes, I do,” I smiled at him, proud of my victory. He gave me a half smirk back, but something in his eye made me catch my breath slightly. The moment passed as quickly as it came, and he turned back to face his computer.

“Now get out of my office,” he said gruffly.

I did as I was told and made my way back to my desk. Monty had finally spotted the mustard on his shirt and was using a soda-soaked napkin in a failing attempt to clean it up.

“Hey, Monty, are you cool to run follow up on that Parker Road case? It’s all sorted; I just need it filed.” I leaned over and handed him the case file.

“Uh, sure, Claire. Are you starting something new?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you working on?”

I didn’t really want to answer, but figured he’d find out anyway. “That widow who was in here this morning thinks a video game company might have had something to do with her husband’s death.”

Monty chortled loudly, “Ha, that’s a new one!” he waited for me to laugh as well.

“I actually think she might be onto something.” Monty frowned but didn’t say anything else. He went back to patting his shirt with the napkin. I could see the case file already starting to soak up the spilled soda on his desk. I sighed.

What I really needed was to get in touch with someone who wasn’t a low-level worker but, rather, someone at the top inside Virtual Escapes. I’d never encountered a company that had no online presence. Maybe it was part of their brand image to remain entirely inaccessible, but as a detective, it made my job both frustrating and difficult.

But, I had calls to make. Florence had given me the names and phone numbers of the other two dead men, Peter Cohen and Tony McKinrae, and I called their widows, but neither answered. I left a message for both, asking them to return my calls. Then I called the county hospital and asked them to send over Tatenbaum’s autopsy report.

Unfortunately, the next step was waiting. I hoped Florence had the contact info for someone who could get me in touch with Seth Channing. It was frustrating to know so little about someone, especially in such a small town. In general, everyone around here knew everyone else’s business. There were no chain link fences, rude ferrymen or robotic old women. Everything about the company seemed fishy to me, and I only hoped the week Grant had allotted me would give me enough time to convince him I’d found something worth exploring.

***

I glanced at the time on my computer screen. It was past six and many of the other officers had left for the night or were leaving. The light in Grant’s office was still on. I took my coat from my chair and made my way to his office. Tapping lightly on the open door, I leaned against the doorframe.

If it weren’t for his two loyal bloodhounds, Paxton and Buddy, I doubted Grant would ever leave the office. He was diligent about his work, but it was also safe to say that the station and the people in it were his life. He didn’t notice me standing there right away so I watched the curve of his strong back as he wrote notes in the journal he kept with him at all times. I asked him once what he wrote in it and he said he liked to keep an up-to-date account of everything that went on with all his officers so that in the event something happened to him, his replacement wouldn’t waste any time getting up to speed. Grant was organized.

“Don’t stay here too late, boss,” I said gently from behind him. He straightened and turned in his chair.

“Night, Darrow,” he answered, his tired eyes kind and smiling. A dark shadow of stubble over his jaw added to his air of masculinity. Before he turned around, his gaze shifted to the same expression from earlier. I felt my stomach flip uneasily.

“You ok?” I asked, noting the slight slump of his back.

He held my gaze for a moment too long, “yeah, you know me, just thinking too much.”

“What about?”

His lips straightened into a line as he took a deep breath. His eyebrows knitted together, he looked like he was about to say something and then sighed before starting again.

“You’re good at your job, Darrow.”

Disappointed, I waited to see if he’d say anything more. Realizing the conversation was over I said, “Thanks, Grant. Good night,” and made my way to the front doors.

***

When I got home to my apartment, I collapsed onto the couch. As soon as I’d moved to Howard, Alaska, I’d thrown myself into my work, eager for a new start and a distraction. In truth, I’d been distracted ever since: the bare apartment was testament enough to that. It didn’t really bother me anymore though. The apartment was a necessary resting place. I didn’t need it to be nice; I needed it to be functional.

I’d moved here from Massachusetts where I’d left an alcoholic father, a deceased mother, and an abusive ex-boyfriend. Why Alaska? Because it was the farthest state away from my past. I’d failed in my personal life, but I didn’t have to fail in my professional one.

