The two husky-looking men who came out of the stairwell door were wearing well-pressed dark suits and shoes that gleamed sharply in the quickly fading light. One positioned himself in front of the door while the other walked into the parking lot. Recognition stirred and, after a moment, I placed him—he was one of the two goons who’d been with Radcliffe at the casino.

I resealed the iced tea I’d been drinking and watched the second guard climb into the driver’s seat of a rather standard white Holden sedan. It wasn’t quite the type of vehicle I’d have expected Radcliffe to swan about in, but anything fancier would have stood out in an area such as this.

“We can’t do anything here,” I said as the guard drove the vehicle closer to the building’s exit. “There are too many people out and about.”

“Agreed. We’ll just have to follow them and hope an interception opportunity presents itself.”

The man stationed at the door spoke briefly into his lapel, then opened the stairwell door. Three seconds later Radcliffe scampered into the waiting vehicle. It was so smoothly done that if we’d blinked, we’d have missed him.

“What if we don’t get the opportunity?”

“Then we’ll just have to reassess the situation once we get to their destination.” He started our car, then reached back and grabbed a somewhat grubby-looking cap from the backseat. “Tuck your hair up in this—it’ll be less obvious you’re trying to conceal your hair than if you use the sweater’s hood.”

“It’s night—they’re not going to see past the glare of our headlights.”

“They’re rats, remember, and have very good night sight. Let’s not take any chances.”

I accepted the cap somewhat gingerly and inspected it for bugs before shoving it on my head. As I tucked up my hair, the white car pulled out of the lot and turned left. Jackson cruised down to street level and ended up several cars behind it.

Unfortunately, not being spotted was about as far as our luck went, because they drove straight onto the busy Monash Freeway and headed for the city.

“Based on the goons’ attire, I’d guess he’s either meeting someone at a high-class restaurant or going to the casino.” I studied the starlike twinkle of Melbourne’s lights until I found Crown’s oval tower. Was that where Radcliffe had first met Rosen? Not that it really mattered now, given Rosen was dead. “Either way, he’s surely realized by now that his wallet and phone are missing.”

“Oh, I have no doubt he’d know, given what Mary said about outsourcing his life to his phone, but it won’t matter if he’s going to the casino. Highfliers usually have a line of credit.” He glanced at me. “If he is headed there, the parking lot might just provide our opportunity.”

“Not with the number of security cameras in the place. We can’t afford to have the police as well as everyone else looking for us, and we need this car to remain under the radar.”

“We’ll park outside.”

“And the security cams?”

“Once he parks, we’ll burn out all cameras in the area. With any sort of luck, security will take its sweet time coming down to check what’s happened.”

Radcliffe’s destination did indeed turn out to be the casino. As he entered the street that led into the underground lot, Jackson parked illegally on a side street, and we both raced for the stairs. We checked each level carefully, then quickly raced down to the next, until we finally caught up with them. As the vehicle cruised through the near-empty level and moved closer to the elevator entrance, I scanned the roofline for security cameras. Once I’d spotted them all, I sent thread-thin lines of fire snaking along the roofline and promptly burned out the wiring in each one.

“Our best bet is to isolate him from the guards,” Jackson said. “Ready to display your party trick?”

I nodded and clenched my hands to hide the flames still flicking across my fingertips. The white car parked close to the door and the goons climbed out; one scanned the area immediate area, then moved toward the casino’s entrance while the other moved around the car and opened Radcliffe’s door.

Jackson pushed the door all the way open. I slung fire, then raced forward. My flames shot across the parking lot, far faster than I was, and looped around the first guard, trapping him in a high wall of thick heat. As his curses began to fill the air, the second guard reacted, thrusting Radcliffe back inside the car, then swinging around, his weapon already in his hand. His first shot went wild, pinging off the edge of a nearby concrete pillar and spraying me with dust. He didn’t get the chance to shoot again; a ball of flame flashed past my ear and hit the weapon, turning it white-hot in an instant. The guard swore and released it, but rather than clattering against the concrete, it simply oozed away, the bright silver liquid trickling slowly under the car.

