CHAPTER 6

It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I collapsed under its weight. But it wasn’t just plasterwork and metal, but also flesh, blood, and decay. The cloaks were all around me—even on top of me—and they used hands and teeth and god only knows what else to tear at my body, until the sharp scent of blood overrode even the stench of their rotting bodies. Pain was a wave that threatened to toss me into unconsciousness, and reflex and self-preservation rather than any conscious thought swept me from flesh to spirit.

The nearest cloaks erupted into flame, but it didn’t stop their attack. They continued to slash at me even as my flames ate at their flesh, their actions filled with an odd sort of desperation.

For the first time since I’d first come across them, pity stirred. Most of them would not have invited this fate. Most of them would have done nothing more than cross the path of a madman intent on using the virus to do what he would never have been able to on his own—become a leader. A major player.

“Emberly!” Jackson’s desperate shout was both verbal and telepathic, and it cut through my drifting, still-hazy thoughts. “Where are you?”

Here. I’m okay. But I was in fire form and still dazed, and I had no idea if he’d understand me. I couldn’t speak any form of English when in this form, but maybe sending thoughts was different.

“Not sure what language that was,” he said, “but at least you’re alive and aware enough to reply.”

The fire burning the cloaks around me suddenly ramped up several notches. Jackson was feeding the fire I’d created, trying to eradicate the cloaks as quickly as possible. As they screamed and raged and fell apart around me, I started making my way up through the pile of debris and bodies. When I was finally free, I gasped in relief and, for several seconds, moved no farther. I simply hovered above the flames devouring both flesh and rubble with equal ferocity, and sucked in the strength and heat of it. It wasn’t enough—nowhere near enough—to completely refuel me, but it at least knocked the edge of weariness away.

I turned around and spotted Jackson standing in the hall—or rather, spotted the very top part of his head. The ceiling’s collapse had blocked all but a foot or so of the doorway, which certainly wasn’t enough space for a man of Jackson’s size to crawl through. And while he could undoubtedly use the force of his flames to blast enough of a gap to get in, he’d feared to do so until he knew where I was and whether I was in human or spirit form.

Our connection, I noted, was definitely getting stronger if I was now sensing such information without his telepathically sending it.

I gave him two fiery thumbs-up to indicate I was okay, then glanced at the ceiling. Three-quarters of it had come down, and not by accident. The metal struts that remained—poking out like fingers across the now-empty space—had been cut. And not recently. The trap had been prepared long before, but why would Luke set it over an empty, unused lab?

I glanced back to Jackson and motioned upward.

“I’ll head up the stairs and join you,” he immediately said.

I spun several fingers of fire out from my body and quickly wrote, No, wait here.

“Damn it, Em, be sensible.”

Wait, I repeated in fire. Trust me.

“I do. I just don’t trust the bastard who used to run this area.”

Safer, I signed. Report to Sam.

I rose without waiting for his answer. A growl of frustration followed me, but a quick look back revealed he was doing as I asked and talking into the com unit.

The room above looked to have been some sort of storeroom. Metal shelving still lined three of the walls, and what little remained of the floor bore markings that indicated there had been other units as well—they were probably down below, in among the rubble and the dead. Dust sprinkled across my flames, and I glanced up at the ceiling. Only it wasn’t there.

It wasn’t one ceiling that had come down on top of me, but two. Which really didn’t make much sense.

I resisted the urge to go through the second hole to see what lay above, and moved to the storeroom’s door instead. It was locked, but a quick burst from fiery fingers soon fixed that. The next room was vast and seemingly empty. I flared brighter, fanning the orange-yellow glow of my flames out farther. There were no more gaping holes in either the floor or the ceiling on this level, but a quick check revealed both had been weakened in several spots. There was also some sort of black, almost oily-looking moisture dripping from the ceiling.

Trepidation stirred, though I had no idea why. If it were in any way dangerous or explosive, my flames would have set it off. I turned around and saw, down at the very end, a rather ornate door. I blasted it open with flames and headed in. It was an office—a huge one—that stretched the entire width of the building. A rather expensive-looking teak desk that had to be at least twelve feet long dominated the central area of the room, and there was a no-less-impressive executive chair behind it. Several smaller chairs sat in front of the desk and, to the right, there was a seating area complete with a coffee machine, its size rivaling that of the one Jackson had installed in our office. To the left of the desk there was, rather surprisingly, a sleeping area. Behind that was an exit, somewhat oddly positioned given that the bed made access difficult.

I did a quick check of the entire room, looking for anything out of place, or anything that suggested there might be another trap waiting. I didn’t see anything, so I shifted back to human form and walked around the bed to inspect the oddly placed door. It was locked, but a quick spurt of heat took care of it. Behind it was a six-foot corridor and a second door. But this wasn’t any old door—it was a heavy-duty metal one, and it rather resembled an air lock.

Answers, that inner part of me whispered again.

Hoping the whisper was right but partly suspecting it was merely delusional, I stepped forward and tried to open the second door. The handle didn’t budge and, after a quick search, I discovered why. There was a key-coded lock and scanner behind a cleverly hidden panel on the right—and it was the sort that required not only the right number sequence but also the appropriate fingerprint scan.

If it required Luke’s fingerprints, we were well and truly up that proverbial creek.

“Houston, we have a problem.”

“I’m on my way up,” Jackson said at the same time as Sam asked, “What sort?”

“A big fucking air-lock-armed-with-a-scanner sort of problem. I can try shorting out the control box with fire, but—”

“Don’t!” Sam’s voice was urgent. “We have no idea how the air lock is protecting or what reaction breaking it might set off.”

“Which is exactly what I was about to say before you jumped in. Jackson,” I added, “be careful coming up here. The floor above the other labs and near the stairwell has been tampered with, and it might be primed to collapse.”

“No prob.” He paused. “Is there any more activity on your monitors, Turner? Because the stench in this stairwell seems to be getting worse the nearer we get to the roof.”

I hadn’t felt him pass through the net I’d placed across the exit on the floor below, so it had obviously faded when the ceiling had collapsed on me.

“There’s nothing showing, but these scanners are primed for human life,” Sam said. “If it’s inhuman—spirit—then we wouldn’t pick it up.”

Meaning they wouldn’t pick me up when I was in spirit form—a very handy thing to know. “So what do you want me to do about this air lock?”

“Nothing. We’ll deal with it.”

“After all the shit we’ve gone through to uncover the thing, I’m not happy about walking away without knowing what it fucking contains.” Frustration filled my voice.

“Unless you can find a secondary entry point into the area, we have no other option.”

