CHAPTER 8

The rise to consciousness was abrupt. One minute I was out; the next I was awake. It was the sort of abruptness that wasn’t natural, but rather the result of some sort of stimulant. I could feel it coursing through my body, making my heart race.

But worse than that was the sudden awareness that I wasn’t alone—that there were two others in the place with me. Both were male, and if their voices were any guide, they were very familiar.

One of them was Rinaldo’s witch. The other was Theodore Hunt, the werewolf hit man who’d sworn to kill me because I’d apparently ruined his reputation by stopping him from committing murder. Not once, but twice.

Fire rose unbidden, but rather than erupting from my skin, it continued to rage within me and seemed to hold little in the way of heat. Something—someone—had managed to restrict my most powerful weapon.

It wasn’t difficult to guess who.

I forced my eyes open.

Something dangled in front of my gaze. I blinked, trying to focus, and saw what looked like multicolored strings entwined together.

It was Grace’s charm, loosely wrapped around a decidedly bony-looking finger rather than my neck.

That was the reason my flames were restricted—with the charm no longer around my neck, its protective barrier had been deactivated, and Frederick’s spell had finally been able to curtail my flames. But was my access to the mother similarly stopped? And dare I even reach for her after what had happened last time?

“This,” Frederick said, his voice conversational, “is a rather brilliant bit of spell casting. Who made it for you?”

“A witch.”

It came out croaky. I swallowed heavily, but it didn’t ease the dryness in my throat. I wondered how long I’d been out; wondered what in hell they’d given me.

“Obviously,” he said. “But who? She’s someone I’d be interested in speaking to.”

“I doubt speaking is what you’d be doing. Not after what happened to those three witches you helped infect.”

“Infect, yes, but you, my dear, killed them.” He leaned closer, his pale features looming out of the darkness in an almost ghostlike manner. Or maybe it just seemed that way, thanks to his gaunt, almost skeletal features. “Tell me who it is.”

“How about you go fuck yourself.”

I reached for the mother. Energy surged at my call, but it was a distant thing—a heat I could feel but not yet use. Frederick’s spell had placed a barrier between us, but it was one that restricted my access rather than completely forbade it. And that suggested his power was the darker kind—the kind that came from blood sacrifice and personal energy rather than from the earth and the energy of the world itself. He undoubtedly knew about both, but he’d have little experience with the mother and no true understanding of her.

Which was both good and bad. It meant I should be able to access her given time, but time was something I might not have a whole lot of.

Frederick sighed. “Theodore? Please show Ms. Pearson the error of her ways.”

Heat surged at his words, but once again it did little more than flare across my skin. “Touch me,” I said, “and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Hunt chuckled. It was a cold and oddly demented sound. But then, he and sanity had never particularly been bosom buddies.

The darkness near my feet shifted—became something that was big and powerful, and whose eyes promised death. With almost loving care, he gripped the littlest toe on my left foot. Knowing what was coming, I began to struggle, but I was tied down far too well, both physically and magically. All I could do was send heat surging down to my foot and hope it was enough. My skin began to glow so fiercely, it cast an orange light across the shadows and lent Hunt’s gaze a bloody glow.

It didn’t help.

Either Hunt didn’t feel the heat or he simply didn’t care, because he gripped my toe tighter and simply forced it backward.

Pain ripped through me, and I screamed.

Hunt sucked in a deep breath, then sighed, the sound almost orgasmic. Bastard, I thought dazedly. Sick, dead bastard.

Fingers gripped my chin and forced my head sideways. Frederick’s skeletal features came into view. “Tell me the name of the witch who gave you that charm, or would you rather Hunt break another toe?”

Hunt’s fingers moved to my next toe; they were trembling slightly, but whether that was anticipation or desire I had no idea—and no real wish to find out.

I reached again for the mother; this time, the wash of her heat was stronger, and the invisible wall between us seemed to shudder. Time. I just needed goddamn time!

And that meant I had to keep them talking—keep them from doing whatever it was they intended doing. “Like he isn’t going to anyway.”

“Oh, trust me, he intends a whole lot more than merely breaking toes.” He lightly patted my arm, as if to comfort me.

It was only then that I realized I was naked. Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .

I closed my eyes and tried to control the wash of panic. I could get through this. I could survive it.

And it wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before. No one, man or woman, could live through as many decades as I had without being violated in some way. Not even those of us who weren’t human.

“The name, Emberly,” Frederick said.

“Call Hunt off and you might have a deal.”

“You are in no position to make any sort of deal, I’m afraid.” He slid his bony fingers down my arm and then across to my stomach, letting them rest just above my pubic bone. “You are, however, in a perfect position to fuck. And while that is something Hunt wants so very much, I rather suspect you do not.”

I couldn’t help glancing down at Hunt. His eyes glowed in anticipation.

“Answering all your questions isn’t going to stop him doing that,” I said, “and we both know it.”

“Perhaps not. But the only way you will know for sure is to answer the question.”