I felt a surge of hunger from deep down inside my belly. Most nights I ate greasy fast food with whichever remaining employees were working that night. I dreaded returning home to my barren apartment, but with the Virtual Escapes case, there was nothing I could do now beyond wait. Historically, waiting had never been a skill of mine.

I tapped my fingers idly on the coffee table. My stomach growled again and I got up to go look in the fridge and pantry even though I already had the contents memorized: half an onion with suspicious green sprouts growing from its center, an almost finished carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream, a container of stale cheerios (but no milk), a can of black beans, and coffee. I stared at the black beans for a moment before I grabbed the despairingly light ice-cream container and attempted to scrape the freezer burn off the top and into the sink with a spoon.

I took the container and spoon back to the couch and took out my cellphone to dial my office phone’s voicemail. As expected, there were no messages. I turned on the TV and half-listened to a news story about a litter of puppies that were rescued from beneath a dilapidated building. I called to check my messages again. The mailbox was empty.

Grabbing my old, clunky Dell laptop from its spot next to me on the couch, I tried to research the company again. I couldn’t believe there was no contact information for anyone at Virtual Escapes. No website or information page. Nothing. So I just sat there, trying to figure out what to do next.

When I was in college, Virtual Escapes was popular among the more socially inept crowds. RPG enthusiasts would gather in circles to talk about quests and rankings. I knew this because my forensics lab partner, Wade, self-identified as a paladin and carried a staff with him everywhere he went. I didn’t then and still didn’t know what a paladin was. Regardless, Wade had talked for ages about Virtual Escapes, about how it wasn’t just a game; it was another world. I’d listen politely enough, but I dreaded every Monday afternoon when I’d have to suffer through talk about strategies and experience points. We hadn’t kept in touch.

I decided to look up the word “paladin” and found out it was a knight renowned for heroism and chivalry. Interesting. I clicked back to the Google search page and entered “Virtual Escapes” as my search parameter.

Scrolling through the limited results, I saw some vestigial glimpses of what the company used to be but on the whole, it was like it had never even existed. Suddenly, an idea occurred to me. I opened my email and wondered if my beast of a computer still housed my contact list from grad school. Sure enough, Wade Billings was still stored among my acquaintances, colleagues, and professional contacts. I felt a surge of excitement. I clicked on his name. A phone number and email came up. I glanced at the clock. It was nine thirty p.m. Feeling a small stab of guilt because everyone knows you aren’t supposed to call someone past nine p.m., I entered his number into the phone and pushed the call button. Chances were it wasn’t even his number anymore.

After a few rings, a nasally voice answered the phone. I never thought I’d be so happy to hear Wade’s rodent like timber.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Wade. It’s me, Claire Darrow.”

“Who?”

I then remembered that Wade hadn’t seemed to care for me much either.

“You know, your old lab partner. From Tufts?”

“Claire Darrow?” he seemed thrown.

“That’s the one!”

There was a moment of silence.

“Why are you calling me?”

I was suddenly… nervous. It was an odd feeling and not one I was immediately familiar with. I was usually so confident, but now, I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to ask him. I didn’t even know where to begin, how to tell him I was calling because he’d really liked video games in college and had seemed to know a lot about Virtual Escapes.

“How have you been?” I asked, biting my lip, trying to think of a way to ask what I wanted to.

“I’m fine,” he answered shortly.

I took a breath. “Listen, I know this phone call is coming out of nowhere but I, uh, I’m interested in the gaming company Virtual Escapes. And if I remember correctly, you’re somewhat of an expert on them.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t call myself an expert, I just help write the code,” he said sounding somewhat relieved, “small stuff.”

“Wait,” I let his words sink in. “You work for Virtual Escapes?”

When I’d made the decision to call Wade, it was mostly because I’d been grasping for straws. Never in a million years did I think I’d have a connection to Virtual Escapes! I was beyond excited. Sitting up straighter, I reached into my bag for my notepad and pen. I felt the familiar course of excitement run through me. Finally, I was getting somewhere.

“Yes, I work there. Isn’t that why you’re calling me?” Wade seemed more confused than ever.

“I didn’t realize you were a programmer!” I was almost giddy with excitement.

“Well, I am.”