“And is there a secondary entrance?”

“There’s nothing indicated on the plans we have.”

“What about the old police files?” I asked.

“No mention there, either.”

Jackson strode into the office and stopped just behind me. “It’s a rather sturdy-looking mother, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” I placed my fingers against the wall to the right of the scanner. The plaster burned away from my touch, the white dust puffing outward as I pressed deeper into it. I was expecting it hit either a wood or metal frame, but instead I discovered a sheet of thick metal. I grabbed the edge of the plaster and tugged it away. Not just metal, but an entire wall of one. The plasterboard was little more than camouflage.

“Why would he even bother?” Jackson had repeated the process on the other side to reveal more of the metal wall. “It doesn’t make any sense when he controlled the entire area.”

“I doubt Luke was responsible for this,” I said. “It was probably done by the drug cartel using this place before he got here.”

Jackson grunted. “I guess we’ve no choice but to keep searching and hope we find something we can get into.”

We retreated and made a thorough search of the office. But there were no other exits, hidden or otherwise, and nothing in the way of computers, files, or paperwork of any kind. In fact, there was absolutely nothing other than the unmade bed and a lack of dust to even indicate this place had been used recently.

“How many more floors has this building got?” I asked as we carefully made our way back to the stairwell.

“Two,” Sam said, “including the rooftop.”

“And the cloaks?”

“If there are any more around, they’re certainly not moving.”

“Which hopefully means the rest of the bastards are dead rather than just smelling like it.” Jackson thrust open the stairwell door and looked up. “All clear.”

We made our way up to the next level, and with every step the stench increased, until it felt like we were breathing in a cesspit. The sphere of light cast orange shadows across the bare concrete walls, highlighting the long strings of cobwebs and sending all the spiders, except for the daddy longlegs, skittering away. There was nothing else here, nothing that gave any hint as to why that smell was so bad. Not that I really wanted a hint. Hell, I’d be more than happy to simply retreat and leave whatever it was alone. But I rather suspected neither PIT nor Rinaldo would appreciate such a move.

The next door was locked. Jackson hit it with fire, melting the mechanism with a little more finesse than he’d used previously. The door swung open, and the stench immediately became a million times worse.

“I really didn’t think we’d ever find anything that smelled worse than the decaying cloaks,” he said, slapping a hand over his nose. “But for fuck’s sake, this is vile.”

Which was vastly underdescribing it, in my opinion. I’d never, in all my years of existence, smelled anything that came near the stench coming from this floor. Not even during the years when the Black Death was at its peak and the putrid corpses were tossed into the streets like any other rubbish.

This wasn’t just the stench of diseased or rotting flesh; it was also thick with the smell of ammonia and shit.

Swallowing heavily and trying not to breathe too deeply, I quickly spun more energy into the sphere and sent its light across the heavy darkness.

What it revealed was as gruesome as the smell.

The entire floor was a vast sea of human remains—not whole remains, but bits and pieces. There were decaying heads piled up in mounds and entrails hanging from the metal ceiling struts. Bones were scattered everywhere, many of them bearing teeth marks but all of them clean picked.

“I think we just discovered one of the feeding pits for the cloaks,” Jackson said. “Although it could also be a rather awesome horror-movie set.”

I took a couple of steps into the room, but stopped when the carpet began to squelch underfoot. I really, really, didn’t want to know what the black liquid that oozed away from my weight was.

“This wasn’t always a feeding pit. Not initially, anyway.” I pointed at the nearest bones. “They’re human. The ones in the sewers were mostly animals.”

“Maybe he simply ran out of animals.”

“And maybe these cloaks were placed here to protect whatever might be hiding in the metal room below us, and they simply began to turn on one another when hunger became too great.” I waved toward the far side of the room. “I’m betting if we walked across, we’d see a hole that lines up perfectly with the portion of the ceiling that collapsed on me.”

“That theory would make more sense if the collapse had happened in Luke’s office, not in an empty lab two floors down.”

“Maybe he simply wanted to stop anyone long before they got anywhere near his office.” I shrugged. Luke was dead, so we were never going to really know what he’d intended here. “Shall we retreat to the roof and check that?”

“What about the rest of that floor?” Sam cut in.

“If you want this stinking cesspit checked, you can fucking do it. There’s not enough money on this entire planet to entice me to take another step into this room.” Jackson paused. “And anyway, it’s not like you’re paying us, is it?”

“You’re not in jail or otherwise confined,” Sam bit back. “Right now, that’s payment enough.”

Jackson snorted. “That would be a more acceptable answer if you weren’t also using us to do your dirty work.”

“Gentlemen, enough.” The inspector’s tone was curt. “Emberly, if there’s nothing obviously related to the current search in that area, move on to the rooftop.”

I stepped back into the stairwell and headed up. The rooftop door had been propped open by a large piece of metal, and the space beyond was littered with more body parts and dark pools of liquid. At least in the open air, the stench wasn’t so bad. We did a quick check of the entire area, but there was nothing else here beyond blood-sprayed satellite dishes and silent air-conditioning units.

We reported all this and headed back down, detouring only to collect the three laptops we’d discovered. The cloaks that had littered the street in front of the building were gone; obviously, they were the ones I’d burned in the stairwell. The door leading into the old warehouse remained closed, but as we approached, its surface began to shimmer.

“And that,” I said, “is warning enough that we’d better exit via the rubble pile.”

Jackson immediately swung around and started heading toward it. “Wonder why the magic is still active? Rinaldo wants information, and he’s hardly going to get it by keeping us locked in—especially since the entire area is crawling with PIT and military personnel and not even a gnat could get in here right now.”

“Maybe he’s not responsible for it. Maybe it was part of Luke’s trap.”

“Luke was many things, but he wasn’t capable of magic,” Sam said.

“Are you sure? Because he infected Frederick and the three witches, and maybe that connection enabled him to do minor magic.”

“I don’t think the hive actually worked like that,” Sam replied. “If it did, he would have simply infected other scientists and passed the relative information to them from Baltimore and Wilson.”

“Who says he hasn’t?” Jackson said. “For all we know, there’s a whole hive of scientists still working away in that metal box.”

“Given there’s been no reports of other scientists being snatched, that’s extremely doubtful,” Sam said. “I’ll meet you out in the lane.”

We began climbing the rubble. As I’d feared, it wasn’t exactly stable; bits of metal and brick slipped out from under each step and bounced down the steep slope, until it seemed half the pile was racing away from us.

“This thing is going to collapse.” Jackson caught my hand. “Run.”