“Don’t move, and don’t even consider reaching for any more weapons,” Jackson ordered, his voice loud enough to carry above the crackle of the flames surrounding the first guard. “You’ll both fry if you do.”

The second guard slowly withdrew his hands from the back of his jacket and held them up. I slowed and glanced at Jackson. He looked a little paler than he had moments ago, meaning the effort of creating flame fierce enough to melt steel had drained his strength.

But his gaze was determined when it met mine. “I’m fine. Let’s just get our answers.” He stopped at the tail end of the car and motioned to the second guard. “Step well away from that door.”

Once the guard had obeyed, I leaned forward and peered into the car. Radcliffe glared back at me.

“What the fuck are you?” His narrow features were ugly with hate. If he was at all fearful, he was hiding it well. “And how dare you—”

“What we are you don’t need to know,” I cut in, not wanting to hear any more of his bluster than absolutely necessary. “And you can be sure that we’ll dare a whole lot more if you don’t answer our questions.”

He snorted. “This place is monitored twenty-four/seven. Security will be on its way even as we speak.”

“Then you’d better hurry up and answer said questions, hadn’t you? Otherwise they’ll just find little piles of soot.”

“You won’t cinder me.” His voice was contemptuous. “Not here. Not when you risk outing whatever it is you are to whatever security is watching.”

“True,” I agreed, my tone philosophical. “So maybe I’ll just ring the sindicati and give them the name and location of your son.”

“I have no idea—”

I raised a hand. Fire leapt from my fingers to the vinyl headrests and shimmied toward Radcliffe. He shrank back in his seat, his lips pressed together and sweat beginning to bead his forehead.

“We have your phone,” I said. “Unfortunately for you, we also happen to possess an app that breaks numeric codes relatively easily. After that, it was just a matter of basic detective work to track you down.”

His gaze narrowed. “Which doesn’t explain your belief I have a son.”

“Ah, well, listing a contact as simply MJ stirred our curiosity. We did a number search, then sat outside the given address to see who was living there. And if he’s not your son, then I’d like to know how you managed to clone a mini version of yourself.”

He didn’t say anything. He just continued to glower at me.

My smile held a decidedly nasty edge. “Now, tell me why you ordered Rosen killed.”

“I didn’t,” he growled. “He was too valuable an asset.”

Given his use of “was,” he obviously knew of the hit even if he hadn’t order it. “Then who did?”

“The sindicati.”

“Which faction? Morretti’s or De Luca’s?”

“Morretti’s no longer a player in that particular field.” Satisfaction practically oozed from his pores. “And I can’t say I’m overly put out by that fact.”

“You don’t seem overly put out by losing a valuable asset, either,” I noted. “Which faction paid you to walk away from your so-called valuable asset?”

He simply smiled and didn’t answer. I flicked a finger of flame toward his face, and he thrust back with a slight yelp.

“De Luca’s,” he immediately said. “Morretti’s lot suspected, as I do, that Wilson kept his files securely backed up. They wanted Rosen alive, and your search active, so they could grab it.”

“Do they also know that Wilson probably isn’t dead?”

His confusion was brief but nevertheless seemed real. “That’s not possible. He was torn apart by red cloaks.”

So either Morretti’s faction didn’t have the scientist—which in itself meant they weren’t working with the red cloaks, as no one but Luke could control the actions of those within the hive—or they simply wanted to use the research to hasten Wilson’s efforts. Either way, it was obvious Radcliffe wasn’t being kept informed.

“Why would De Luca want Rosen dead, then?”

Radcliffe shrugged. “He just said that Rosen knew where the notes were, and he wanted to ensure no one else found them before he did.”

Meaning he’d tortured the information out of Rosen before he’d killed him? Or, I thought, my stomach sinking as I remembered the cuts on Rosen’s face and arms, did it mean that he’d been infected and would also become part of the red-cloak hive mind?

I very much suspected it was the latter, and that meant I’d better warn Sam. PIT probably put security on corpses as a matter of course these days, but just in case …

Heat stirred my skin, a caress that was oddly masculine in feel and one that held an indirect whisk of the mother’s power.