“I’m so glad I got ahold of you. It’s impossible to find anything on your company. You’d think you were housing some top-secret government operation or something,” I laughed into the phone.

Wade didn’t seem to share my amusement, “yeah,” he said, sounding distracted.

I’d forgotten he wasn’t the best at small talk.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“About the company.”

“Well, it’s not really what it was when I was in school. Virtual Escapes completely stepped out of the online gaming arena five years ago and invested totally in VR.”

“VR as in virtual reality?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. But, I jotted it down anyway.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve got patents on almost everything but, still, there are some people who would pay millions to see what’s going on over there.”

I thought back to the barbed wire topped fence and the old woman robot. “Wade, are you in Alaska?”

“No, I work remotely out of Boston.”

My shoulders deflated. “Any chance you could get me in touch with someone up top. Seth Channing maybe?”

He blew air into the receiver of the phone and then laughed.

“What?” I asked.

“Claire, I’ve never even spoken to Channing. You’d have an easier time getting in touch with the Pope.”

“Damn, I was worried you’d say that.”

“What’s this about?”

“I can’t exactly tell you. But, what I can tell you is that I’m now working as a detective up in Howard, Alaska and I’m investigating a case connected to the company.”

“What’s the case?”

“I can’t really say,” I hedged, feeling uneasy.

“Look, if you want my help, you’re going to need to tell me what it’s regarding.”

I thought it over. Wade had been a nasally nerd who spent his summers larping and memorizing Shakespeare to swoon gamer girls. Connected to the company or not, he really wouldn’t pose much of a risk. Besides, this was the closest I’d gotten to an in with Virtual Escapes yet. I took a deep breath, hoping this wasn’t going to prove to be a mistake that would later come back to bite me in the ass.

“Nothing’s official, but there’s at least one death that may be connected to the company.”

“Why would Virtual Escapes have anything to do with it?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. I need a way in, Wade. It doesn’t have to be Channing, but I need someone who knows about the VR-user-interactions, someone who can answer my questions. I’m working on getting a warrant to access the facility…”

“You’ll never get in.”

I was beginning to remember why I never liked Wade.

“Well, that’s why I’m asking for your help.”

“You’re looking in the wrong place. Virtual Escapes doesn’t have anything to do with those deaths.”

I was taken aback by his gruff dismissal and the fact that he seemed so convinced of Virtual Escapes’s innocence. “You’re probably right,” I assured him. “But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t attempt to at least follow up.”

“I’ll send a note to the head of the department and tell them about the case but I can’t guarantee anyone will get in touch with you.” He paused for a moment. “We tend to shut ourselves off from the rest of the world.”

I figured by “we,” he meant Virtual Escapes employees. “Sounds like a cult.”

“Kind of.”

“Huh,” I said, surprised to hear him agree with me.

“Claire?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t go to Mukuntu, not even with a warrant. It’s not safe.”

His words sounded more like a threat than a warning. I paused, an icy feeling coming over me.

“Why would you think I’d go there?” I asked slowly.

There was no response. I spoke into the receiver again, “Wade?”

But the line was already dead.

Chapter Three

That night I had trouble sleeping. I kept picturing Florence Tatenbaum’s face as she told me she thought her husband had been murdered. What if Philip Tatenbaum had found out something about Virtual Escapes that he wasn’t supposed to? Maybe he’d threatened to expose Channing? My mind came back to Wade’s words about not going to the island. I couldn’t explain why, but I was fairly sure Wade had known I was already there. It was just in the way he’d brought it up, out of the blue. I had to wonder if that old woman robot had simply been a fancy security camera. And there must have been other cameras there as well, alerting Virtual Escapes to my presence. If Wade suspected I’d been snooping around, others would too.

So how far would the company go to keep its secrets?

***

The next morning, I was one of the first people in the office. A few straggling officers were chatting in the break room after their late-night shift. I stomped my boots on the rug and hung my coat up by the door, nodding a greeting to them as I started for my desk. The lights were still off in my half of the office. Paranoid and on edge, I turned the lights on and walked to my desk. Almost immediately, I noticed my phone had a blinking light. I dialed my voicemail. It was a message from Florence.

