CHAPTER 12

Just for a moment, surprise held me speechless. They’d tracked him down and hadn’t yet attacked him? That alone spoke volumes—both about their determination to get him and their respect for him.

Or, at least, respect for his abilities to manipulate and control people.

“How did you manage that?”

“The rats did, not me. They want you in on the action, but only if you agree not to inform PIT.”

I blinked. “Why? The only thing that really matters—”

“Is the fact he killed our people,” Baker cut in harshly. “And for that he must pay. A simple yes or no is all we need, Emberly.”

Awareness itched at my back. I spun around and discovered Sam watching me from the doorway.

“Is there a problem?” he said.

I shook my head, then told Baker, “If that’s the way you want it, sure.”

He gave me the address. “Be there at sunrise.”

I glanced at my watch. We had an hour, no more. “Will do.”

I hung up and threw the phone back into my purse. “Did you want something?”

Sam eyed me somewhat suspiciously. “I’m heading off with Adam. The inspector wants you and Jackson to come into headquarters—tomorrow, if possible.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Probably to read you the riot act for misusing those badges she foolishly gave you.”

Though his voice was flat, a hint of amusement touched the corners of his eyes. It warmed that stupid part deep inside of me, but I was getting rather good at ignoring that part these days.

“Hey, it wasn’t like we wanted the damn things, but you can hardly blame us for using them to our advantage.” I paused. “You’re not going to drug us again, are you?”

“I doubt it.” He eyed me uncertainly for a moment. “Do we need to?”

“No, you most definitely do not. What we know, you know.” And I resisted the urge to cross my fingers behind my back when I said that.

Though his expression hadn’t altered, it was very evident he didn’t believe me. “She wants you there at nine.”

“We’ll try, but we do have an agency to run—”

“Is that what the phone call was about?”

“It’s none of you damn business, but yes, it was.”

“At this hour?” His voice was skeptical.

“Adultery has no time restrictions, Sam. You of all people should be aware of that. It’s what you accused me of, after all.”

Which wasn’t at all fair, given he had every right to do so. Maybe if I’d explained what I was, and what that meant for him and me, things might have been different for us . . . but I couldn’t change what I’d done. Not this time, with this man.

But the next rebirth, I was going to do as Rory suggested, and be honest. Hopefully, the next man destined to capture my heart would be more accepting.

And maybe, just maybe, I could live one lifetime happily in love.

Sam didn’t bite back, as much as I expected him to. His expression simply shut down, and that cloak of darkness swirled around him again. He didn’t fade into the night, but he sure as hell electrified it.

“And you might want to give us an address,” I continued, “because we were blindfolded and thrown into the back of a van last time we were there, remember?”

He gave me the address, then, with a nod, turned and walked out.

Jackson walked into the room, an eyebrow raised. “I take it from his expression that the two of you had words?”

“Yes. No.” I waved a hand in frustration. “That man just gets stranger and stranger. Maybe the virus has addled his brain.”

“Maybe you should stop bringing up the past and concentrate on the future.”

“Didn’t I tell you to butt out of that part of my life?”

“And I told you that was impossible.” His grin was decidedly unrepentant. “Who was on the phone?”

“Baker.” I paused and motioned to the other room. “Are you sure they’re gone?”

“Yep. Heard a van and a car start up. Why?”

“Because we have to get to Keilor Park stat.” I grabbed my jeans and pulled them on. “They’ve found Rinaldo.”

“And you didn’t tell Sam that? Your ass is grass when he finds out.”

I snorted. “Baker didn’t give me an option—either we do this his way, or we miss out on the action.”

“And that is something I have no intention of doing.” Jackson finished getting dressed. “I take it the rats are involved in this showdown?”

“Yes. It was at their request that Baker rang us—no doubt in an effort to stave off any possible reprisals if this all goes ass up.”

“Or because he wants our firepower as backup just to ensure the bastards don’t get away again.” Jackson grunted and grabbed the keys. “Let’s hope PIT isn’t tailing us.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it if it is.” I followed him out the door. “Oh, and Sam informed me that the chief inspector wants to see us at nine tomorrow.”

“Does she now?” He climbed into the car, then said, “If we survive the upcoming encounter, I might just consider it. Or I might not. Depends on what she wants.”

“Apparently to castigate us over our usage of the badges.”

“Hey, she’s more than welcome to have them back.” He motioned to the GPS. “You want to type in where we have to go?”

I did so. “What do we have in the way of weapons?”

He gave me the raised eyebrows “Did you really just say that?” sort of look. “Fire isn’t enough for you these days?”

“When we don’t know who or what we’re dealing with beyond Rinaldo, no, it’s not,” I said. “He won’t be alone. Not after that near miss at the warehouse. Hell, for all we know, the rats suddenly locating him is nothing more than a setup.”