I closed my eyes. The mother’s heat was close, so damn close. I could almost touch her now, and the fact that I couldn’t had tears of rage and frustration stinging my eyes. I took a deep, shuddering breath and released it slowly. Patience. I just had to have patience.

“Why do you want her name? What do you and your psycho boss want from her?”

“My psycho boss wants nothing from her,” Frederick said. “In fact, he would be rather peeved by my actions.”

I blinked. “You’re not here on his orders?”

“No.” Frederick drew in a deep breath and smiled benignly. “I do so love the smell of fear and rampant need. The latter is Hunt’s, of course, not yours.”

He was as sick as Hunt. And just as dead. Or would be, when I broke through to the mother.

“I wouldn’t think going against someone like Rinaldo would be the best idea,” I said.

“You’re right, it’s not.” He produced a knife and flicked the blade open. “But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. The name, Emberly. Otherwise, this knife will taste the sweetness of your flesh.”

I hesitated. The knife’s point replaced his fingers against my pubic bone. Sweat broke out across my brow and dribbled down the side of my face. Or maybe that was tears. “Ronda Peterson. Her name is Ronda Peterson.”

“Indeed?” Frederick glanced at Hunt. “Do we believe her, Theodore?”

“With the drug in her system, she can’t lie.” His reply was little more than a low, husky growl. “It has to be the truth.”

I bit back a harsh laugh. If they believed that, then they truly knew little about phoenixes. No drug designed to work on a human would ever be able to withstand the sheer amount of heat currently boiling through my system.

“Indeed,” Frederick repeated. “What did you and Miller find in Brooklyn?”

“Rotting dead people,” I replied. “What sort of sick spell was that?”

“It was neither my magic protecting that area nor my spell cast on those cloaks.”

“Then why were they rotting?”

“That, it would appear, was an unfortunate side effect of the virus.”

I blinked. “It rots you?”

“Not everyone. Did you never wonder why some infected were branded, and some were not? It was easier to identify which type of ‘infected’ we were dealing with.”

“Meaning those who were branded were the ones who would putrefy?”

“Yes. It is also what sends them mad.”

Meaning Sam—and Jackson, if he was still infected—should be safe. Unfortunately, it also meant that Frederick was. Not that that would really matter. Not once I got free.

“What else did you discover?” he said.

“Nothing much.”

The tip of the knife pierced my skin, and blood began to flow. “I’m not believing that,” Frederick said.

“If you were Luke’s second, you should know what was in that area.”

“Oh, I know there were labs somewhere in Brooklyn, but he would never reveal their location.”

“So much for your earlier boast that he completely trusted you,” I said.

Frederick smiled benignly. “Boasts and lies all have one purpose—to make people like you do as we wish. And if that doesn’t work . . .”

The knife sliced deeper into my skin, and pain flared brighter. I really was going to enjoy hurting this bastard . . .

“Did you teach Luke to use magic?” My voice was still surprisingly without inflection. Which was a good thing—Hunt was already enjoying himself far too much for my liking.

“That, I believe, was an unfortunate side effect of the infection. He could not control me, but he did have some access to my thoughts and memories. Did you find the labs, Emberly?”

“I don’t fucking know. We found an air lock that’s accessible through a hidden entrance in his office, but whether that’s the labs or merely a large safe is anyone’s guess.”

There was little point in lying about what we’d found—if Rinaldo did have a mole in PIT, he was probably aware of what went down there.

It also meant all this was pretty pointless. Unless, of course, Frederick was simply confirming information they already had.

“And did you manage to gain access?”

“No. It was code locked and had a hand scanner attached.”

“Meaning it will take some time to break in.” His expression was irritated. “Which means more unfortunate delays.”

“For whom? And where are the scientists?”

I didn’t really expect an answer, and I didn’t get it. Instead, he withdrew the knife’s tip from my skin. “You, my dear, are far too dangerous to keep around. Rinaldo might think he has you by the short and curlies—” He paused, amusement touching his thin lips as he wiggled the knife back and forth across my pubic hair. Tension rolled through me as I waited for the flick of pain that came with flesh being pierced, but it didn’t happen—not this time, at any rate. “I, however, do not believe that to be wise.”

“He hasn’t finished with me, Frederick. I wouldn’t—”

“Oh, he’s going to be incredibly annoyed by my actions,” he cut in. “But he and I have been business partners for a very long time. One might even say decades. He will, in the end, respect my actions.”

Decades? That wasn’t possible—not without him either being nonhuman or a thrall. But even if he had sworn blood service—thereby becoming Rinaldo’s human servant and gaining a very extended lifespan in exchange—he wouldn’t have the free will to do something like this. Unless, of course, being a dark witch gave him some sort of immunity.

Hunt’s hand came down on top of Frederick’s and stopped the knife’s movement. Relief washed through me, though it was tempered not only by the knowledge that Hunt’s ministrations would be far worse, but also by the feel of his fat fingers splayed across my belly.