We raced up the slope as it grew more and more fluid, until we almost seemed to be running through a river of metal, brick, and plaster. The flaming barrier of magic was pulsing, fading in and out of existence, as if the slide were also affecting it. Its magic burned across my skin as we tore through it, but it held little heat and certainly no threat. We began slipping—sliding—down the other side, and this time the rubble chased us, hitting our legs and backs with scary accuracy.

It sounded like a goddamn express train was bearing down on us.

Sam wasn’t waiting for us at the base, and we certainly couldn’t stop to look for him. As bigger and bigger bits of concrete began bouncing around us, Jackson tugged me over to the warehouse and all but threw me through the window. The laptop I was holding went flying as I did an awkward half roll and skidded on my back for several feet before coming to a halt hard up against the remains of a wall. I twisted around and saw Jackson in midair. He rolled with a little more elegance than I, and somehow ended up standing. A heartbeat later, the entire wall shuddered as dust and small bits of stone came blooming through the window.

“That was a little too close.” He walked across and offered me a hand. “You okay?”

I nodded and let him haul me up. “Where are the laptops you had?”

He grinned and tugged his somewhat loose bulletproof vest forward, revealing the slim sides of the two laptops. “Nice and safe. Yours?”

I waved a hand in the general direction it had flown. “Over there somewhere.”

“Actually,” Sam said as he appeared out of the gloom, “it hit me square in the chest and knocked the breath out of me. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was deliberate.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How do you know it wasn’t?”

“Because you have the worst throwing arm I have ever seen.” His tone was dry. “I’ll take the rest of those laptops, Miller.”

Jackson crossed his arms. “And what about Rinaldo? He threatened to send the cloaks into an infecting rampage if we didn’t hand over whatever information we found.”

“I doubt there’re any cloaks left—”

“He said he had the scientists,” I cut in. “And two men is enough to cause chaos. Do you and the inspector really want to risk that?”

“No,” the inspector said before Sam could reply. “Hand over the laptops, Miller. We’re working on a solution.”

“It had better be a good one.”

He handed the laptops to Sam, who took them across to the window. A black-clad figure appeared, and fire sprung to my fingers before I realized he was military.

Sam handed the soldier the three units, then said, “Laptops on their way, Inspector.”

“Excellent. Remain where you are until otherwise advised.”

“Remain where we are?” I echoed, “What the hell for?”

“Because we’re undoubtedly being watched even if this is a controlled area.” The inspector’s voice was curt. “Until we know what is on the laptops, it’s better if no one is aware we’ve retrieved them.”

“The minute anything leaves Brooklyn, Rinaldo will know about it.” Especially if he did have a mole in PIT’s ranks.

“That is not a problem as the laptops are not leaving,” the inspector said. “We have specialists waiting in a nearby building. The hard drives will be cloned, then any pertinent information erased and the laptops returned to you.”

Jackson snorted. “And you don’t think he’ll realize that’s happened?”

“No, because you’ll be ‘escaping’ our clutches and finding your own way out of Brooklyn.”

“There isn’t another way,” I said. “A bloody great trench surrounds the entire area, remember?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem for a being who can become flame or take a winged form,” Sam commented.

So they knew about my firebird form. I wondered how, given it wasn’t something mentioned that much in all the myths about us. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night. I’m not about to risk outing myself by taking on a form that hasn’t been seen in centuries around these parts.” If it had ever been seen around these parts.

“And it’s not like I can grow wings or become flame,” Jackson said. “So the trench remains a problem.”

“I’m sure there’s enough rubble and scrap around to form a makeshift bridge,” the inspector said. “You have little choice, I’m afraid. Not if you wish to keep Rinaldo onside and endanger no one else.”

And that was the shitty part of this whole situation. If we didn’t do as we were told, people would suffer. I already had the blood of one innocent on my hands; I really didn’t want any more.

I sat back down. If we were going to be here for a while, then I might as well be comfortable.

Sam stayed near the window, his arms crossed and his stance relaxed while Jackson prowled around like a caged animal. I closed my eyes and tried to catch some much-needed sleep; I must have succeeded, because when the inspector spoke again, I jumped.

“The laptops have been cleansed and are on their way.” She’d barely finished saying that when the black-clad figure appeared at the window again and handed Sam a backpack. “Hardie Street provides the best exit point—the trench is slightly narrower there.”

“Have the guards been warned we’re coming out?” I asked.

“No. We need it to look like an authentic escape.” She paused. “Sensors have been placed on both sides of the trench. The minute you near it, the guards will be notified.”

Meaning we’d be chased—and possibly even shot at. Wonderful.

“Sam,” the inspector continued, “give them ten minutes, then report back to base.”

“Will do.”

“Oh, and, Jackson? Stop dumping the phone we gave you whenever you don’t want us to know your location. We need to be able to contact you on short notice.”

“Noted.”

In other words, he’d do what he damn well wanted, same as always. He flashed me a grin, then detached the com unit and undid the vest before dropping both on the ground. I did the same. Once we got out of Brooklyn, they would only attract unwanted attention.

“Hardie Street runs off Francis. Follow it and you’ll come to the trench.” Sam handed Jackson the backpack. “The military aside, there’s no sign of movement in the whole area.”

“And will the military stop us?” I asked.

“No.”

“What about the witch’s shield?”

“It’s gone.”

Meaning whatever had been used to anchor the spell in position had been part of the rubble pile. When it had collapsed, it had either shifted or destroyed the anchor and shorted out the rest of the spell.

“I might just do a quick scout first,” Jackson said, handing me the pack. “Not that I don’t trust your intel, Turner, but, well, I don’t.”

His grin flashed as he disappeared out the window.

“I don’t know how you work with that bastard.” Sam turned his com unit off. “But his distrust at least gives you and me a chance to talk.”

“And what do we have to talk about?” I crossed my arms and gave him a flat stare.

“With our history? Plenty.” His voice was grim. “But the fact of the matter is we have to work together. I think it would be beneficial to clear the air.”

Beneficial. It was such an inoffensive word but one that somehow had annoyance rising. “Again, why? Hasn’t everything that needs to be said already been said?”

“Yes. No.” He thrust a hand through his short hair, and for the first time since I’d rescued him, I saw a hint of uncertainty. Maybe even a touch of vulnerability.

Don’t read too much into it, that internal voice warned. Remember what he said in Brooklyn, and heed the warning.

I might often ignore that inner voice when it came to matters of the heart, but not this time.

“Damn it, Em,” he continued, “just meet with me once. Let me say what I need to say.”

“Why can’t you say it here?”