Besides, that instinctive part of me was suggesting I’d have to reserve every scrap of fire I had if I wanted to get us through this—not something I was about to ignore.

“I’m sure Radcliffe and Baker will be more than aware of that prospect,” Jackson said.

I hoped so, because otherwise, it could get ugly.

It didn’t take us long to reach Keilor Park. Jackson turned off the headlights as we cruised into Lambeck Drive and headed for the café about midway down. Baker stepped out of the shadows as we pulled into one of the parking spots in front of the place.

I climbed out of the SUV and closed the door as softly as I could. “Where’s Radcliffe?” I asked him.

“At the location, keeping an eye on things. Between my men and the rats, we’ve got the building surrounded.”

I frowned. “Frederick’s a vampire—he’s going to sense the heartbeats.”

“We’re well aware of that, and we are, currently, out of sensing distance,” Baker said.

“And you’re sure this isn’t a trap?” Jackson moved around to the rear of the SUV and retrieved a number of guns from the trunk. He handed me one and kept the other two, plus a knife, for himself.

“No, we’re not,” Baker said, “but he’s definitely inside.”

“Meaning just one of the twins is inside?”

“That is something we’re unsure of. We think both are in there, but we haven’t sighted the second brother.”

“I guess that would be hard to confirm since they appear to be in the habit of wearing identical clothes,” Jackson said. “What do you want us to do?”

“We’re going in through the front door. Radcliffe is looking after the rear and the sewers. We want you to handle the roof access.”

I raised my eyebrows. “How many stories does this place have?”

“Three in the office section. The warehouse is an unknown at this stage, but there’s no roof exit there from what we can see.”

“So we’re nothing more than backup?” Jackson said. “Because I’m seriously not happy about that. You’re not the only one who lost someone, Baker, and I have no intention of being sidelined on this.”

“You’re not. There’s no way in hell Rinaldo would trap himself inside any building without having an escape route ready,” Baker said. “Something you learned the hard way at the previous warehouse.”

“Not the same thing—he was gone before we got there,” Jackson bit back. “And you’ve no guarantee the same thing hasn’t happened here.”

“Yeah, we have, because we’ve been watching all the exits for several hours now—not just the building’s exits but all sewer outlets and the roof. One of the Rinaldos went in. No one has come out.”

“Then don’t expect me to sit on that roof and wait for one of them to head my way,” Jackson said, “because it’s not going to happen.”

“Nor do I want that. The plan is to attack from all possible angles. Hopefully, we’ll trap the bastard somewhere in the middle of us all.” He glanced at his watch. “You have eighteen minutes to get in place.”

“And how do you expect us to get onto the roof without Rinaldo or anyone else spotting us?” Jackson said.

“You won’t, but that’s the whole point. While they’re readying for an attack from above, we’ll hit them from the sides.” He pulled a roughly drawn map out of his pocket and placed it on the hood of the SUV. “This is our target building here. On the corner of Lambert and this street, there are several large trees that reach past roof height. It should be easy enough to shimmy up them and drop onto the roof.”

“Do I look like the type that shimmies up trees to you?” I asked mildly.

“I don’t know about trees, but Radcliffe’s told me you do a rather mean fire shimmy.” His grin flashed. “And he’s had firsthand experience, apparently.”

That he did.

“We do have people watching the roof,” Baker continued, “just in case the bastards attempt an escape before you get up there.”

“Nothing personal, Baker,” Jackson said, “but I really hope the bastard does head our way. I want to watch his face as I pound every ounce of life from his body.”

Baker raised his eyebrows. “I had no idea fae could be so damn brutal.”

Jackson’s grin flashed, but it was a dangerous thing. “That’s because most people are sensible enough not to get on our bad side. We are called dark fae for a reason, you know.”

“I guess so.” Baker folded up his map and shoved it back into his pocket. “Zero hour is six on the dot. Time now is five forty-five.”

We adjusted our watches to match his and then all headed down the street, keeping on the opposite sidewalk to our target building in an effort to stop any vamp guards from sensing our heartbeats.

But vamps were blessed with night sight that was very familiar to infrared, so even if they couldn’t hear the pulse of life through our bodies, they’d most certainly see us, darkness or not, if they happened to be looking our way.

And I was damn sure that after Rinaldo’s previous close call, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to camp somewhere without guards.

Tension crawled through me. I flexed my fingers, but I couldn’t quite ignore the growing certainty that this was a trap—and one that was going to go to hell in a handbasket all too soon.

Baker crossed the road and disappeared into the shadows of the building next to our target. Jackson and I continued on, crossing over a grassy divide before slipping into the parking lot of the building on the other side of the road. There were several cars and a van parked there; we used the van as cover.