“Enough,” he growled. “She is mine to take apart, remember.”

“Indeed.” Frederick’s gaze came back to mine. “Which also means I can hardly be held accountable for your death—especially given there are no witnesses to your kidnapping.”

No witnesses? “What about those women?”

“Those women only saw two ambulance officers who are now no longer with us.” He smirked. “Dead men can tell no tales, after all. Of course, the same can be said of dead women. Perhaps it would be better if I simply rid the world—”

“We have a deal,” Hunt cut in. “One sworn on blood and magic.”

If Hunt believed Frederick would keep any deal that didn’t suit him, then he was a bigger fool than I presumed.

Of course, he was also a fool who had the upper hand right at this moment. But only for as long as I was restrained from the mother’s power.

“We do indeed,” Frederick said, altogether too cheerfully. If that didn’t warn Hunt the deal wasn’t worth the blood it was sworn on, nothing would. “Which means, dear Emberly, I must now leave you to Theodore’s tender ministrations.”

Hunt removed his hand, and Frederick raised the blade. He licked its tip, and then sighed almost wistfully. “In many respects, it is such a shame to waste your blood—there is such power in it. But a deal is a deal. Good-bye, Emberly.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the darkness. A second later a door closed, and footsteps retreated down what sounded like a metal walkway.

Leaving me alone with Hunt.

I closed my eyes, reaching for strength and the fires that burned deep within. All that did was make my skin glow; there was no heat in my fire. No threat. Frederick had designed his spell very well indeed.

Hunt chuckled again, but it was the accompanying sound that sent fear and desperation rushing through me.

He was stripping off.

I twisted and heaved, fighting the cables that bound my arms and legs, trying to find some give, trying to free myself. My wrists and ankles became raw and slick with blood, but it did little good. I swore and raged and reached harder for the mother. Her fires twisted and spun, a whirlpool of heat that was close—so damn close—that I could feel the wash of it. But while the threads of magic holding her from my grasp were beginning to unravel against the constant pressure, they hadn’t yet collapsed.

“I have dreamed of this.” The thick scent of his desire was suffocating, and his eyes were glazed and unfocused—drunk on desire and the sight of my helplessness. “For endless nights.”

“I will kill you,” I spat back. “Be it in this time or another.”

He smiled benignly, hoisted himself up on the table, and knelt inside my splayed legs. His cock was thick and hard, and stood out from his body like a lance waiting to be used.

His hands came down both sides of my shoulders, and heat and hate were all I could smell, all I could see.

“I’m going to fuck you senseless, and then I’m going to tear you apart piece by tiny piece and scatter you to the four winds. Try coming back from that, phoenix.”

With that, he thrust inside of me. It hurt—god, how it hurt—but I bit back my scream and my instinctive need to fight both the bonds and the man that pinned me. That had already proven useless—just as useless as my fire for as long as the witch’s spell was online. I needed to reach the mother. Needed to concentrate on shattering the magic that separated us rather than on what was happening to my body.

But as much as I tried, I couldn’t entirely ignore Hunt’s invasion. When he was fully sheathed within me, he shifted his weight, then stopped. I didn’t react. I just kept my eyes closed and kept reaching for the mother. The magic was so thin, it was little more than gossamer. I could feel her heat and her rage now, but neither would do me much good if the gossamer held on.

Hunt wrapped a hand around my jaw and squeezed hard. “Look at me.”

“Never.”

His grip tightened. Tears slid down my cheeks.

“Don’t think I won’t break your jaw. Look at me.”

I did. There was little point in doing anything else, and I certainly didn’t want a broken jaw in addition to a broken toe.

Hunt’s expression was gloating. He didn’t release me; he simply began to thrust again. “Call me master.”

“Master,” I said tonelessly.

His movements became more intense. “Again.”

“Master.”

His breaths were becoming shorter, sharper, and his eyes more glazed. “Again. Again. Louder.”

“Master,” I intoned dutifully. “You are my master.”

He made a strangled sound, his body stiffening against mine. But even as he came, the wall finally shattered. The mother swept through me and into Hunt, searing both his seed and his cock in one swift action.

And then she paused, as if waiting for reaction to set in. It did—his eyes bulged, and his groan of ecstasy became a scream of sheer and utter agony.

A heartbeat later, the mother snatched the rest of him from existence. There was nothing left; nothing except the lingering echo of his agony.

The cables binding me were treated with similar contempt; then the mother’s energy wrapped around me, warm arms that offered comfort and a place of safety. Part of me wanted to linger, to grow strong in her grip, to give in and let go.

But that part of me had little hope against the greater sum that wanted revenge.

I had a witch to catch and no time to waste.