“Because Miller is on his way back, and I’d rather not have an audience. This is between the two of us. Not PIT, and certainly not him.”

I hesitated. Meeting with Sam would be the stupidest move I could ever make. I knew that, but it didn’t stop the desire to say yes. If I heard what he had to say, then perhaps I could gain some sort of—if not resolution, then maybe peace—from the bitterness that still lay between us. And while Sam now understood the reason I’d had to be with Rory even though I’d sworn my love for him, his refusal at the time to listen to any sort of explanation remained a festering wound deep inside. Maybe if we sat down and talked about it like the adults we were both supposed to be, we could finally move on from the past.

Not that I actually could move on. He was it as far as this lifetime’s love was concerned. In all my many lifetimes, fate had never gifted me with a second chance. It never would; heartbreak was our destiny, our curse.

I opened my mouth to agree, but what came out was a very flat, “No.”

His expression tightened, but he didn’t say anything; he simply nodded and stepped back. The darkness wrapped around him like a blanket and snatched him from sight. It was a vampire trick the virus had gifted him with, and one that had both annoyance and disappointment surging. I guess part of me had been hoping he’d argue the point and try to change my “no” to a “yes.”

But maybe his desire to meet had been nothing more than a token gesture on his part—something he felt he had to do to appease whatever emotion I’d briefly glimpsed, and one he’d known would be rejected.

Whatever the reason, I doubted the offer would be repeated. Which was a good thing.

And if I told myself that often enough, I might actually believe it.

I spun around, hauled myself out the window, and strode up the street to meet Jackson.

“Whoa,” he said, holding up his hands as if to ward me off. “Don’t aim all that fury at me.”

“I’m not.” I kept on walking.

“Good.” He swung in beside me and matched the length of his steps to mine. “What happened in the brief few moments that I was gone?”

“Nothing.”

“And that’s what you’re angry about?”

I gave him a look. He merely grinned.

“Do tell. Or shall I have to ferret away at your thoughts until I find out?”

“Nothing happened, as I said. Now quit it so we can both concentrate on getting the hell out of here.”

“The old saying, ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire,’ is decidedly appropriate right now, given you’re spitting flame all about the place.”

I glanced down and saw that he was partially right. I wasn’t spitting fire, but every footstep unleashed a shower of fiery sparks. I laughed, as he’d no doubt intended, and reined the sparks in. “Did you find our exit?”

He nodded. “I also checked out the trench. It’s just beyond leaping length.”

Which was no surprise, as that was exactly what Dmitri and Adán had intended when they’d created the thing. “Anything we can use to make a bridge?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m thinking we shouldn’t exit where they want us to.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because we’re supposed to be running from PIT’s clutches. It’d be much more believable if we actually stirred up trouble.”

“I suspect you have a plan.” And given his admitted addiction to the rush of adrenaline, it was probably a dangerous one.

He grinned again. “That I have, my dear. Come along.”

We jogged through the darkness until we reached the start of Hardie Street. Old warehouses and rusting containers lined one side of the road. On the other were a railway line and open space, although the line currently wasn’t usable because the trench had taken out a huge portion of it. On the far side of the trench, about a third of the way farther down the street, a temporary guard station had been set up. Lights constantly swept the area, and I could see at least four men. I had no doubt there were more.

“So what’s this plan of yours?”

“You blow the guard station up and cause some havoc, while I make my way beyond it and construct some sort of bridge.”

I frowned. “I’m not going to hurt—”

“I don’t want you to. I just need you to distract them with some noise while I create a believable escape route. Then we retreat to the other side of Brooklyn.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why? Sam said this was the narrowest point.”

“It is. But Dmitri and Adán are only a call away, and they can easily build a temporary bridge for us.”

“They still have to get past security.”

“No, they don’t. They can reshape the earth from a distance.”

I hesitated, and then nodded. While I wasn’t entirely sure the subterfuge was worth the effort, it also went against the grain to be following PIT’s orders. Especially when PIT was all take and no give.

“Right.” Jackson cracked his knuckles, his anticipation burning the air. “Give me twenty minutes to find what I need, then blast away.”

“Right,” I echoed.

He quickly climbed the mesh fence and disappeared into the shadows of the containers beyond it. I followed him and kept close to the darkness, hugging the old warehouses until I reached the first line of old containers. They were almost directly opposite the guard post, allowing me to keep an eye on what was happening without the risk of going too near the trench and setting off the sensors.

Five minutes passed, and two more men appeared. One patrol leg accomplished, obviously.

Once the twenty-minute mark had hit, I said, Ready?

Always.

I smiled and peeked around the corner of the container again. One of the guards has just entered the temporary shelter. I need you to make a slight noise.

The clang of metal against metal rang across the night. My smile grew. That wasn’t slight.

I’m not known for doing things by halves. If you don’t know that by now, we’re in trouble.

Five of the guards immediately raced toward the sound, their weapons drawn. The sixth remained in the shelter, talking into his phone. I swore softly and targeted one of the cars instead. The explosion was impressive and loud. The five guards dove for cover as bits of metal and fire shot above their heads and, in the distance, sirens began to wail. I blew up a second car, and, a heartbeat later, a Klaxon-like alarm sounded—caused by Jackson moving through the sensors, I suspected. The guards picked themselves up and raced forward. As they disappeared into the darkness, Jackson reappeared.

“That,” he said, “was fun. Now, let’s get the hell out of here.”

He twined his fingers through mine and led me away. Although the trenched-off portion of Brooklyn wasn’t overly large, it nevertheless took us close to forty-five minutes to get to the opposite end of it. This was because not only did we have to contend with the military—who undoubtedly would have reported our presence had they spotted us, and wasted our subterfuge efforts—but also because streets had been altered or blocked by either the cloaks or the criminals who had controlled this area before them.

Eventually the strange hush of the place wrapped around us again, and we were alone in the battered remnants of what had once been a thriving community. Jackson paused as we neared the trench again, and he studied the skyline for a minute.

“There.” He pointed to a small, double-story house. While it wasn’t the only one on the street, it was one of the few that still retained its outer skin. Most of the others were little more than skeletal shells. “We’ll wait for the cavalry’s arrival there.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve already called Dmitri?”

“Yes.” The old gate creaked as he opened it. “And then shut down the phone. Didn’t want PIT knowing we were still in the area.”

I followed him up steps that bounced and groaned under our weight—an indication that this house wasn’t all that far off from becoming as skeletal as the others on this street. “I’m surprised you didn’t toss it.”