Her voice sounded wobbly and tired. The words came out slow and intoxicated. “I called Peter Cohen’s wife,” she hummed a high-pitched note before her voice dipped and she mumbled the name, “Whitney. And I also called Marcia McKinrae, Tony’s wife.”

My ears perked because neither Whitney nor Marcia had returned my call.

“But they wouldn’t talk to me. They said they didn’t want to be involved and that I should let the case go. Someone talked to them I bet. Virtual Escapes tried to scare me off too, but I don’t scare easy.” I heard her voice break before the message ended. “Call me when you can, okay, Claire?”

I quickly found Florence’s number on my desk and called her back. She answered in the same low, uneven voice as the one I’d heard on my voicemail. It sounded like she’d been drinking.

“Hi, Florence? It’s Detective Darrow, from the Sakaugus County Police Department. I just got your message.”

“Hi… Claire,” she said, sounding completely out of it.

“I wanted to ask you about something you said in your voicemail. You said Virtual Escapes ‘tried to scare you off.’ What did you mean by that?”

“Oh… I don’t know. Who is this again?” she answered dreamily.

“It’s Detective Darrow,” I said, an edge in my voice. “Claire Darrow, the detective you’re working with about your husband’s case.”

“Oh, hi,” she said.

“Florence? I need you to focus okay?”

“Okay.”

“Who did you talk to at Virtual Escapes? And what did they say to you that made you feel threatened? Do you feel like you’re in danger now?”

She hummed a low, solemn note into the phone. “I don’t know the answers to your questions,” she said, her voice breaking. She was absolutely under the influence of something but whether it was drugs or alcohol, I wasn’t certain. She wasn’t slurring her words though which made me doubt that alcohol was the culprit.

“Florence, are you home?”

She intoned a sound of assent.

“Okay, I’m coming over, alright? Don’t leave your house and don’t talk to anyone until I get there.” And then something dawned on me. “Is there anyone else in your house with you right now, Florence?”

“No… no, there’s no one here,” she answered. “Just Schmoopy but… he’s a good boy.”

I figured Schmoopy was a dog. Or I hoped so anyway.

A few minutes later, I looked up Florence’s address in the database and put it into Google maps on my phone. Cursing the distance and the early morning traffic, I grabbed my bag and made quickly for the door.

While I was driving, I worried about Florence. Was she just drunk or was something more sinister going on? I’d gone from skeptical to certain in less than twenty-four hours that there was something slimy going on here. Tatenbaum had stumbled on something he shouldn’t have and he’d had to pay the price. Maybe his two colleagues had stumbled on the same thing? Maybe all three of them had figured it out together? From the sounds of it, maybe Florence was headed in the same direction? Had she dug too deep?

I worried for myself too, I hadn’t exactly been quiet about the investigation. Paranoia began to rack my nerves. I took out my phone and typed a message to Grant, my eyes jumping from the road to my screen as I sped toward the Tatenbaum residence. “I think Florence is in danger. Going to Investigate. If you don’t hear from me, come to 3243 Shadytree Lane with backup.”

Traffic slowed to a halt on the expressway and I glanced out over the water, tapping my thumbs against the steering wheel. I faced forward and willed the cars in front of me to move faster than the glacial pace we were now going. Finally, the cars started to disperse and I cruised over the valley to Florence’s wealthy neighborhood.

As I drove, I watched as the homes transitioned from single story farmhouses into a neighborhood of large, expansive mansions on huge plots of land with nothing hindering their view of the picturesque mountains behind them.

I came on the Tatenbaum’s residence and was shocked by its grandeur. It was composed of large blocks of pale gray stones and stood three stories high. The entrance was marked with two large pillars and through the shiny, huge windows, you could see into the modern and immaculate rooms of the house. There was a three-car garage and a lawn that seemed to defy the seasons. It was a deep, rich green with spring flowers sprouting up near the main walkway. In the driveway was a bright blue Mercedes Convertible and a vintage red Porsche in perfect condition.