I hauled myself off the metal table, standing on one foot as I studied the room. If the machinery parts still scattered about were anything to go by, this place had once been some sort of pump room. I couldn’t spot any spell stones on either those bits and pieces or the floor, but the rainbow flare of the mother’s light made something glitter in a small, recessed section of the grimy wall to my right. I directed her energy at it, and, with very little fanfare, the entire wall disappeared. Dust ballooned, catching in my throat and making me cough. I didn’t care, because the minute that wall collapsed, my fires returned. I was torn from flesh to flame in an instant, a process made even headier by the mother’s presence. Her song continued to spin around me, sweet and beguiling, but it was a temptation that stood little chance against the darker tune in my heart. I dismissed her and flamed under the doorway.

I wasn’t entirely surprised to discover I was once again in a sewer tunnel. I flowed down the metal steps to the tunnel’s floor, sending spiders and rats scattering as I raced after the footsteps I could no longer hear.

In very little time, I came to a junction, and it was one that felt oddly familiar. I paused, the brightness of my flames sending yellow-white light spinning across the grimy bricks and highlighting not only the gated entrance to one of the offshoot tunnels, but also the shattered remains of a metal barrel.

This was the junction where two of the kidnapped witches had eaten their friend, and where I’d been attacked—and almost killed—by hellhounds.

The place was silent now, and though the tunnel that had held the hounds was once again barred, I had no sense that anyone—or anything—was in there.

Instinct tugged me left, into the tunnel opposite the one Jackson and I had used . . . The thought stalled.

Jackson.

What if Amanda had been nothing more than a ruse? What if she’d been used to split us? The best way to conquer was to divide—history and experience told me that—and Rinaldo obviously knew enough about my character to guess that I wouldn’t leave without at least checking that Janice was safe.

Even if Frederick was being honest and his actions were his alone rather than Rinaldo’s orders, Amanda’s presence at the house could still have been some sort of trap—especially given neither of us had reported back to him as specifically ordered.

But to contact Jackson and make sure he was okay, I’d have to change form, because only another phoenix could understand me when I was in this one. And as much as I hated to admit it, my need to grab Frederick was stronger than my fear for Jackson.

I moved on, into the smaller tunnel, the same one the red cloaks had come from as the hellhounds had attacked in the junction. I could once again hear footsteps, but they were distant and oddly seemed to be moving toward me rather than away.

Had Frederick forgotten something? Or had Rinaldo caught wind of his little scheme and ordered him back?

I flamed around another corner, only to run right into someone. As my flames surrounded him, energy surged, a response that was protective and familiar.

It wasn’t Frederick. It was Jackson.

“Em,” he yelled, both aloud and in my head. “It’s me! Tone down the heat!”

I did so and immediately changed form. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing here?” He grabbed me, pulled me close, and wrapped his arms around me. Tightly. His whole body shook, and I doubted it was a reaction to almost being crisped. It actually felt a whole lot like rage. “I’m here to rescue you.”

“I’m okay—”

“Don’t give me that shit. I know what happened.”

I pulled away from him, my gaze searching his. Not only was there rage, but also horror and a very deep sense of defilement.

Oh fuck . . . He’d felt it.

Everything that had happened to me in that old pump house had echoed through him.

“I’m sorry, Jackson. I should have thought—”

“Don’t,” he growled, “because you have nothing to apologize for.”

“But—”

He placed a finger gently against my lips, stopping me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m cut, and my damn toe is broken—”

“I don’t just mean physically.”

I knew that. “I’ll be fine.”

Eventually. It wasn’t like it was the first time it had happened, and while that didn’t really ease the trauma of this event, I not only knew how I’d probably react but also how to cope with the flashbacks, nightmares, and anger if they did occur.

But I doubted Jackson had ever experienced something like that, even if it was just an echo rather than a real event.

I raised my hand and gently cupped his cheek and chin. “The real question is, how are you?”

“I haven’t really stopped to think about it. I just wanted to get here, get to you, and stop it happening.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “At the very least, there will be anger. But we can get through it together.”

I hoped so. Hoped that he’d talk about it rather than let it fester in the deeper recesses of his mind, gathering guilt and blame, until it poisoned our relationship and he ended up hating me.

“So how did you find me?”

“Tracked your phone. Or rather, PIT did. I know you wanted that number kept private, but—”

This time, I put my finger against his lips. “It’s okay, Jackson. It wasn’t my phone, and I would have done the same thing anyway.”

“Good.” He released me, stepped back, then stripped off his coat and held it out so I could slip my arms into it. “It also means that three PIT officers are no more than a few minutes behind me.”

Which wasn’t really surprising—not with Rinaldo’s right-hand man having been involved. “I don’t suppose you came across Frederick on your way here, did you?”

“As a matter of fact, we did. He’s currently unconscious and being hauled none too gently back to the scene of his crime.”

I frowned. “Why is PIT bringing him back here rather than taking him to PIT headquarters?”

“Because the man in charge just happens to be Sam, and he was decidedly determined to make sure you were okay.”

Under normal circumstances, news like that might have made my heart do a little jig, but I was all out of that sort of happiness right now.

“Then ring him and tell him I’m okay.” As much as I wanted to question Frederick myself, it was probably better if I didn’t. I wasn’t entirely sure my control could withstand the desire to make the bastard pay.