“Oh, I thought about it.” He opened the door and waved me in. The house was an old Victorian and, as such, had a central corridor from which all the rooms ran off. Stairs to the first floor were on my right, with a bigger room at the end. Grime and rubbish lay everywhere, and many of the old floorboards had been torn up. The smell of smoke lingered heavily, suggesting that not too long ago, someone had used the boards to fuel a fire.

I headed up. Things were a little better here—the floor was at least in one piece, although many of the walls had been kicked out and either the ceiling had been pulled down or had simply collapsed in two of the three bedrooms. I walked down to the room that overlooked the grasslands and the trench. Lights blazed from guard stations at either end of the street, but this portion of the trench remained in shadows.

I leaned a shoulder against the wall. “How does Dmitri intend to get past the sensors?”

“By building a bridge that spans above both them and the trench.” Jackson glanced at his watch. “He’d said he’d be here about midnight, so not long to wait.”

I raised an eyebrow, a smile teasing my lips. “So we’re just going to stand around and watch the dust stir?”

“Oh, I’d love to do more, trust me on that.” His tone was dry. “But this is hardly the ideal time or situation.”

“A fire fae admitting there is—occasionally—an inappropriate time for sex? I’m shocked.”

“So am I.” He shook his head, his expression one of mock horror. “Especially as the words are coming out of my mouth.”

I smiled. “I’m guessing some tender ministrations will be required to remedy the situation once we get out of here.”

“Or not so tender.” His grin flashed. “Because let’s be honest here, the dam is so full, the first release is likely to be hard and fast.”

My pulse skipped along happily at the thought. “I think I can handle that.”

“Good.” He motioned toward the backpack. “Why don’t we make use of our time and see what those laptops have on them?”

I swung the pack from my shoulder and opened it up. After handing him two of the computers, I sat down and booted up the third. It immediately asked for a password. Fuck.

“Similar story here.” Jackson shut down the computer and started up the last one. “Ha. Better luck this time.”

I shoved my computer into the backpack, then scrambled over. The home page was basic and uninspiring, and a quick look through Finder didn’t reveal anything suggesting it had been used for anything more than ordering stores and chemicals.

“They really have removed everything remotely related to the virus.” Jackson slammed the laptop lid down. “And I don’t think that was a wise move.”

“Maybe they had no other option. Or maybe this particular laptop really was just used for ordering.” I shrugged. “PIT doesn’t want Rinaldo to carry through with his threat any more than we do. I imagine there’ll be remnants on the other—”

I stopped as my phone rang three times and then fell silent.

“That’ll be Dmitri. Give me the phone.”

When I did, he hit the flashlight app, ran the bright light across the window three times, and turned it off.

After shoving the two laptops into the backpack, he scrambled upright, then helped me up. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

We rattled back down the stairs and made our way through the wreckage of the ground floor. The rear yard was tiny, the fence little more than a couple of support posts and a few weatherworn fence posts that were barely hanging on. Once we’d slipped through the biggest gap, all that lay between the trench and us was a sea of waist-high grass and weeds. Jackson paused, his gaze narrowed and body tense. A heartbeat later, the ground shuddered ever so slightly and, up ahead, a slender bridge of dirt and stone began to form.

He tugged me forward. The bridge was still forming as we stepped onto it, but it arched gracefully over the trench and never once felt as if it were going to collapse underneath us. Which was rather weird, given it was also deforming and, just for a heartbeat, it simply hung in the air, connected at neither end.

Then we were on the other side. The bridge had become nothing but earth again, and Dmitri was striding toward us. Like Jackson, he didn’t exactly fit the classic image of a fae—at least as described in literature and common myths. The earth was a solid element, and that very much described the fae who controlled it. Dmitri—like most of them—was about five foot nine and had a very stocky build, with rich brown skin and hair. The only way you could really tell any of them apart was via their facial shape and eyes. Dmitri’s features were a little sharp, and his eyes the color of burned earth.

“Ah, it’s the lovely Emberly,” he said, ignoring Jackson completely as he caught my hand and kissed it. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

I grinned. All fae were outrageous flirts, even if fire fae were the ones who had the reputation for corrupting the innocent. Not that there was a chance of that in my case.

“It’s lovely to see you, too, Dmitri. Thanks for coming to our rescue again.”

“It was a pleasure, my dear, and an excuse to once more gaze upon your lovely countenance.”

I laughed and gently pulled my fingers from his. Most fae didn’t need a whole lot of encouragement to start a pursuit, and one fae was more than enough for me.

“If you’ve quite finished,” Jackson said, his voice dry, “we need to get away from this area before the patrols return. Did you bring the scooter?”

“Scooter?” I looked from one man to the other. “You expect me to get on the back of a scooter with you two?”

“While I could think of nothing more pleasurable than having you behind me,” Dmitri said, “I’m afraid it is a pleasure that is not for me. I, sadly, have a car.”

I smiled. “Maybe some other time.”

“I might just hold you to that.”

Jackson groaned. “Now you’ve done it. Don’t you know those of dirt and stone are akin to lava—slow moving but relentless?”

Dmitri grinned. “And those of fire are quick to ignite and just as quick to wither away.”

My smile grew. “So why do we have a Vespa rather than a car?”

“Because Dmitri cannot be seen with us, and because no one in their right mind would choose it for a getaway,” Jackson said. “Therefore, it is unlikely to attract much attention.”

“So if you would follow me, I will show you to your new chariot.” He paused. “Although I really would rather be following you.”

“That pleasure,” Jackson said, “is all mine.”

I shook my head at their banter and followed Dmitri through the long grass. We crossed a small creek bed, then made our way across a major road toward a very familiar and—if the sudden rumblings from the general direction of my stomach were anything to go by—most welcome sign.

“Jackson said you might be hungry,” Dmitri said, making me wonder if he’d heard my stomach. It really was that loud. “And it was safer for me to park here. Less obvious.”

He led us through the parking area and stopped at a beautifully restored F100.

“Lovely car,” I said as he opened the rear door and carefully removed the Vespa.

“Thanks. It took me years to restore it.” He placed the Vespa down, then handed Jackson the keys. “I’ve borrowed it, so please return it in one piece.”

Jackson grinned. “Always do.”

“Yeah.” Dmitri’s droll tone suggested otherwise. He blew me a kiss, then nodded at Jackson and climbed back into his car. Seconds later, he was gone, though the pleasant rumble of his car’s engine seemed to echo across the darkness for a while.

Jackson wheeled the Vespa closer to the main entrance. “Let’s grab something to eat and decide our next step.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I thought our next step was already decided? Or have your little swimmers gone into a state of hibernation?”