Even in my haste, the house made me pause. I parked the 4runner and hurried to the large, dark oak front door. I knocked quickly and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Florence’s mop of red hair as she opened the door. She looked a little dazed but otherwise unharmed. She smiled a little bashfully. I could smell the alcohol on her breath. So Florence had just been drunk, not drugged. I cursed myself for being so paranoid, for getting caught up in her web of delusion. Wade’s call had rattled me and now I wasn’t thinking clearly. This wasn’t like me.

“Are you ok?” I asked her, already sighing in relief. The tension left my shoulders. She was wearing a shiny blush pink robe with a silk nightgown underneath. Her thin collarbones seemed even more prominent than I’d noticed them yesterday.

Florence giggled. “I talked to our financial advisor today.”

I looked down at her hand; she was holding a bottle of clear liquor that was probably vodka. She stumbled forward and pointed at my chest. “Guess what, Philip left me with nothing. Nothing!” she giggled again, like this was some big joke.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket and ignoring Grant’s worried and urgent responses to my first message typed out, “False alarm.” I was feeling a little more than embarrassed.

Slowly, I leaned over and took the bottle from Florence’s hand. She shrugged and almost fell backward, her thin legs catching her as she tumbled into the entryway of her house. I followed her inside and took her arm where I led her to a pristine white sofa in what was probably the nicest living room I’d ever seen.

She shook her head. “I knew it was bad, but not this bad. I mean, I never would have thought he’d waste all of it!” she was babbling and talking at the floor. I wondered if she was even aware I was next to her. “He spent nine million dollars on what? On nothing! On false reality! And when he ran out of money, they must have taken him out.”

I ignored the part about “them taking him out” but I did blanch at the figure, fairly sure her drunken stupor was causing her to exaggerate. “Nine million dollars?”

She nodded, her expression blank. Then she abruptly leered sideways. I caught her by the elbow and returned her to an upright position on the sofa.

“Florence, how much does it cost to go to Virtual Escapes?”

“He never told me, and for good reason.”

“Was your husband in any kind of trouble, financial or otherwise?”

“Not that I knew of,” she began looking around the room, “where’d my bottle go?”

I edged the bottle farther out of sight, “tell me more about his behavior before he died. What did you notice that was out of the ordinary?”

“I already told you all of this,” she turned to look at me for the first time. Her pale brown eyes were fixed on mine. She drooped, “and you didn’t believe me! Pretty little detective. My husband would have liked you,” she slurred. “Just like he liked all those other whores!”

I ignored the comment. “Tell me everything again, Florence.”

Florence straightened, her eyes shining with a moment of sober sincerity. She hiccupped and the moment was over. Leaning forward, she said, “He was in a bad mood for weeks. He complained of headaches and stomach cramps. He lost weight, a lot of weight.” She hiccupped again and then burped. “I sent him to the doctor but the blood work came back with nothing…” she trailed off, looking confused and hurt.

“Did he ever seem afraid? Or paranoid? Did you ever see him checking the windows? Or did he talk about people coming after him?”

She shook her head.

“You said on the phone the other widows didn’t want to talk to you. Do you know why?”

“They think I’m crazy,” she said, bowing her head.

“Do you think someone told them not to talk to you?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged again and this time she sagged so far left, I wasn’t able to catch her. She crashed onto the floor and began sobbing.

Realizing the interview was over, I helped her up from her puddled heap on the blue rug of her living room. Once she was standing, I led her toward the spiral staircase that I could only assume led up to the bedroom. We clumsily made our way up the stairs, her hiccupping wet tears onto my shoulder. Florence, although thin, was much taller and heavier than I was. She sagged all her weight against me and I struggled to support her. Breathing heavily, we finally made it to the top of the stairs. She lurched left and I followed her, barely catching myself.

I led her into a large bedroom with a California king in its center. Laying her down on the bed, I straightened my jacket and went into the en-suite bathroom. The bathroom was painted a soothing cream color. It had a large Jacuzzi bathtub and a shower tiled in pale blue glass. The his-and-her counters still held evidence of Florence’s deceased husband with a can of men’s aftershave, a toothbrush, razor and deodorant. For a moment, I felt a sharp pin prick of sympathy for the woman. I found a glass beside the sink and filled it with water.