I pressed back against the van, then carefully peered around its side. Our target building was T-shaped, with the three-story office portion being the top piece to the warehouse’s stem. The office section was a long, three-story, concrete and glass building. There were no lights shining in any of the windows and no sign of anyone either around the perimeter or on the roof. I couldn’t even see the rats or the wolves.

I really don’t like the feel of this, Jackson.

No. He paused. But if Rinaldo is inside—and Baker saw him go in—then fuck the trap. This might be our one and only chance to grab the bastards, and I’m not going to step away from it.

Neither was I, even if that precognitive part of me was beginning to whisper all sorts of dire consequences if we didn’t.

Of course, that could have been fueled by fear; by the knowledge that Rinaldo was never going to go down without causing as much mayhem and carnage as possible. He had the vamps in there to do it, but my real concern was, what else—and whom else—did he have?

My gaze drifted to the empty building behind us. Intuition stirred, but it gave me squat as to why. There was no sign of movement, no sense of heat coming from within. The place was empty, and yet . . .

I frowned and glanced at my watch. Three minutes to go. I returned my attention back to our target building. I wonder why they chose six o’clock as an attack time. Hanging about here is only increasing the chances of discovery.

Jackson pointed skyward. Faint drifts of pink and gold were beginning to touch the black. I suspect it has something to do with the sunrise. Vamps are sluggish in the brief time between night and sunset or sunrise.

I snorted. Says who? Certainly no vampire I’ve ever come across has exhibited said sluggishness during those times.

It’s a common belief.

Just like the belief that all fae are small and winged?

His grin flashed. Humans have always gotten fairies and fae mixed up.

I’ve never seen a fairy, not in all the long years I’ve been alive.

Sure you have. They’re those small yellow flowering weeds that form a white parachute-like seedpod.

I lightly slapped his arm. Idiot.

He glanced down at his watch, and his amusement fled. Time to go.

I hope the rats and the wolves don’t waste too much time attacking. I slipped around the corner of the van and ran toward the nearest climbable tree. And I seriously hope we’re not being hung out to dry here.

Baker wouldn’t. He wants revenge too badly.

I agree, but Radcliffe is also involved, and he certainly would.

We’re less a threat to him than Rinaldo. He needs to take that bastard down and regain the respect of his mischief.

A smile touched my lips. I always found that to be a rather incongruous name for a group of rats.

We reached the tree. I lifted one leg so Jackson could boost me up, then grabbed the nearest branch and climbed onto it. The old eucalyptus had obviously been here even before the area had become an industrial estate, and the thick branches were very easy to climb. I reached the one that stretched out over the building’s rooftop and made my way down its length. In very little time, I was on the roof, my fingers lightly brushing the concrete as I steadied myself. Jackson joined me a few seconds later.

Where the fuck is the attack from the— He cut the question off as a gigantic whoosh of debris and heat came from the front of the building. About time. Let’s find the exit.

We padded through the sea of cooling towers, antennas, and other paraphernalia, eventually finding a stairwell entrance toward the rear of the building, to the right of the edge of where the warehouse met the office portion.

Jackson tested the handle. Unsurprisingly, it was locked, but a quick burst of fire soon fixed that. He opened the door carefully; darkness greeted us, but not silence. All hell had broken loose somewhere down below.

He opened the door wider and peered inside. No fist or gunshot greeted him, so he moved farther into the stairwell. I followed but paused at the edge of the railing and peered down into the darkness. The ongoing noise of the battle below was all-encompassing, but I nevertheless had the vague suspicion someone was headed our way.

Jackson got out one of his guns and flicked the safety off. I did the same. My fire might be my best weapon, but that earlier intuition about reserving my fire was getting stronger.

And I really, really didn’t want to know the reason behind it. I might just run if I did.

We edged carefully down the stairs, keeping our backs to the wall and our guns trained on the stairs below. The sensation that we weren’t alone was growing, but I couldn’t hear any breathing or steps.

Could be vamps, Jackson said.

Possibly. But even if they’d wrapped the shadows around their bodies, that wouldn’t explain why I couldn’t hear their steps.

If Rinaldo has been hiring from the Coalition, it’s possible he’s gotten a few ex-military types, Jackson said. Could explain the lack of noise.

We reached the next landing and the door to the third floor. I glanced down, the hairs at the back of my neck rising. Whoever—whatever—was down there, that instinctive part of me did not like it.

Do you want to check this level while I keep an eye on the stairwell?

He hesitated. I’m not entirely sure it’s a good idea to split up.

It’s not like we have any other option. We can’t risk whoever’s below getting past us.

His frustration slipped through me, but I was right and he knew it. Shout if you need help.

As long as you remember to do the same.

Always. He opened the door and silently slipped through.