“I resent any use of the word ‘little’ when it comes to my working parts.” He flicked the scooter’s stand down and pressed a hand against my spine, guiding me forward. “However, not even I could concentrate on the business of loving with the noise your stomach is making.”

“It isn’t that bad.”

“Trust me, it is.”

He opened the door and ushered me through. Once we’d received our burgers, fries, and drinks, I said, “Table or booth? Or would you rather leave and find somewhere close to satisfy those other urges?”

“As much as I’d love the latter, I can’t ride a Vespa and eat at the same time.”

“And here I was thinking you were multitalented.” I started unwrapping my burger. “Besides, I have two hands. I’m quite capable of holding several bags of food until we get to whatever hotel we decide on.”

“It’d be our luck I’d take a corner too fast and the hot drinks would go everywhere, scalding all sorts of important bits. No thanks.” His smile flashed. “Besides, remaining close to the trench might actually be safer than moving away from it right now. Normal people would run, not remain in the danger zone.”

“And we’re about as far from normal as you could get.” I scooped up several fries, munching on them as I added, “I need to get back to Rory by dawn, and it’s going to take us a while on that fucking scooter.”

“Never fear, I actually do have a car arranged.”

“From who?”

“Makani. Who is,” he said, before I could ask, “a friend. One of her current lovers runs a car dealership.”

“That’s rather handy.”

“Indeed. I did have to promise her a weekend at some posh spa resort in return for said car, but I decided the sacrifice was worth it.”

“Oh yeah.” My tone was dry. “A weekend spent in a hot tub with a hot woman will be so tough.”

“You have no idea.” He glanced at his watch. “We have to meet her in an hour.”

“Where?”

“At the yard in—”

He stopped as my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and glanced at the number. “It’s an office call being rerouted—do you want me to answer it?”

He hesitated. “No, but I’ve got a feeling we’d better.”

“Your little feelings are becoming as inconvenient as mine.” I hit the ANSWER button.

“Emberly?” a gruff and all-too-familiar voice said. “Radcliffe.”

Or, to give him his full title, Marcus Radcliffe III. He not only owned a string of secondhand stores that were little more than a front for a roaring trade in black market goods and information, but he also happened to be the man who ran the underground gambling operations for the rat shifters—operations that Rinaldo had recently attacked.

“What can I do for you, Radcliffe?”

“You wanted a meet?” he snapped. “We do it. Right now.”

My stomach clenched, and my gaze rose to Jackson’s. He’s here. The bastard’s here.

Yes, but it’s not like he can do anything—not with all the security cams around this place. Jackson paused. Actually, that’s probably why he’s ringing. We did beat him up the last time we met him, remember.

It was hardly a beating. More a little singeing. I returned my attention to the phone and Radcliffe. “How did you know we were here?”

He chuckled. It was a cold, somewhat smug sound. “Rats are everywhere. There isn’t much we don’t see or know.”

“Which makes it even odder you didn’t stop Rinaldo’s attacks on your gaming venues before they actually happened.”

“That is the only reason I’m talking to you now, when all I really want to do is wipe the stain of your existence from this earth.”

My smile held very little in the way of humor. “Try it, and I’ll return the favor.”

“You won’t catch me out like that again—”

“Radcliffe,” Jackson cut in, “enough with the bluster. If you want to talk, come in and talk. I’ll even buy you and your goons a coffee.”

“Be there in five minutes,” he said.

I hung up and shoved the phone back into my pocket. “Meaning he’s close.”

Jackson nodded. “He’s obviously got a lair somewhere near here and was undoubtedly keeping an eye on events in Brooklyn.”

Which was probably the only reason he—or his men—spotted us. “PIT isn’t going to be happy if we give him any sort of useful information.”

Jackson shrugged. “It’s not like we have a whole lot of useful information, at least when it comes to Rinaldo.”

That was true enough—and part of the reason we’d asked for a meet with Radcliffe in the first place. I quickly finished my burgers, then gazed out the window, watching for the rat’s appearance and wondering if he’d come in a car or walk. It was a question soon answered when three figures appeared out of the gloom and strode toward the main door. Two of them I didn’t recognize, but the third was Radcliffe. He was a thickset, muscular man with thin, pockmarked features and an arrogant set to his mouth. His eyes were typically ratlike—small and beady—but he moved like a man who owned the world. Which meant Jackson was probably right—his lair was very close to this area.

Radcliffe swept in, paused until he spotted us, and then strode over. One of his men stayed near the door, but the other followed Radcliffe across. If the slight bulge in the pockets of their ill-fitting jackets was anything to go by, they were both armed. Obviously, Radcliffe hadn’t yet learned guns weren’t a very effective weapon when it came to phoenixes.

Jackson rose and waved Radcliffe toward the booth seat. “Coffee?”

“No.” Radcliffe sat with little grace and crossed his arms on the table. Anger oozed out of every pore, and the gleam in his dark eyes very much suggested all he wanted to do was reach out and strangle me. “Tell me what you know about Rinaldo.”

I raised an eyebrow and leaned back. His scent was sharp, musky, and slightly tainted with the aroma of dampness—though that seemed to be coming from his clothes rather than his skin, suggesting his lair, at least in this area, was underground. It made me wonder if he or his men had had any altercations with the red cloaks.

“I want a fair exchange of information, or you get nothing.”

Radcliffe snorted. “Oh, so now you want a fair exchange—”

“If you want to stop Rinaldo from destroying any more of your gaming venues,” Jackson said, his voice hard, “it would be in your best interest to help rather than hinder us.”

Radcliffe’s gaze rose to his. “I’m here. Unless you prove you have something worthwhile, you’re getting nothing from me.” He paused. “And if you try, in any way, to burn me or my men, this entire building will come under attack. And from what I know about you, you wouldn’t sleep with the blood of innocents on your hands.”

No, because I already had enough on them. But I kept the thought inside and let flames flicker ever so briefly across my fingers. His expression tightened.

“You can try such an attack,” I said quietly, “but I really wouldn’t recommend it.”

Radcliffe studied me for several seconds, eyes narrowed. Judging me, and weighing his options. Eventually he said, “I can’t tell you much about Rinaldo. The man is a fucking ghost.”

“So you have no idea where his den is?”

“None at all.” Frustration touched Radcliffe’s voice. “If we did, we’d have already wiped him out.”

“Rinaldo has a dark witch working for him, so any direct attack on either him or his den is likely to be repelled by magic,” Jackson said. “The sindicati think he’s also using it to hide his location.”