“Two security guards just appeared,” Jackson said. “I’ve created a wall of flame to stop them seeing anything, but hurry.”

Satisfaction oozed across Radcliffe’s face. “I told you—”

My flames hit him full in the face. They didn’t burn, but he didn’t immediately realize that, and his scream was high and fear filled. It was a sound that cut off abruptly as I slapped a hand across his lips; my flames instantly withdrew to my fingers, flicking and dancing brightly in the shadowed confines of the car.

“The only thing I want coming out of your mouth is answers—understood?”

He nodded. I pulled my hand away. His skin was red with heat, even though the flames hadn’t been sharp enough to actually burn.

“Who’s taken over Morretti’s position?”

He swallowed heavily. “Frank Parella.”

“And is he the actual leader of that faction, or merely a general?”

“A general. I don’t know who the leader is. No one does. And only the generals have contact with whoever is in charge.”

Which confirmed what had been in Amanda’s notes. “Does that also make De Luca a general?”

He licked his lips. I couldn’t tell if it was due to nerves or simply that his lips were still tingling with heat. “The generals are the public face of the two factions. I don’t believe anyone else beyond them knows who or what controlled the sindicati before the split.”

“Meaning,” I said in an attempt to confirm what else had been in those notes, “the sindicati might be led by a committee rather than just one man?”

He shrugged. “As I said, no one knows. It would explain the current fractional split, however.”

It certainly would. But who’d interviewed me in that darkened room? Was it De Luca, Morretti, or one of the leaders of the opposing factions? I really had no idea, but if the sense of power that had been evident in both his voice and his presence was any indication, it was someone used to ultimate control.

“How do I get in contact with Parella and De Luca?”

“You don’t.” He licked his lips again. “And if you’re wise, you won’t.”

“Yeah, but here’s the thing—one of them keeps coming after me. That needs to stop. So if I can’t get in contact with them, can you?”

“No—”

I singed his whiskers. Sweat began to trickle down the side of his face. “For fuck’s sake, the only time I’ve talked with De Luca was when he contacted me about Rosen. He wanted to know who had him, and he paid me handsomely to find out.”

“So you do have his number?”

“No, it was a burn phone. I checked.”

I guess that wasn’t surprising, given Radcliffe’s inclination to sell information. “And Parella?”

“His number I have.” It was said sullenly. The bully boy wasn’t so bullish at the moment.

“Was it your goons who snatched Rosen from his office buildings?”

“Yes. Initially they were only supposed to rough him up a little, just to put some urgency into the situation.”

“But that changed when De Luca contacted you?”

“Yes. He offered me a large sum of money to snatch Rosen, then look the other way, and I accepted it. Who wouldn’t?”

“How large are we talking about? Ten, twenty, thirty grand?”

Radcliffe snorted. “I wouldn’t walk from such a valuable source of information for anything less than six figures.”

“And it was definitely De Luca on the phone, not Morretti?”

Radcliffe frowned. “Yes, I’ve already said that.”

“So why would Hunt say it was Morretti who contacted him rather than De Luca?”

Radcliffe snorted. “Theodore Hunt is a lying piece of scum.”

“But one you’re more than willing to use.”

“Because he’s good at what he does.” Radcliffe paused. “At least he was until you got involved in things. I’m betting he gets a hard-on just thinking about killing you.”

Hunt’s sexual habits weren’t something I wanted to contemplate—especially if they involved me. “If he tries anything, he’ll regret it. And right now, I need you to contact Parella for me.”

“I don’t think—”

“That’s right, you don’t. You just do,” I cut in. “Now!”

To say he looked unhappy would be a major understatement. “Matt, I need your phone.”

There was a rustle of movement; then the guard handed the phone to Jackson, who handed it to me. “Hurry,” was all he said.

There was an edge of strain in his voice, a slight tremor that spoke of limits being reached. While I could feel the incessant pull of the flames on my strength, Jackson was fading far faster.

I handed Radcliffe the phone, and he quickly dialed a number—one I tucked away in the memory banks for later.