I caught the edge of the door to stop it from closing again. Jackson made no sound as he disappeared down the hall, but I could tell his location by the whereabouts of his body heat.

I wished I could do the same with whoever was creeping up from below. They were still weirdly quiet, and I was getting very little in the way of heat. Which meant that either they didn’t have any—and even vampires had detectable body heat, even if it was lower than that of a human—or there was some kind of magic involved.

If it was the latter, it might just be Rinaldo. Who else would bother?

I flexed my free hand; heat burned at my fingertips, but it wasn’t showing. Not yet, anyway. From down the far end of the hallway came an odd scrape of sound, almost like a body hitting the ground.

Unease flicked through me. Jackson?

He didn’t respond. The unease sharpened. Damn it, Jackson, don’t play games. Answer me!

Still no response.

Fuck.

I thrust a hand through my hair, then glanced down the stairs again as the sense of something approaching also sharpened. I took a deep breath, then released the heat burning at my fingertips and flung it up the stairs, creating a thick, fiery barrier only the foolish would attempt to get through. It also had a secondary benefit—if someone were foolish enough, I’d know about it.

I cast another look down the stairs, but even though my fire had burned away the shadows, it still didn’t reveal the threat I was sensing.

I spun and raced down the hallway, my gaze sweeping each office as I passed, but there was nothing more than basic furniture and dust. This floor obviously hadn’t been used in a while.

Behind me, the stairwell door shut with a soft clang, the sound echoing ominously across the shadows. I reached the end of the building, but there was no Jackson, and no sign of where he might have gone.

Fear swirled through me, but I clamped down on it. If he were dead, I’d know about it. I’d feel the emptiness in that part of my brain that could hear his thoughts and emotions. That part might be silent, but it wasn’t severed. He was alive but unconscious.

But who the fuck had attacked him, and where the hell had they gone?

Though dawn was rapidly gaining accession over the night outside, darkness still reigned supreme inside. I cast a small ball of fire into the air, then glanced back down the hall. The door was still closed, and no one had made an attempt to get through my flames. And yet . . . and yet, something had changed. The air felt different.

Alive.

I frowned, studying the doorway for a second longer before pulling my gaze back to my immediate surroundings. And that was when I spotted it—blood.

My gut twisted as I strode over and bent down. It was fresh. Jackson’s, that inner voice whispered. I closed my eyes and tried to remain calm. He’s hurt, not dead. Hold on to that and just find him.

As I rose, I spotted another droplet of blood, then another. The minuscule trail led me directly to a blank wall.

Or was it?

I ran my hand along the plaster and felt a slight indent. I pressed it, and the wall to my right slid aside, revealing a dark square space and cables that ran down into a deeper darkness. A dumbwaiter, I presumed. I leaned forward a little, but as I did, that sense of wrongness sharpened abruptly.

I threw myself sideways, hitting the carpet with a grunt but somehow managing to keep hold of my gun. I raised it, my finger on the trigger. But there was nothing there.

Was there?

I narrowed my gaze, and saw it—the faintest shimmer of air.

Someone was there all right. They were just using a glamor—and not the type that altered their form, but rather one that hid it completely.

I pulled the trigger. The shot rang out like the boom of a cannon, but whoever was behind the glamor was quicker than a rattlesnake.

A body hit the ground to my left, the sound almost but not quite smothered. I fired again. This time there was a grunt as the bullet hit home.

I scrambled to my feet, only to be knocked down again as my unseen assailant threw himself at me. As we went down in a tangle of arms and legs, he reached for the gun, trying to tear it from my grip. I swore and became flame, and he screamed as his body went up in a whoosh of fire. I clenched a fist, made it flesh again, and smashed it into his jaw as hard as I could. As he went limp, I threw him from me, then recalled my flames and fully regained human form.

Only to realize there’d been two of them.

Something smashed against the back of my head and sent me flying. I hit the wall hard and felt the black tide of unconsciousness descending. I fought it with every scrap of energy and determination I had in me, and punched upward with my free hand. I didn’t hit anything, but it didn’t matter because I wasn’t actually trying to. Multiple fingers of flame leapt from my clenched fingers and fanned out, seeking, searching, for my attacker. There was a soft curse and the faintest sound of footfalls, but there was no escape from my net. It caught him, wrapped around him, and then flung him—hard—against the nearest wall.

He didn’t move. I released the flames and let their energy filter back into me as I forced myself into a sitting position. Bile rose up my throat, and again the tide of black threatened. I sucked in air, drawing it deep into my lungs, into my body, trying to calm the churning in my gut and the weakness washing through my body. It was a weakness that could affect my ability to raise fire as a weapon and was undoubtedly why intuition had been warning me to conserve it.