Radcliffe raised an eyebrow. “And you believe this?”

“The witch certainly exists—we’ve met him.”

“If you’ve met him, why haven’t you used him to get to Rinaldo? Better yet, why is the bastard still alive?”

“Because he used magic to hide his form and shield himself from my flames,” I said. “Which is something you’ve apparently been looking into.”

“Is that any fucking surprise?” He snorted. “But the fact that Rinaldo holds the leash of a witch does, at least, explain why we cannot find him.”

“Which I find really odd,” I said. “Even if his location is being screened by magic, surely a den of vampires could not go unnoticed in a local community.”

“Trust me,” Radcliffe growled. “We would have been notified if there’d been the slightest rumor of a new den. As I said, we have eyes everywhere.”

“Meaning maybe he hasn’t got a den.” I glanced at Jackson. “Maybe he’s using hired vamps and De Luca’s get to do his dirty work.”

“The vamps that attacked us weren’t vamps for hire,” Radcliffe said. “Nor were they from Victoria.”

I glanced at him. “How do you know that?”

His smile was all teeth and little humor. “We killed a few of the bastards, that’s how.”

“And they were carrying IDs?”

He snorted again. “Of course not. We ran a trace on their prints and got zero results.”

No great surprise given no one could apparently trace Rinaldo’s background, either.

“Have there been any more attacks on your venues?” I asked.

“No, but we did ramp up security after the last one.” He paused. “If he has got the services of a witch, though, we might have to do more.”

I doubted a witch of any standing would agree to work with Radcliffe, and those who did almost certainly wouldn’t be capable of creating a spell powerful enough to withstand Frederick’s magic. But I wasn’t about to say that. There was no point in aggravating Radcliffe any more than necessary, especially since he was being cooperative. Surprisingly so.

But it was probably a matter of his need to get rid of Rinaldo being greater than his hatred of me.

“We were told that Rinaldo was in charge of the most recent raid on the gaming venue—is that true?” I asked.

He nodded. “The security cams recorded the whole thing. The bastard was obviously aware of them, and just as obviously didn’t care.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “Why?”

“Because at the same time as he was attacking your venue, he was also confronting us in Rosen Senior’s apartment building.”

“Impossible.”

“Apparently not.” I took out my phone and showed him the photograph I’d taken of Rinaldo in his Professor Heaton persona. “This is him, isn’t it?”

Radcliffe leaned forward and studied the picture for a moment. “Yes. But it’s impossible to be in two places at the same time unless you can clone yourself. And that isn’t possible just yet. Not when it comes to humans, anyway.”

“Cloning may not be,” Jackson said, “but it’s more than possible that whoever he’d sent in his place when he attacked your venues was using a glamor to make it seem like he was there.”

The vampire who’d confronted us definitely hadn’t been using one. While glamors could change your appearance, they couldn’t alter your voice. The Rinaldo who’d confronted us at Rosen’s was very definitely the same vampire who’d tried to grab me at the Chase Medical Research Institute—the place where I’d quite happily worked as Baltimore’s research assistant before this whole mess had begun.

“I see no point in using a glamor in that sort of situation, but I guess we’re dealing with a very old vampire. Who knows how those fuckers think.” Radcliffe frowned. “What were you doing at Rosen’s place?”

“Looking for Professor Wilson’s missing research notes.” I took a sip of tea, then added, “Don’t suppose you know anything about them, do you?”

His smile flashed. All teeth, no sincerity. “I’m not likely to tell you that.”

Meaning, I suspected, he was as clueless as the rest of us. I doubted he would have been able to contain his smugness had it been otherwise. “Would it be possible to view the tapes of the attack?”

“No.” He paused. “But why would you want to?”

“To compare that Rinaldo with the one we know. We might be able to tell from the footage whether there was a glamor in use.”

He frowned. “I didn’t know glamors were detectable.”

They often weren’t, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. Not if lying got us those tapes. “There’re always tells when it comes to magic. You just have to know what to look for.”

Radcliffe grunted. “If I give you that tape, what do I get in return?”

“How about the file Rosen was keeping on Rinaldo?” Jackson said.

Whoa, I said. Is that wise?

What else have we got? he replied. We’ll remove the page about the inverter, although he probably already knows about that.

The inverter was a device that made the wearer immune to telepathic intrusion via an inversion process. Rosen’s company had been working on it before his death.

Radcliffe was more than likely already aware of the device, given he’d been bleeding Rosen of information for months—if not years—and then selling it via the black market. Although Sam had intimated that PIT had put a psychic block on Rosen in order to stop him from babbling about certain projects, so maybe not.

“Rosen had a file on Rinaldo?” Surprise edged Radcliffe’s gravelly voice. “I had no idea.”

“That’s the problem with drugging someone to grab information,” I said drily. “They can only supply what you ask for.”

The look he cast my way very definitely wasn’t friendly. “The tapes for the file.”

“Agreed,” I said. “When and where?”

He hesitated, seemingly surprised—and almost immediately suspicious—of my ready agreement. “Your office, tomorrow morning.”

“We won’t be there before ten.” I hesitated. “I also want a truce on hostilities.”

He laughed, a sharp sound that had heads turning. He ignored the looks and leaned forward. “After what you’ve done to both me and my men, what makes you think I would ever agree to something like that?”

“Because the only way any of us is going to stop Rinaldo is by working together.”

He snorted. “Good luck getting either the sindicati or the wolves to agree to something like that.”

“They already have,” Jackson said. “Or at least there’s an agreement to exchange information when it comes to Rinaldo.”

Which wasn’t exactly the truth, but Radcliffe was unlikely to check the story, given rats generally kept their dealings with vampires as brief as possible. While they did sell information and black market items to them, they certainly hadn’t developed a more permanent business partnership, as Baker’s wolves had. Partly, I think, because the two had a long history of distrust that stemmed from darker times, when vamps had considered weres good hunting material. Humans might always have been a vampire’s main diet, but shifters certainly provided more of a challenge for those so inclined. And rats had always been more plentiful than the larger weres.

Radcliffe’s gaze swept between the two of us, his expression giving little away. “If I agree to a truce, I want any and all information you might get from either Baker or the vamps.”

“If you agree to do the same, sure.”

His eyes became little more than black slits, but after a moment, he nodded, the motion short and sharp. He stuck his hand out. “A deal shaken on is a deal that must be honored.”

I gripped his hand. His grip was tight—overly so—but I resisted the urge to press more heat into my fingers. “No attacks from either of us,” I said, “until this is over.”

He nodded and released my hand. “Agreed.”