By the time I returned to the bedroom, Florence was fast asleep and snoring on her pillow. Her red hair fanned out around her like she was floating in water. I set the glass beside her bed and slunk out of the room, closing the large bay doors quietly behind me.

As I made my way toward the stairs, I saw a second room on the landing with its door ajar. Taking a quick glance back at the closed bedroom door behind me, I peeked through the crack in the door to see what was inside.

The interior of the room was filled with warm dark browns and luxurious reds. A stately wooden desk with a plush dark leather armchair stood as the centerpiece of the office. Two of the walls were composed of floor to ceiling bookshelves, filled with old tomes and worldly trinkets. On the third wall, opposite the desk, was a large painting of several lithe dancers. I entered the room and examined the painting more closely. The scribbled name at the bottom proved it to be an Edgar Degas original. These people made no attempt to disguise their wealth. I knew Florence was upset about the extent of her husband’s debts, but the value of the items in the office alone would be more than enough for her to live comfortably for many years.

I trailed my fingers along the smooth surface of the desk and took one last look at the door before opening the top desk drawer. Inside were myriad documents—business contracts, tax documents, and what looked like blue prints. The second drawer down contained a bottle of scotch and some tumblers. The third drawer was locked. I looked around for a key, but figured it would be a failed mission. Glancing around the office, I wondered what I was even doing in here. If Grant knew this was how I was spending my morning, he would be far from pleased. In order to snoop, I needed a warrant or Florence’s permission. And, clearly, I had neither.

In truth, I didn’t know what I expected to find. Virtual Escapes was plainly a company that excelled in secrecy. There wouldn’t be any overt death threats or obvious signs of foul play. I shook my head. It was time to get back to work and start over. I wasn’t thinking straight. It wasn’t like me to sneak into offices or deal with drunken widows. I was wasting my time.

I started to leave the office, however, a yellow manila envelope on the bookshelf caught my eye. The very upper left corner was sticking out between two leather bound editions. I pulled it out and written in elegant cursive was the name Philip. Curiosity getting the better of me and noticing the envelope was already open, I peeked inside. There were several folded papers: life insurance documents, a final will and testament, and a birth certificate. I had hoped to find the key to the drawer, but of course it wouldn’t be that simple.

Putting the envelope back where I’d found it, I scanned the book shelf, looking for anything out of the ordinary. After a few minutes, I started to feel guilty and made to leave the room, but as I turned around, I noticed something. On the lowest shelf, near the wall, a thin layer of dust coated the shelves and the books that lined them. All except for one book. “Sense and Sensibility.” Walking over to the text, I removed it. The binding cracked when I opened it and I was interested to find that inside, it wasn’t a book at all, but a box disguised as a book. And inside the box was a key.

My pulse quickened. I steadied my breathing and listened for any sounds in the house that might hint that Florence was awake. But when I listened, I could hear Florence snoring away in the bedroom next door. I upended the book and held my palm out. The key fell with a weight I wasn’t expecting into my outstretched hand.

I turned it over nervously before making my way back to the desk. Crouching down, I examined the lock on the third drawer. It was plated in the same gold as the key. Delicately, I slid the key into the lock and turned it, my breath still in my chest. The mechanism clicked when the key finished turning and I pulled at the handle.

My disappointed breath came out fast and hot when I saw what was inside the drawer. A pile of magazines almost completely filled the space, the top one boasting a nearly nude platinum blonde sitting on a motorcycle. I humphed in frustration. I didn’t know what I’d expected to find but a drawer full of porn wasn’t it. Of course, people usually didn’t keep their cause of death hidden in their locked desk drawers.

I flicked through the magazines just to be sure there was nothing lurking between the volumes, almost wincing as my eyes took in the explicit images. Just before I closed the drawer in frustration, by thumb caught on a magazine that was folded over. I slid it out and opened it. Wedged between two pages of the magazine was a DVD in a white paper case. Ignoring the graphic picture, I removed the DVD from its sleeve. There was no label on it. I put all the magazines back and locked the drawer, returning the key and the book to their proper place on the shelf. Then I tip-toed out of the office with the DVD in hand.