“No need,” Sam said as he appeared around the corner. The flashlight’s beam swept me, no doubt taking in my near nakedness, the bloody bruises around my ankles and wrists, and the dried blood trails down my legs—the only indication that I’d suffered wounds elsewhere. Something hardened in his eyes, and the air around him grew dark—almost explosive. He and I might no longer be an item, but if that darkness was anything to go by, Frederick was going to pay for his actions.

Big-time.

He stopped to the right of both Jackson and me, his expression giving little away, but the darkness still fierce and bright and very, very scary. “Where’s Hunt?”

“So dead he’s not even dust.”

“Good. Where did the assault happen?”

Though his tone was so matter-of-fact it edged toward curtness, I couldn’t help but notice his hands were clenched. Couldn’t help but sense he wanted revenge every bit as badly as either Jackson or I.

And maybe he would have reacted the same way had I simply been a fellow PIT officer or even a member of the public, but I suspected the fact we’d once loved each other had a whole lot to do with whatever he was now planning.

“It happened in what I think is an old pump room.” I paused. “Why?”

“Because, if you’re up to it, Frederick is going to receive a little of his own medicine.” The smile that touched his lips was an ugly thing to behold. “It’s more than deserved, don’t you think?”

“That is something of an understatement,” Jackson commented, even as I said, “I’m up to it.”

More lights began to pierce the gloom, accompanied by the sound of footsteps as well as something being dragged. I couldn’t help hoping that something was Frederick.

“Lead the way,” Sam said.

I wrapped the ends of Jackson’s coat tighter around my bruised body, then spun and hobbled forward. Jackson muttered something under his breath, then swept me up into his arms. “You direct. I’ll do the walking.”

“Just follow this tunnel until we hit the junction.” I glanced across at Sam. Though his expression was remote, something in the set of his mouth spoke of annoyance. “Have the searches of the various vinegar factories turned up anything?”

“Vinegar factories?” Jackson said.

“That’s what the chemical formula you found in Brooklyn was,” Sam said, his tone clipped. He stepped over the rotting carcass of what looked like a cat, then added, “And no, it hasn’t yet. It’s possible it was nothing more than a red herring.”

Maybe it was, but something within me doubted it. “It might have been the only clue they could leave without being obvious.”

“The scientists are infected,” Sam said. “I doubt they would have even considered such a thing.”

“I think the scientists are more likely to be like you than regular red cloaks.” I paused, remembering what Frederick said about the decaying cloaks we’d discovered in Brooklyn. “Were you aware that the cloaks with the brand on their cheeks had a variation of the virus that rotted them out?”

Sam’s smile was grim. “Yes. And we’re not entirely sure that it’s a variation rather than a path that all of those who are infected will travel.”

“If that was going to happen, there’d at least be signs by now.”

“You can’t be sure of that. No one can.”

“Luke was.” I might not have asked him that question, but I nevertheless believed the truth of my answer. “And I’m pretty sure if you ask Frederick about the virus, he’ll confirm it.”

“There are bigger questions to be asked before we get to something like that,” Sam said.

Like, where were the scientists? And where the hell was Rinaldo? “I think Frederick is a thrall. He implied as much when he was questioning me.”

Sam’s gaze shot to mine. “What was he questioning you about?”

“He wanted the name of a witch. I wasn’t inclined to supply it.”

“Why would he want that sort of information from you?” Jackson said.

“He was impressed by her skill and creativity. Take the tunnel on our immediate right,” I added as we hit the junction once again.

“Why is this place familiar?” Jackson said.

“It’s where the hellhounds attacked me.”

“I won’t even ask,” Sam said. “I gather the creativity Frederick was talking about was the twined rope charm he was clutching when we nabbed him?”

“Yes. Don’t suppose you have it with you, do you?”

He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket but didn’t immediately offer it to me. “What is it designed to protect you against?”

“Any magic or spell created to stop me from accessing my fire form.”

“Magic can do that?”

“It can if you know the right magic. Few do.” My gaze narrowed. “Why? Are you thinking about pursuing such a spell?”

“There’s no need to, now that you’re working with us rather than against.”

He held out the plastic bag; after a moment’s hesitation, I accepted it. “Don’t you have to hand it in or something?”

“I’ll log it, but it’s better off with you rather than sitting in an evidence locker.” He paused. “I would, however, like to talk to the witch who created it. PIT could certainly use some means of protection against spells.”

My eyebrows rose. “Has that actually been a problem?”

“Only minor to date, but yes.”

“I’m surprised PIT hasn’t got witches on the books,” Jackson commented. “It would seem a rather logical step if you ask me.”

“We do have witch consultants,” Sam said. “But I don’t think they’re powerful enough to create something like that charm.”

Given Grace was powerful enough to work through—and understand—the earth mother, that wasn’t really surprising. I doubted there were many witches in Melbourne capable of such a feat—not now that three of them had died in these damn tunnels.