I fought the desire to wipe the stain of his touch away on my jeans and simply watched as he rose.

“Tomorrow at ten,” he said, and then walked away.

Jackson waited until all three had left, then sat down and reached for his coffee. “That went better than expected.”

“Yeah.” I drained my tea in one long gulp. “I’m not sure we should trust the bastard, though.”

“They’ll stick to the terms agreed,” Jackson said. “He can’t afford not to, particularly in this case.”

I glanced at him curiously. “It sounds as if you’ve had some dealings with him.”

“Not Radcliffe specifically, but I’ve certainly dealt with rats on a few occasions.” He shrugged. “As Radcliffe said, there’s not much that goes on that the rats don’t see or know about.”

I frowned. “Is it possible Rinaldo has rats working for him? It might explain why they haven’t been able to trace him—and why Radcliffe got no warning about the attacks.”

“Radcliffe’s lair might be the most powerful in the city, but it’s certainly not the only one,” Jackson said. “It’s more than possible one of the smaller lairs has decided to work with Rinaldo in order to destroy Radcliffe and take his lair’s position.”

“I didn’t know rats were so competitive—I thought they all just basically stuck to their own territories.”

“Regular rats tend to. But we’re talking rat shifters here, and that comes with all the usual human vices such as greed and desire.” Jackson’s voice was dry. “And I’m not talking sexual desire.”

I raised an eyebrow, a smile teasing my lips. “You’re not? That would have to be a first.”

“Indeed.” He glanced at his watch. “If we leave now, we’ll have just enough time to go grab the car. And then, my dear Emberly, we can discuss the notion of desire to our hearts’ content.”

“I’d rather do than discuss.”

He grinned. “An even better idea—shall we go?”

I rose and followed him out the door. After donning one of the helmets attached to the Vespa, I climbed on behind Jackson and lightly held on to his hips as he started the thing and drove off. And although it wasn’t a particularly powerful machine, there was still something very pleasant about riding through the dead of night, with the stars bright overhead and the wind cool against my skin.

It took us about twenty minutes to get across to the car yard. Jackson pulled into the parking area and stopped. In the brief moment of silence, a car door slammed, and then a woman appeared. She was tall and slim, with silvery white hair and the most amazing blue eyes I’d ever seen. It wasn’t just the color—which was a blue as rich as a summer sky—but rather the sense of otherworldliness that hit the minute my gaze met hers. It was almost as if I were staring at someone who wasn’t simply flesh, but something far greater. Something ethereal and powerful.

Air fae, that inner voice whispered.

“Emberly,” Jackson said, “meet our savior, the lovely Makani.”

She raised a silvery eyebrow, her expression amused. “Have you ever noticed he’s so much more generous with his compliments when he’s after something?” She held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emberly.”

The minute my skin touched hers, the air stirred and, just for a moment, it seemed to be filled with whispers. They weren’t ones I could understand.

But she could. Her eyes widened fractionally as she ever so gently disentangled her grip from mine.

“What did you see?” I asked.

She hesitated, her expression briefly uncertain. “Trouble and darkness, but also glimmers of hope.”

“Air fae,” Jackson said, his tone dry, “are rather like witches. They cannot abide speaking in simple, understandable terms.”

Makani elbowed him. “Shut up and give me your hand.”

He raised an eyebrow but did as she bid. She cocked her head to one side, obviously listening to the voices I now couldn’t hear. Eventually, she sighed and released him.

“It would appear your fates have been tied together. And you, my dear friend, have stepped well away from the path fate initially mapped out for you.”

“Meaning the death your father saw for me no longer applies?” he asked. If he was at all concerned by this prospect, I wasn’t sensing it.

She hesitated again. “I believe not. But we’re reaching a time of flux, and you two are going to be right in the middle of it.”

“So we’ve been warned before,” I said.

She nodded. “By both Lan and Grace, I believe.”

Surprise ran through me. Lan was the old Filipino shaman who’d helped us stop the Aswang—the spider spirit who’d been using her victims as fodder for her young. He’d also given us a rather dire warning—that a time of metaphysical darkness was approaching Melbourne, and it was a darkness that would draw even darker creatures and events. The Aswang and the virus were, apparently, just the beginning of our troubles.

“I’m surprised you know them—I thought air fae tended to be soloists,” I said.

“While it is true we generally don’t mix with shaman and witches, all of us who read the future—be it through earth or the air—have felt this period of flux coming for a while now.” She shrugged. “It has forced us to unite and discuss the matter.”

“And have said discussions led to a possible solution to the problem?” Jackson asked. “Or have you all taken the politician’s path—lots of rhetoric and little action?”

She elbowed him again, this time hard enough to draw a grunt. “I’ll give you lots of rhetoric and little action next time you want to get lusty if you’re not damn well careful.”

I grinned. The little I’d seen of air fae had made me believe they were all delicate, somewhat fragile beings who often weren’t grounded in any way, but it seemed that belief was very wrong—at least when it came to Makani.

“Both Lan and Grace were rather vague on what this flux might entail,” I said. “I don’t suppose you can clarify it any?”

She was shaking her head even before I’d finished asking the question. “Not even my father can see that, and he has been reading fate for nearly a millennium now.”

I blinked. Even for a fae, that was old.

“All any of us can do is monitor the situation, and provide support for those on the front line when and where needed.”

“Meaning us, I’m gathering.”

“Yes.” A smile touched her lips. “I also believe, in the very near future, that you will need the services of a good secretary capable of providing mystical support.”

“And you’re volunteering?” Jackson said. “Most excellent.”

“Well, it was either me or Lan, and as much as I admire the shaman, he wouldn’t be able to put up with your bullshit for long.” She gave him a somewhat severe look, though amusement lurked in the depths of her blue eyes. “There will, however, be no fraternization during work hours.”

He groaned. “That is nothing short of torture times two. Fate obviously has it in for me this decade.”

Makani raised an eyebrow as she glanced at me. “You already have this rule?”

“It’s a very sensible one, given the amorous tendencies of the fae in question,” I said. “It’d be hard to get any work done without it.”

“Indeed. While those of fire do rank rather high on the overly sexed scale, I rather suspect this one stood in line twice.”

“Ladies, I am standing right next to you both.”

“Indeed,” Makani repeated, her amusement stronger. She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a set of keys, and offered them to me. “It’s the black SUV at the back of the lot. It’s got full insurance, but please try not to make too much of a mess of it.”

My fingers brushed hers as I took the keys, and again the whispers swirled. Her eyes went wide.

“What?” I immediately said.

“You need to get back to your partner. Now.”