***

When I returned to work, the office was in full swing. Two disgruntled teens sat handcuffed by the front door, while in the back, phones were ringing. The door to Grant’s office was open. I skipped my desk and walked in.

He turned to look, “about time you showed up,” he said gruffly, “where have you been? You had me worried sick with that damn text you sent and then you just went dark. I was about to head over there.”

Not wanting to explain how I’d been convinced Florence was in trouble when, in fact, she’d just been drunk or that I’d stolen a DVD from a dead man’s porn drawer, I opted for, “it’s a long story.”

“Did you get ahold of Channing?”

“He’s a difficult man to track down.”

“Have you reviewed the autopsies? Gotten a look behind the fence? Talked to the other widows? Played chess with the robot?” He trailed off, clearly annoyed. I could tell he was in a foul mood and I had a good idea that foul mood was entirely directed at me, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. Grant did this periodically, usually after someone in the office accused him of favoritism. It was exhausting.

“Not yet,” I hedged.

“What the hell are you doing, Darrow? You’re on a time crunch here. I have other projects I need you on. You’re supposed to be convincing me you have a solid lead.”

“I just need a little more time, that’s all,”

“You don’t have more time. I can’t believe I agreed to let you pursue this.”

“Grant,” I started, but stopped.

“You’ve got a week, Darrow, don’t forget that.”

I glared at him. “I won’t.”

I was frustrated by his lack of trust and patience. He usually gave me more space than this. Seeing the annoyance in his eyes, though, I opted to back out of his office. Besides, I had a DVD to watch.

Back at my desk, I booted up my computer. Realizing there was a strong possibility the disk I was about to play was pornographic in nature, I looked around to make sure I was alone. I was. I slid the rainbow hued DVD into the computer’s port and watched as the wheel spun, showing the Mac was contemplating the disk. Looking around again, I made sure no one was looking at me or my computer. I adjusted the volume to the lowest setting and fought the urge to cover my eyes.

When the disk started playing, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was an aerial shot of a beautiful blue mountain capped with snow. Thin green pines and rows of evergreens blanketed the lower half of the mountain. A lush golf course rested at its base and I watched as the camera scooped low to show a meandering river that wound its way through the course and the trees. Steam rose from pools beside a large, handsome lodge. The camera zoomed out again and I realized the landscape was an island. Leaning forward, excitement making my palms clammy, I recognized the island from yesterday.

The scene changed and instead of the landscape, I was looking at a beautiful blonde woman in an apricot skirt and a low cut white blouse. She was walking onto a bullet train and beckoned to the camera with her index finger. The scene shifted again and it was like another world entirely. Wildflowers decorated a lush hillside and a woman dressed in revealing armor and a horned helmet appeared. She was riding a brilliant white horse and her raven black hair trailed behind her. I winced as a bright red fire filled the screen with light. Around the fire were Native Americans dancing and chanting. The volume on the computer was turned down low but I could still hear the base of the drums through the speakers.

The camera angle became wider and over a hill I could see a horde of stampeding cowboys, their guns hoisted in the air. The dancers scrambled and the camera refocused on the fire, its reds and oranges swirling until the scene changed yet again. This time the scene was replaced with a sheik dressed in white robes atop a jewel encrusted throne. He was surrounded by a harem of women and smoking from a hookah. A tiger lounged in a far corner of the room and, although it was too low to hear, a man played a flute for an entranced snake. The snake approached one of the women, her coffee colored skin barely covered with sheer scraps of turquoise fabric and gold body jewelry. Slowly the snake began to circle her waist and the sheik laughed. The screen swirled and the image faded to black. In blue block lettering came the name I’d been searching for.

“Virtual Escapes.”

My heart raced. More than just discovering a connection to the company, the video itself was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It was obviously meant to be an advertisement but it went beyond the capabilities of a normal video. The images had an unearthly quality that transported me from my office seat beneath the florescent lights into other worlds. My heart yearned for more and the images continued to play in my head even after they’d faded from the screen. I felt dizzy and strangely elated, like I was drunk.

Even though the scenes were nothing short of spectacular, the question remained: Why would Philip have locked this DVD away? It wasn’t anything other than a brochure of sorts.

I was interrupted by the ring of my phone.