“Parella,” he said after a moment. “It’s Radcliffe. I have a message for you.”

He paused. Parella replied, but his voice was little more than an incomprehensible murmur. Even so, I doubted it belonged to the vampire in the darkened room. The speech rhythms weren’t as smooth around the edges.

Radcliffe glanced at me. “It’s from the fire witch. She wants a meet.” He paused, then said, “It’s not like I had a fucking choice. It was either ring you or be crisped.”

I reached forward and plucked the phone from his grasp. “I have to agree with him on the no-choice point. You and I need to talk.”

“I can hardly see why.” There was an odd, almost aristocratic edge in Parella’s gravelly voice that spoke of a cultured upbringing somewhere in his past. “And you certainly have nothing we need.”

“If you’re so sure of that, then fine, don’t meet us. We need to talk to De Luca at some stage, anyway.”

He didn’t immediately answer, and there was nothing in the way of background noise. Wherever he was, it was deathly silent.

“Fine,” he said eventually. “But we do it at a location of my choosing.”

“Em,” Jackson said, “we need to go.”

“When and where?” I said quickly.

“Highpoint Shopping Centre, Hoyts underground parking lot, three a.m.”

“Tonight or tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow.”

Meaning he needed time to set his trap. Which was fine, because it gave us the chance to do the same.

“Em,” Jackson warned again.

“Agreed.” I hung up and handed the phone to Radcliffe. “If I were you, I’d make myself scarce for a little while. The new boss didn’t sound too pleased about your actions.”

He didn’t say anything, but his scowl got darker. I smiled and added sweetly, “Oh, and if you’re looking for your wallet, I do believe we accidently dropped it into MJ’s mailbox. If you’re lucky, she won’t find it until tomorrow. If you’re not …” I shrugged. “Oh, and she said you’d better appear tonight with the money you owe her, or she’s going to your grandmother.”

He swore vehemently. I left him to it and climbed out. The flames around the door were flickering and fading, which was an indication of how close to the edge Jackson was on the strength front.

“Drop it,” I said, and raised a secondary barrier behind his as it faded. A soft ache began behind my eyes, but I ignored it and glanced at the nearest guard. “Very carefully give me the rest of your weapons. Then get into the car.”

He handed me a gun and a knife. I checked the gun to ensure the safety was on, tucked it into the waist of my jeans, and handed Jackson the knife. Once the guard was in the car, I slammed the door shut and sealed it—in fact, sealed all of them—by using my flame to weld it to the main body of the car. Radcliffe might be able to smash a window and climb out, but I doubted the goon would. He was too large.

“Go,” I said to Jackson.

He took a somewhat shuddery breath, then turned and ran for the stairs. I followed at a slower pace, wanting to be sure he was close to the street-level exit before I reached the stairwell. As the door closed behind me, I claimed fire form and surged upward. It was only once I regained flesh form that I released all the flames. The stretched line of energy feeding them snapped back painfully, making me wince as I exited.

“You okay?” Jackson immediately asked. He was leaning against a power pull just to the left of the footpath, and he didn’t look great. His skin was ashen, and his face was gaunt.

“Better than you, from the look of things.”

He grimaced and pushed away from the pole. Despite his appearance, he strode forward quickly.

“It would appear Rory was right—my body isn’t designed to feed the flames of a phoenix. Not for long, anyway.”

The stairwell door behind us opened, and I quickly looked around, flames sparking across my fingers. It was a woman leaving the parking lot, not Radcliffe’s other goon or one of the security guards.

“You need to eat and rest, and the sooner the better.”

“Let’s just concentrate on getting the hell away from here first.” He tossed me the keys. “You drive.”

We made it to the car without anyone coming after us, and within a matter of minutes we were driving through the city, heading for our bolt-hole. I stopped at a local fish-and-chips shop, buying not only several pieces of battered fish for us all but also burgers, the biggest tray of hot chips that they had, and several bottles of Coke. The delicious aroma had my mouth watering as we carried it all into our tiny apartment.