After several minutes, the tide receded. I pushed upright; the effort made my head pound, and warmth began to trickle down the back of my neck. I tucked the gun into the back of my jeans, then carefully felt the back of my head; not only was there a lump the size of a tennis ball but also a cut at least an inch long.

I briefly became flame to cauterize the wound, but the effort had my senses swimming. Concussion, I suspected.

I walked across to my first attacker—whose position I knew only thanks to the smell of burned flesh—and carefully knelt beside him. Glamors might be capable of hiding your form, but they didn’t actually stop anyone from feeling you. There was a slight tingle as I pressed my hands through the glamor’s barrier, but it quickly faded as I began searching for whatever artifact the spell had been placed on. I found it around his neck; a pendant on a simple chain, from the feel of it. I yanked on the chain to break it, and then flung both it and the pendant away from him. The air around his body shimmered as the spell faded, revealing a big red-haired man in his late forties. He wasn’t a vamp—his skin was too tanned—and he wasn’t a wolf. He was human—a hulking great human.

He needed to be if they’d shoved Jackson into the dumbwaiter. Jackson was neither small nor light.

I pushed up and went into the nearest office, rummaging around until I found some wrapping tape. Then I rolled the hulk onto his stomach, hauled his arms behind his back, and wrapped the tape thickly around his wrists and hands. I repeated the process with his feet.

With that one safe, I walked down to the other one, pausing on the way there to stomp on the small plaster pendant. It shattered with a small puff of smoke. I reached inside the glamor hiding my second attacker and felt around until I found the pendant, discovering that this one was a female, not a male.

This time, I undid the chain rather than break it, and I didn’t toss it away. Instead, I placed it on my hand and, after a minute, felt my skin tingle as the magic within it reactivated and my hand, arm—and no doubt the rest of me—disappeared. As I’d suspected, these glamors were activated by skin contact and had not been specifically designed for either of my attackers. I slipped the pendant around my neck and let it sit next to the charm Grace had given us. Once I’d repeated the tying-up process, I rose and went back to the dumbwaiter.

The thing was on the move.

I stepped back and waited. It rose with tortuous slowness. Sweat trickled down my back, my head was still pounding, and all I wanted to do was find a nice dark corner to curl up in.

But not until Jackson was safe and the two Rinaldos were dead.

The top of the dumbwaiter came into view. Fire boiled through me, wanting release, wanting to lash out and hurt someone.

But there was no one in the dumbwaiter to hurt.

There was just a note. I released the breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding and carefully stepped forward. Grace’s charm flared to life almost instantly, and I stopped. Obviously, the magic was meant to ensnare me the minute I picked up the note, so that was the one thing I couldn’t do.

I rose on my tiptoes in an effort to see what was written on it, but from this distance, it was little more than elegant-looking black scrawls. Rinaldo’s writing, I guessed. He—or at least the one we’d met—seemed the elegant type.

I quickly looked around and spotted one of those sticks used to open and close vents sitting in the room I’d gotten the tape from. I retrieved it, then carefully stretched out and tried to snag the note and drag it closer. The burn of the charm at my neck got stronger; then it snapped away, and the note fluttered free from the dumbwaiter. I dropped the stick and picked up the note.

If you want to see him alive, it said, come to the factory across the road. The one that holds the van you hid behind. And don’t inform the rats or the wolves.

Intuition had been right. It was my senses that had let me down.

A wild mix of fury and fear rushed through me, and the note became cinders in an instant. As its sooty remains drifted to the floor, I spun and walked back to the staircase. It was a trap; I knew that. But I had Grace’s charm, I had the glamor, and I had my rage.

It would have to be enough.

I thrust a hand to open the door, then stopped. Whoever I’d sensed coming up the stairwell earlier was now waiting just beyond the door.

I took a deep breath, then raised a hand, caught my barrier’s flames, and smeared them across the entire stairwell.

That was when the screams began. Horrible, pain-filled screams.

Good, that hard part of me thought. I thrust the door open and was greeted by a human torch. I grabbed my gun and shot at what looked like a kneecap. As the man went down, I snatched the fire back into my body, then spun and ran up the stairs.

The sound of fighting was still rising from below, suggesting Rinaldo had one hell of an army down there—maybe even the entirety of De Luca’s den. After all, with the council’s kill order now hanging over their collective heads, they had nothing to lose and everything to gain by fighting for Rinaldo.

I pushed out onto the rooftop. The sky was a wild mix of red, orange, gold, and purple, and it seemed to echo the state of my mind. I flexed my fingers as I strode across the roof but paused near the edge, my gaze scanning the building on the other side of the street. The front door was now open.

It was an invitation I wasn’t about to accept.