“Detective Darrow,” I answered.

“Claire Darrow?” came a female voice on the other end.

“Speaking,” I responded.

“This is Anne Daily down at the coroner’s office. We got your message about wanting the autopsy reports for Philip Tatenbaum?”

“Yes, thank you for getting back to me,” I said, quickly giving her my fax number.

After the report came through, I stared at it for a few minutes. Just like Florence had said, the report revealed nothing. Mr. Tatenbaum had been in okay enough health. The toxicology labs came back clean; there was no bruising or hemorrhaging. His PET and CAT scans revealed nothing abnormal, his blood work didn’t show anything. They’d run every test in the book and they all showed the same thing: he was in fine health. Except, of course, for the fact that he was dead.

Despite the developments of the last twenty-four hours, I still didn’t know where to look. Wade’s veiled threat made me anxious about getting a warrant from the judge to return to the island. I was also apprehensive about the information I’d given Wade, unsure now if I’d spilled too much because it definitely didn’t appear like he was going to help me. I highly doubted he still intended to put me in touch with a senior member of his department. I’d seen the video and had a better idea of what the island looked like within the confines of the fence, but none of that really got me any closer to figuring out anything. I still had no way of connecting Tatenbaum’s death to Virtual Escapes or to Channing.

I saw movement in my periphery and looked over to see Grant offering me a donut.

“So is this a peace offering?”

“No, it’s just a donut,” he answered with a practiced frown.

“Okay, does the fact that you’re offering it to me mean we’re friends again or are you still mad at me?” I asked, accepting the donut from him, just to make sure he didn’t change his mind and take it back.

“I was never mad at you, Darrow, but you’re still a pain in my ass all the same,” he said as he dropped his ass down on the edge of my desk and smiled at me. There were times like this where he was downright sexy and when I hated that fact. “I was just worried about you. And I’m worried about the time you’re putting into this case. You seem to be all over the place with it.”

I laughed, “Maybe that’s true. I dunno, Grant. I’m worried I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be convincing me you deserve to work on the case?” he replied with a sly smile.

“Oh, I deserve to work on the case, no doubt. I’ll still do a better job than your old, washed up butt could!”

Grant leaned over and snatched my unfinished donut from my hand, making a big act of finishing it right in front of me. “Insult my butt, lose your donut.” He stood up and started to walk away while I pouted over my lost lunch. He turned to face me again, “I’m serious though, Darrow. I’m putting my trust in you; I know you won’t let me down.”

I puffed my cheeks and turned back to see Carrie at reception staring at us contemptuously. She quickly looked away. I returned my gaze to the autopsy report.

I hoped Grant was right.

***

By the end of the day, I’d accomplished nothing. I’d watched the DVD a few more times, hoping I’d pick up something else on it but there was nothing. I poured over the autopsy report again but nothing stood out. I then read and reread my notes I’d made about the case, adding a few more.

Monty somehow managed to start a small fire when his shredder overheated. He tried to put it out by fanning it with paper which… didn’t work. Florence called to apologize for being drunk in the morning and to say she was still trying to get the other widows to participate in the investigation. I had called them again myself but wasn’t surprised that neither had returned my messages.

At this point, I was listless and discouraged. Almost everyone had gone home for the night by the time I started to pack up. I couldn’t wait by the phone any longer in hopes that I’d get a call from one of Wade’s colleagues. I made a note to stop by the grocery store on my way home and trudged away from my workspace. Just as I reached the hall, the loud ring of my office phone echoed through the quiet office.

I walked back to the desk and picked up the phone, wondering who it could be.

“Detective Darrow.”

“Hi.” The voice that replied was rich and smooth: a man’s voice full of upbeat arrogance. There was a pause before he continued. “I hear you’ve been looking for me?”

“Who is this?”

There was another pause.

“I have to say I’m disappointed. Aren’t you a detective?” He chuckled, then he spoke again, “This is Seth Channing.”

The Game

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About the Author:

H. P. Mallory is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author who started as a self-published author.

She lives in Southern California with her son and two cranky cats, where she’s at work on her next book.

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Table of Contents

A Midsummer Night’s Scream

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three