“Getting back to the problem currently being dragged along behind us,” I said, “what’s the point of bringing Frederick back to the scene of his crime when, as a thrall, he would never betray his master?”

“He may not be willing to tell us anything, but he could certainly be forced to.”

“Rinaldo will stop him. We both know that.” I spotted the metal stairs that led up to the half-wrecked pump room and silently directed Jackson toward it.

“Rinaldo can only stop him if he is aware of the situation. He won’t be.”

“And how do you intend to stop that?”

“I can’t. Adam, however, can. He’s one of the men dragging Frederick here, and he should be able to prevent Frederick from linking with Rinaldo.”

Adam was Sam’s partner, and a vampire to boot. I’d met him only a couple of times, but he seemed pretty decent. He’d certainly been a whole lot less frosty toward me than Sam had been in the early days of the investigation.

“But Rinaldo’s an extremely powerful telepath—one capable of entirely taking over mind and body,” I said. “Will Adam have the telepathic strength to counter that? Because I rather suspect Rinaldo will kill Frederick rather than risk him telling us anything.”

“I doubt Rinaldo will waste such a valuable resource—”

“Don’t doubt,” Jackson said as he clattered up the metal steps. “He would discard anything and anyone, no matter how valuable, if it suited him.”

“Perhaps.” Sam’s tone suggested he didn’t agree.

Jackson kicked the door open, then strode into the old pump room. It was as I’d left it, only the dust had had a chance to settle. “How do you want to play this, Turner?”

“Once we get Frederick securely tied to the table, we’ll all retreat back to the sewers except for Emberly and Adam.”

Jackson frowned. “What about the possibility of him using magic?”

“He’s a dark witch and, from what I understand, they not only need some sort of blood sacrifice to create their spells, but also their Athame,” Sam said.

“I wouldn’t be sure about that,” I said. “If Frederick’s a thrall, he could be far older than he looks. Older witches often don’t need ceremonial devices. They just need the power of their thoughts and their soul to create a spell, especially if it’s only a simple one such as forcing his will on another.”

“I know someone who’d be able to tell us.” Jackson carefully placed me on my feet near the table; then, as the sound of footsteps coming up the metal stairs began to echo, he got out his phone and made a call.

“Grace, sorry about the late hour, but I have a rather urgent question for you.” He paused for a moment, listening, and then added, “Yeah, we did find the dark witch. But we need to question him, and we want to know if he can use magic against us using just his thoughts and will.”

He paused again, listening. His expression suggested the answer wasn’t one he wanted. “Right. Thanks, Grace.”

He hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Em’s right. He’ll more than likely be able to perform at least minor magic against us. However, she said if we use some form of hallucinogenic drug, it should impair his mind enough to stop that.”

“No matter what either of you think of PIT,” Sam said, his voice dry, “we generally don’t carry any sort of drugs around with us.”

Adam and one other PIT officer came into the room, dragging the still-unconscious Frederick between them. Once they’d lifted him onto the table, they began tying him up with what looked like plastic cables. PIT might not carry drugs around with them, but it seemed they did come equipped with black cable ties.

“Frederick woke me with some sort of stimulant,” I said, looking around. “It’s possible there’s some sort of medical bag in the room—especially given he used an ambulance to transport me.”

“It’s over in the corner,” Jackson said. “And so are your clothes and purse, by the look of it.”

He retrieved all three items, shaking off the brick dust from my clothes and purse before handing them to me. Then he dumped the medical bag on top of Frederick’s stomach and opened it up. “There’s all sorts of stuff in here. Anyone know anything about drugs?”

“Adam?” Sam said.

“Adam’s a medic?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice.

“No, I’m not,” he said, his expression amused. He was a tall, thin man with blondish hair and cool gray eyes. He looked nonthreatening, even for a vampire, and for that reason alone I suspected he was very much the opposite. “But I can contact base, and someone who is.”

“Instant communication is one of the benefits of having a telepathic partner,” Sam said.

Adam began inspecting the contents of the bag, studying each item and presumably relaying the information back to whomever he was in contact with. I used the time to pull on my jeans. Surprisingly, Janice’s phone was still in my back pocket. I pulled it out, ended the call, and then quickly added a password. Having a second phone could come in handy.

I didn’t bother putting on my shoes—I doubted my broken toe would be too pleased with the sudden pressure—nor did I bother with my sweater or bra, instead shoving both into my handbag. I wasn’t about to strip off to put either on, even if half the men in the room had seen me naked, be it in the present or the past. Which left my T-shirt, and I used that to belt Jackson’s coat tighter.

After a few more minutes, Adam handed Sam a small vial and a needle. “According to Billy, this should do the trick.”

“Excellent.” Sam filled the syringe, then roughly jabbed it into Frederick’s arm. Once he’d dumped both the vial and the syringe back into the bag, he glanced at me and said, “We’ll retreat. Adam will remain here with you, but Frederick shouldn’t sense him.”