I glanced up at the tree, took a deep breath that didn’t do a whole lot to ease the pounding in my head, and leapt. I caught the branch with one hand, steadied myself with the other, and then clambered up. It didn’t take me long to get down to the ground.

I took a circular route to the other building. I had no idea who might be watching, but I had no doubt someone was. I just had to hope that whoever it was wasn’t all that familiar with magic and glamors.

The building belonged to some sort of printing press, and it was another of those two-story concrete and glass constructions that could be found everywhere in industrial estates like this. There was a driveway between this building and the next, and that was where I headed. I still wasn’t getting any sense of heat coming from within the building, but as I walked down to the loading bay area, the awareness of it slipped across my senses. I slowed my steps, trying to keep as quiet as possible. While I was pretty confident no one could see through the glamor, I had no idea who or what was up ahead—although if they were vampires, they’d sense my heartbeat, glamor or not.

I stepped into the loading bay. There were two of them here—one at the top of the steps near the door, the other at the bottom of the ramp.

If I didn’t want Rinaldo to know I was coming in from the side entrance, I had to take both out at the same time. And that meant using fire.

Trouble was, I wasn’t entirely sure how much more fire I had in me. As intuition had warned, the pounding in my head was sapping all my strength. But it wasn’t like I had any other option. If I only attacked one, the other would have the chance to warn Rinaldo.

Besides, time was running out. For Jackson, and for me.

Not wanting to think too hard about that bit of information, I picked up a pebble and flung it against the opposite wall. As the two men spun around, I flicked out two ribbons of fire, wrapped one around each, and threw them headfirst into the walls. I didn’t bother checking them. The blood beginning to stain the concrete spoke volumes about their life expectancy. I ran up the steps and carefully opened the door. The room beyond was small and dark—some sort of office or receiving area.

I crept forward. There was a window next to the door, and I peered through it from one side. With dawn in full bloom outside, the shadows were lifting inside. The room beyond was vast and filled with printing presses and various other bits of machinery. I couldn’t see anyone, and there was no indication of a heat source anywhere in the room. Beyond the presses were several doors; one was open and led into a bathroom. The other was closed.

I carefully opened the door and walked out, keeping my back to the external wall in an effort to protect myself. I still wasn’t sensing anyone, but then, I hadn’t sensed the red-haired hulk and his companion until it was almost too late, either.

I should have drained the heat from them. It would have bolstered my strength and shored up my reserves, but it was too late for regrets now.

It didn’t take me long to reach the closed door, but I didn’t reach for the handle. Instead, I pressed a hand against the wood, then closed my eyes and called to whatever heat was inside—something every phoenix could do but rarely attempted, as it drained our strength even as it fed us. Which was why we generally touched people when we fed from them—it was easier and far less dangerous. Doing this now, when I was in an already depleted state, was doubly so.

There was heat inside.

It filtered quickly through my fingertips and fed the inner flames, but my head began to pound even more viciously and my form flickered, briefly becoming fire—a sure sign I was reaching my body’s limits.

Two soft thuds came from inside. I quickly shut down the feed but didn’t immediately move, waiting instead for the flickering between shapes to ease.

Once it had, I grabbed the handle and opened the door. The room beyond was an open office area; one guard lay to the right of the door, and another across the exit on the far side of the room. I knelt down beside the nearest guard—a vampire, and one I’d seen before. He was one of the vamps who’d attacked Sam and me in the cemetery.

Obviously, no lesson had been learned or warning heeded. Not then, not later.

I placed a hand on his and drew every scrap of heat and life he had left in him into my body. His skin went cold, and then his body began to draw in on itself, until there was nothing left but flesh on bone and life had departed.

It helped. Only fractionally, but I suspected even the smallest of fractions would matter. I repeated the process with the second guard—another of De Luca’s get—then placed my hand on the door. There was no sense of heat coming from the next room.

I went through. It appeared to be some sort of conference area. I stepped toward the next door, only to halt as a somewhat tinny but all-too-familiar voice said, “I suggest you stop all the fucking about and come to me immediately if you wish your partner to remain alive.”

Fire swirled around me, a halo of flame that had nowhere and no one to immediately attack. I glanced around the room and saw the speaker sitting in the far corner.

“I know you’re in the building, Emberly. I can feel the pulse of your life in the room below.”

Meaning he was above. I looked up. The ceiling was one of those suspended grid systems that were easy to get into. The concrete above it wouldn’t be, unless I could find a way to circumvent it.

The bathroom . . .

I spun around and walked out.

“Hurry up, dear Emberly; otherwise, your partner will pay the price.”

I didn’t respond, as much as I wanted to. I strode into the bathroom, punched a hole into the wall behind the nearest toilet, and found the waste pipe. Places like this usually had their bathroom facilities situated in the same location on every floor to make connections for waste and water easier. This place was no different.