“Good timing,” Rory said as he clattered down the stairs. “I was just about to head out—” The words cut off as his gaze fell on Jackson. “What the fuck happened? You look like shit.”

Jackson pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. “Well, the good news is that we found Radcliffe. The bad news is that creating a wall of flame really does suck the life out of me.”

“So I was right.”

“Yes.” Jackson rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I guess I’ll just have to be satisfied controlling fire rather than creating it.”

“It might be the wiser choice,” Rory commented, walking into the kitchen. “At least until we know whether the draining is a permanent feature or if it’s just a sign that your body needs to acclimatize to feeding fire.”

“Neither you nor I are immune from the effects of creating flame.” I dumped the parcels of food and Coke on the table. “And we’re fire spirits, not flesh.”

“Yeah, but Jackson may not exactly be flesh anymore after the merging, either.” Rory brought plates and glasses over to the table, then helped me tear open the various packages. “Until we understand the full range of consequences, baby steps are required.”

“After today, I totally agree.” Jackson poured himself a large glass of Coke, gulped it down, and then added, “Even so, it was totally worth it.”

Rory raised an eyebrow. “So Radcliffe actually gave you something useful?”

“Yeah. We have a meeting set up with Morretti’s replacement in just over twenty-four hours.”

“It that a wise move?” Rory helped himself to some of the food. “It’ll undoubtedly be a trap, and there’re only three of us.”

“What choice have we got?” I filled a plate with fish, chips, and a burger and handed it to Jackson. He gave me a tired-looking smile. “We need to stop the sindicati coming after us, and the only way we’re going to do that is to confront the bastards.”

“Except that we don’t know which faction was behind the kidnappings. It may not be Morretti’s lot.”

“Maybe not, but a point still needs to be made.” I grabbed a burger, added a layer of hot chips, then bit into it. It tasted as delicious as it smelled. “The main problem will be the location. It’s the underground parking area near Hoyts in Highpoint.”

Rory grimaced. “That’s not good, especially given vampires are very adept at hiding in shadows.”

“Almost as adept as we are at banishing them.”

“Radcliffe called you a fire witch,” Jackson pointed out. “I doubt it was a slip of the tongue.”

I frowned at him. “I’m not seeing your point.”

“Weren’t fire witches another name for female phoenixes?”

“A very long time ago.” My stomach nevertheless fell. “But Parella and the sindicati can’t know what I am.”

“If the red cloaks do have a spy in PIT’s ranks, then the vampire faction working with them will undoubtedly know, given PIT does,” Jackson commented. “And even if they don’t, both sides have witnessed your ability to create and control fire. I have no doubt they’ll be scrambling to find ways to counteract it as we speak.”

“The only way to counteract a phoenix’s fire is via magic,” Rory said. “And witches powerful enough to create that sort of spell are few and far between.”

“Which does not rule it out as a possibility,” Jackson said.

“No, it doesn’t.” I demolished the rest of my burger, then, as my stomach grumbled a reminder it needed far more than just a burger to refuel, grabbed some more chips and a couple of pieces of flake. “But what’s the alternative? Going in armed is pretty pointless against—”

“Unless,” Jackson cut in, “said weapons are water pistols.”

Rory blinked. “Water pistols?”

“Loaded with holy water,” Jackson said. “I happen to have several of them ready to rock and roll.”

“Great idea,” Rory said, “but a water pistol will last only so long, and reloading them won’t exactly be easy.”

“Yes, but we can carry a few extra vials of the stuff to throw.”

“And if we miss, we’re in trouble. Holy water may work against vamps, but blowing their fucking brains out is far more effective at stopping them.”

“True.” Jackson leaned forward and refilled his plate. “Maybe we need more soldiers.”

“The only people I know are the folks at the fire station and the kids I teach kung fu to,” Rory said. “I wouldn’t want to bring either of them into a fight like this.”

“Even though Mike would undoubtedly revel in the opportunity to kick vampire butt,” I murmured.

Rory flashed me a grin. “He would, but he’s still just a kid beneath all that hate and fierceness.”