I nodded. Jackson gripped my shoulder briefly, and warmth leapt from his skin to mine. Warmth and concern. I smiled and silently said, I’m okay, Jackson. Really.

He didn’t say anything, just gave me a somewhat disbelieving look, then followed Sam and the other PIT officers out the door. As it clanged shut, I glanced at Adam and said, “So how do we play this?”

“This is your game. I’m just here to stop any sort of connection happening.”

Sparks danced across my fingertips in anticipation. “How close is he to consciousness?”

“Close enough.”

“Good.” I hobbled forward, raised a hand, and slapped Frederick across the cheek. The blow was hard enough to snap his head sideways, but there was no immediate response. I slapped him again. His eyes popped open, and he swore. But the words were slow and somewhat slurred.

Then his gaze narrowed, and I rather suspected he was reaching for some sort of magic. I didn’t wait to see if the drug we’d administered had worked; I simply slapped him for a third time. I might not know a whole lot about magic, but I knew spells needed the caster’s undivided attention. If rattling his teeth disrupted that, I was more than happy to keep doing it.

“Frederick, you have one chance, and one chance only, to tell me what I want to know, or I’m going to burn you piece by tiny piece, until you’re screaming for the salvation of death.”

Frederick’s smile was cool and altogether too calm. “You can hurt me as much as you like, but I will never tell you anything. I can’t.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I said. “I’m thinking your inability to give me answers might rely on your master’s restrictions rather than on any sort of mental strength on your part.”

“Perhaps that is so, but it still means I can’t give you anything.”

“A statement that is true only if you can actually reach Rinaldo—and I rather think you can’t right now.”

He was silent for a minute, his expression slackening, suggesting he was attempting to reach Rinaldo telepathically; then it came to life again filled with a mix of fury and fear.

“What have you done to me?” His body jerked as he tried to leap at me, but he was too well tied to move even the smallest amount. So he settled for raising his head and spitting.

I sizzled the globule long before it got anywhere near me. “It’s not much fun being on the other side of things, is it?”

“I’ll get you for this, bitch.”

Sweat was beginning to dot his forehead. I wondered if it was fear, or the drug taking hold. If it was the drug, then maybe I needed to speed things along. Keeping him confused as well as fearful was probably my best means of assault right now.

I dropped my right hand and streamed fire from my fingertips, and then shaped them into humanoid forms that slowly grew, until the table was surrounded by fiery beings that glared at him balefully.

“What the fuck?” he said, his voice high. “Who are they?”

“The thing about attacking a spirit,” I said conversationally, “is the fact we are rarely ever alone. And we do tend to get pissed off if you hurt one of us.”

He pushed up against the cable ties again. “I can’t tell you anything.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I pulled a slither of fire from the flame form nearest his hips and let it press down on his groin. He screamed, even though I hadn’t yet started to burn.

“Where are the scientists, Frederick?”

“I don’t know. For fuck’s sake, you’ve got to believe me. You’ve got to stop him.”

“Him” being my fiery alter ego, I gathered. “Like you stopped Hunt from raping me?”

His gaze snapped to mine; this time, the panic was sharper. “I can’t give you what I don’t know.”

“So the claim that you and Rinaldo had the scientists was yet another boast?” Just as Jackson had believed.

“Yes, for god’s sake, yes. I honestly don’t know where they are.”

“I really don’t think honesty and you are all that familiar,” I said. “But perhaps the loss of a small piece of your anatomy will encourage you to become so.”

I pressed the fiery hand deeper. A pulse began to beat heavily in my head, a warning that I was once again pushing my limits. I once again ignored it. “Tell me where the scientists are, Frederick.”

His jeans began to smolder, the material peeling away from my fiery touch. The stench of burning hair soon stained the air, but I didn’t press any further. Not yet.

“I don’t know, you have to believe me, I don’t.”

His words tumbled out over one another, his gaze wide, desperate. Yet there was something in the deeper recesses of his eyes, something that spoke of cunning. He thought he could fool me. Thought I wouldn’t carry through with my threat.

I burned his cock.

He screamed. It was a god-awful sound, but I had no intention of showing him any sort of compassion or mercy. He didn’t deserve it, and not just because he’d left me to Hunt’s tender mercies, but because of what he’d helped do to those witches and undoubtedly to countless others. The virus might have made them Luke’s to control, but it had been Frederick’s magic that had helped make their capture possible.

“Tell me,” I said, lifting the flames from his flesh again. His cock was red and already beginning to blister. Part of me hoped he would lose function. Part of me hoped he would continue to stall and I could finish what I started. “Or face life as a eunuch.”

He was panting and sweating now, his expression one of pain and desperation. “I haven’t got that information. Please, you must believe me.”

This time, I raised the hands of all my fiery creations. The beating in my head got stronger. I gripped the table to keep upright and said, my voice harsh, “I’m afraid I don’t. You’re Rinaldo’s thrall, and he’s trusted you for generations to hide his presence and keep his schemes running undetected beneath a veil of magic. You cannot do either without knowing location details.”