If Rinaldo wanted me, he was going to get me. The real me, in all my fiery glory.

I blasted a hole into the plastic pipe, then shifted shape and surged upward. The facilities above provided as little resistance to my heat as the ones below, and in very little time I was out the door and in the main room.

Men flung themselves at me, not seeming to care that I was fire. Their bodies went up the instant they touched me. Two, three, and then more, hit me, momentarily forcing me down under the sheer force of their numbers. But as their bodies became ash, that force lifted and I surged forward again.

Rinaldo was standing alone in the middle of a large stone circle. Witch stones—not ordinary ones. To one side of him, surrounded by at least a dozen vampires, knelt Jackson. His hands were tied, and around his neck was a silvery pendant not unlike the one I’d stolen. I had no doubt it was restraining his fire, just as I had no doubt that all the pendants had come from the small woman kneeling beside him. Even from where I was I could feel the wash of her power—but both she and that power were under Rinaldo’s control if her slack features and the emptiness in her eyes were anything to go by.

Rinaldo himself looked calm, but fury radiated from his body, its force so fierce, the air around him seemed to boil. I shot a lance of fire his way, even though the stones around him told me it was pointless. It bounced harmlessly away; I sent another one at one of the stones, but lessons had obviously been learned, because it, too, bounced away. As a last resort, I tried to call to his body heat. That, too, proved useless. The wall of magic surrounding him had been very well designed.

He smiled. It was not a pleasant thing to behold. “Retain your real form, Emberly, or the witch dies.”

If Rinaldo thought my flesh form rather than this was real, then perhaps he didn’t know as much about phoenixes as he thought. It at least gave me some hope. My gaze met Jackson’s as I shifted shape.

You okay? He didn’t look it. His skin was gray, and sweat was trickling down the side of his face.

Some gorilla broke my leg, and the witch’s charm is restricting my fire. But other than that, just ducky.

“Step into my circle, Emberly.”

Said the spider to the fly. I flexed my fingers, then walked forward. Do you know what the circle around him is?

It’s not only fire restriction, but it’ll restrict your access to the mother.

Meaning the witch was familiar with the mother—and that she was probably the reason Frederick’s spell had been as well designed as it was. But I’d beaten him, and I could beat this witch—if I had the energy, not to mention the time.

“I was going to kill you swiftly,” Rinaldo continued, “but I’m afraid that option disappeared after what you did to my brother.”

“I haven’t fucking touched your brother—” I paused. Did he mean in the stairwell—the one I’d set alight and then shot?

“I can feel his agony, Emberly. It burns through my body and my brain, and begs me to return it in kind.” Rinaldo waved a hand. “I cannot help but comply.”

Meaning I’d had him. I’d had the bastard screaming at my feet, and in my anxiety to get to Jackson, I’d let him live. Fuck.

I would have done the same, Jackson said.

That’s not overly comforting right now. I stopped a few paces outside the stone circle. Will your broken leg prevent you taking out the guards?

It prevents me from moving, but if I can access my fire, I can take the guards out no problem. He paused. But the minute I attempt it, the witch is dead.

I’m about to fix that problem. To Rinaldo, I said, “Release your grip on the witch before I step into your circle.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If you hope that she might help you with her magic, you will be disappointed. Among the charms she created for me was one that restricts any access she has to magic.”

“Release her and you can have me. Don’t, and I’ll kill your guards, free Jackson, and leave you surrounded in a ring of fire your witch won’t be able to tame and you won’t get through.” To Jackson, I added, Don’t react. Not in any way.

With that, I called to the mother. She answered swiftly, and with such force that my entire body trembled. I licked my lips and flicked an invisible sliver toward Jackson—even as I let her energy dance across my fingertips to ensure Rinaldo’s attention remained on me.

“And then,” I added, “I’ll go find your bastard brother and finish what I started. I’m sure he couldn’t have crawled too far from where I left him.”

The pendant disappeared in a puff of smoke even as Rinaldo’s face twisted and he took an involuntary step forward. Then he stopped and took a deep breath. But there was madness in his eyes now—madness and pain. It was both his and his brother’s, I suspected.

“I will very much enjoy tearing you apart piece by tiny piece.” As he spoke, the witch took a shuddering breath, then glanced around wildly. “Where am I? What’s happening?”

“You were under the thrall of a vampire,” I said, keeping my gaze on said vampire, “and have just been released. Stay calm, and don’t move, or his guards will kill you.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s okay,” Jackson murmured. “Everything will be okay.”

“No, it won’t,” Rinaldo said, then motioned me forward with his fingers—fingers equipped with nails that were unusually long and razor sharp. He really was going to tear me apart. “Come along, Emberly. I haven’t all day.”

I kept a grip of the mother and took those final few steps. The magic hit me like a club, ripping apart my hold on the mother and sending my senses reeling. I felt rather than heard his approach and threw myself sideways. I hit the ground hard but rolled to my feet, only to be knocked backward by a blow to the side of my face. I swore, fighting tears and pain, but somehow twisted around and lashed out with a booted foot. It connected with flesh but was met with a laugh.

“Is that the best you can do without your fire, Emberly? I’m disappointed.”

I blinked, watching him fade in and out of existence—and wasn’t sure if it was him or me. He ran at me again. I dodged, but at the last moment he dropped and swept my feet out from underneath me. I somehow twisted as I was going down, landing on hands and knees and scrambling away. He didn’t pursue me. He simply waited.

I stood up. He came at me again; again I dodged. The blow aimed at my face tore down my side, shredding my shirt and slashing into my skin.

Distantly, I became aware of fighting, of shouting, and knew Jackson was battling the guards. But he was heavily outnumbered, even with his fire, and was no immediate help to me.

“I can smell your blood,” Rinaldo said softly, “and its scent is sweet. Perhaps I should taste it before I kill you.”

“Confidence always comes before a fall, Rinaldo,” I said, “and your fall is going to be spectacular.”

“We both know that is a threat you cannot back up.” He charged me. I spun away, but he caught my arm, then kicked my legs out from under me. My back hit the ground, and something hard dug into my back. The gun. I still had the fucking gun.

But before I could reach for it, he was on me, his weight pinning me. I tried to buck him off, but he was too heavy. I tried hitting him, punching him, clawing him, but he merely smiled and caught my arms, holding them away from him.

“Checkmate, I believe,” he said, and then bent down to feed from me.

I screamed in horror, screamed in pain, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything, as he drained the life from me.

Emberly! Jackson’s urgent cry bit through my panic. Use me.

What?

Use our connection. Draw my fire.

The stones will stop it.

The witch said they won’t. Try!

Or die. He didn’t actually say that last bit, but it was in his thoughts nevertheless. I drew in a shuddering breath, feeling my strength slipping away even as I did so. It was now or never.

And I had no idea how to do it.

Imagine our connection as a tunnel. Reach down through it.

I closed my eyes, did as he suggested, then reached, as I’d remotely reached for the life of the vampires earlier. There was a brief moment of blackness and disorientation; then I felt it—felt his fire and his life, his fury and his fear. But I didn’t reach for it—instead, I reached through him to the mother, and called to her.

She came. I grabbed her energy with two metaphysical fists and then projected outward, through me and into Rinaldo. The force of it was so strong, it tore him from my neck and threw him across the room. He didn’t immediately move, but he lived, even if his entire body was smoking.

I pushed myself onto my hands and knees, sucked in air as my head swam and blood rushed down my neck, then forced myself onto my feet and drew the gun.

“Die, you bastard,” I said, and pulled the trigger. And kept pulling, until the clip was empty and there was nothing left of his head. Then the gun slipped from my fingers, and I dropped to my knees.

Someone dropped beside me; then warm fingers grabbed mine. “Feed from me, phoenix. There is still one brother left.”

The witch, some part of me whispered. I licked my lip, and tried to ignore the siren call of her body’s heat. “It would be dangerous for me to even attempt that. I might kill you.”

“I’d be dead if not for you,” she said. “But even so, I trust that you will not. It is not within you to kill another that way.”

If only you knew.

“Do it,” she said. “Now.”

Em, please, Jackson said.

I closed my eyes, closed my fingers around hers, and fed. It flowed through me, a molten river that chased the ice from my veins and the weakness from my limbs. It would have been easy, so easy, to keep to the connection, to drain her completely, but her words seemed to echo through her brain; I forced my grip to open, and I released her hand.

Her whole body slumped. “Go,” was all she said.

Hit the bastard for me before you cinder him, Jackson said.

I became fire and swirled out of the building and back to the rooftop. I shifted shape again, then opened the door and ran down the stairs.

But Rinaldo’s twin wasn’t there.

I swore, ran down the rest of the stairs, and thrust the door open. A dozen men immediately swung around; I held up my hands, my gaze searching for, and then finding, Baker.

“Did you retrieve Rinaldo from the stairwell?”

“No, we did not,” Radcliffe said, stepping up beside Baker. “You were supposed to handle anyone attempting to escape via the stairwell.”

I swore again and thrust a hand through my hair. “Don’t give me any of your shit, Radcliffe, because I’m really not in the mood. I’ve killed one of the twins; the other has burns over most of his body and a smashed kneecap. How about you putting some rats to good use, and hunt him down. He can’t have gotten far.”

But even as Radcliffe snapped his fingers and the rats disappeared, intuition whispered of chances missed.

The second brother had escaped us.