I pressed the raised hands down. As his entire body began to smolder, he screamed, “All right, all right, just stop it—stop them.”

I drew the fire back into my body, but it didn’t ease the ache in my head. Only food, green tea, and fire could do that now, and not necessarily in that order.

“Tell me where the scientists are,” I said yet again.

“I don’t fucking know. We never have.” He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “That’s part of the damn reason we sent you and the fae into Brooklyn.”

“You think they’re still there?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes. They have to be—there’s no other place in Melbourne they could be.”

“We didn’t find them there.”

“You found a damn air lock—one that’s more than likely protecting the labs. Where else could they be?”

Where else indeed? And if that was the case, what was the connection to the vinegar formula written in dust?

Or was it, I thought, my heart racing a little bit faster, not a clue but rather a code?

The code to the air lock’s scanner, perhaps?

Had we had the answer all along and just been overthinking it?

“Luke kept cloaks in other locations,” I said. “So why do you expect me to believe he wouldn’t keep the scientists off-site, in an ultrasafe location?”

“Because there was no place safer than Brooklyn. It was his castle and the home of most of his troops.”

“So where will we find Rinaldo’s castle?”

The sudden switch had him blinking; then he swore at me and fought against his restraints again. The scent of blood began to taint the air, and though I doubted the aroma would tempt Adam, part of me couldn’t help but hope for a sudden loss of control.

“Even if I tell you, it won’t do you any good,” Frederick said. His pupils were becoming more dilated, his words more slurred. The hallucinogen had taken a firm hold of him now, but he obviously needed just a little more pushing—and maybe not the pain-filled kind.

“Tell me,” I said, even as I became flame and shaped my fire into a vague resemblance of Rinaldo. As Frederick’s gaze widened, I shifted back, added, “Tell them,” in a deeper tone, then took on Rinaldo’s fiery figure again.

Frederick’s harsh rasping filled the air. For an instant, I didn’t think he was going to fall for the ploy, but then he said, “Risley Street, Richmond. He has a warehouse there.”

I doused my flames again and said, “What number?”

“Fourteen. Please, stop them.”

I glanced past him. “Anything else we need to know?”

Adam stepped forward and placed his hands on either side of Frederick’s head. After a moment, Frederick closed his eyes, and his breathing deepened. He was asleep.

“That’s quite an impressive trick,” I said. “Sam wasn’t kidding when he said you’d be able to stop this bastard from communicating with his boss.”

“Stopping it wasn’t without problems.” He ran a hand through his pale hair, and it was only then that I noticed the pallor of his skin. “And Rinaldo will undoubtedly sense something has happened.”

“Can he reach Frederick’s thoughts even though he’s now asleep?”

“Yes. But I’ve mangled his memories and removed any evidence of him being forced to give Rinaldo’s location.” He paused and glanced at the door. “Sam, we need to move if we want any hope of catching Rinaldo.”

The door opened, and the three men entered. Sam’s gaze met mine, and he gave me a brief nod. “Well done.”

I smiled and wondered if he actually meant well done on not killing the bastard.

“Contact base,” Sam continued. “We need a full-scale operation in place, stat—”

“Don’t,” I said hurriedly. “It’s too much of a risk.”

“PIT does not have a mole,” Sam said, his tone curt.

“Rinaldo implied that he did,” I snapped back, “and I don’t want to risk losing the bastard just because you and your boss are pigheadedly determined not to even consider the possibility.”

Adam coughed and seemed to be struggling to keep his expression flat. Sam simply glared at me as the shadows stirred around him. If it was meant to intimidate, it wasn’t successful. I’d all but flatlined when it came to any emotion but anger and determination right now.

“I very much suspect the three of us will not be enough to take the—”

“It’s not three,” Jackson said, “but five. If you think we’re not going to be part of an operation to bring this bastard down, you’ve got rocks in your head.”

“Remember, too,” I said, “that you can’t stop me from leaving this room right now and heading over there by myself.”

The darkness that was the virus sharpened significantly, but after a glance at Adam, he waved a hand and said, “Fine. Come with us. But you follow orders, understood?”

I nodded. “What about Frederick?”

“He won’t wake until I order him to,” Adam said. “And even if Rinaldo overrides that order, Frederick can’t escape because he’s strapped down.”

“He’ll be able to use magic once the drug wears off.”

“Undoubtedly,” Adam said. “But I don’t think he’ll get the chance. Rinaldo won’t risk his thrall talking.”

I hope he’s right, Jackson said. And I seriously hope that the rats are feasting on his flesh before death happens.

Jackson could, it seemed, do revenge even better than me.

He bent, picked up my shoes and then me, and said, “The stage is yours, Turner.”

Sam didn’t say anything. He simply spun and led the way out of the pump room.

And I crossed my fingers and hoped like hell that we were quick enough to catch the bastard.