“Mike being the street kid you mentioned a few weeks back?” Jackson said. “The one you asked to uncover whether there’s a black market cure for the N41A drug Sam gave us?”

That was the drug he’d used to enforce his order to stay away from Morretti and stop investigating Baltimore’s murder. While it might not have dissipated from our systems, we still needed to find an antidote in case it was used on us again.

Rory nodded. “There isn’t, at least not through normal channels. He’s going deeper.”

“I hope you told him to be careful,” I said.

He gave me the look. I merely grinned and kept demolishing my food.

“There is another option help-wise,” Jackson said, his tone contemplative. “I could contact a couple of guys I know—”

“You have male friends?” I cut in, in a shocked sort of voice. “Who’d have thought that possible?”

“They are far rarer than female friends, let me assure you.” His tone was dry. “However, I know at least one of them is within driving distance to Melbourne. And they both like a good fight.”

“I’m not sure five of us, even if armed to the hilt, are going to be enough,” Rory said. “Not if the meet tomorrow takes a bad turn.”

“Ah, but there’s the rub,” Jackson said. “They’re Fae. Earth Fae, to be precise.”

Meaning the concrete the vampires thought would protect them would actually become a weapon in the hands of an earth Fae, as they could control not only the earth itself but anything that came out of it. I grinned. “Excellent.”

Jackson nodded. “Be warned, though—they are Fae, and they can no more let a pretty woman pass them by without at least flirting with her than I can.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And this is a problem because?”

“Because I haven’t finished flirting with you yet.”

“And here I was thinking Fae didn’t get territorial,” Rory commented.

“Oh, we don’t. I’d just prefer it if Em wasted all her energy on me.”

“Yeah, definitely not territorial at all,” I murmured.

He grinned and pushed wearily to his feet. “I’ll give them a call; then I’m going to hit the sack.”

“Sleep tight,” I said.

He nodded and clomped up the stairs. I returned my gaze to Rory. “Any luck finding information on the Aswang?”

“Yes and no. I managed to track down an old Filipino medicine man, but he refused to talk to me. He said he needed to see the lady of fire—the one who dreams.”

I blinked. “He knew what you—we—are?”

“From the minute I walked into his shop. He told me off for arriving late, in fact.” Rory smiled and shook his head. “It was a weird encounter, let me tell you. But you’ll soon have the chance to experience it for yourself.”

I frowned, not liking the sound of that. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning he’ll be here in”—he glanced at his watch—“a few minutes.”

“Damn it, Rory, why didn’t you make the appointment for the morning? I’m dead tired—”

“I didn’t make the appointment,” he cut in. “The old guy did. And, trust me, he would not take no for an answer.”

“You still shouldn’t have given him this address. We’ve gone underground, remember?” I grabbed the bottle of Coke and topped off my glass. I had a sudden feeling I was going to need the caffeine hit.

“I didn’t tell him.” His expression was bland, but amusement lurked at the corners of his eyes.

Before I could comment, someone knocked on the door. Rory rose, checked the peephole, and then opened the door. The man who stood outside was small in both height and build, and his back was so badly bowed that he wasn’t far off being a hunchback. His skin was nut-brown and leatherlike, and his face, when he looked up, was heavily creviced.

But it was his eyes that caught my attention.

They were white—all white. There was color in neither his iris nor his pupil, but they shone with so much power and knowledge it sent a shiver down my spine. Eyes like that had always been an indicator of a true shaman, but they were a rare find in this day and age.

He walked across to the table with a surety that belied his age and posture, and gave me a nod of greeting. “Lady of Fire and Dreams, it is a great honor to meet you.” His voice was soft and held only the slightest hint of an accent.

“I’m sure it would have been even more of a pleasure had it not been so damn late.” I smiled to take the sting out of my words. “My name is Emberly, and you’ve already met Rory.”

He nodded. “I am Babaylan, but you may call me Lan.”

I had the feeling we’d just been bestowed a great honor. “So, tell me, Lan, why would you call me a dreamer? That’s not a gift phoenixes have.”

“But it is nevertheless one you do possess. Do not test my patience by suggesting otherwise.” His tone was sharp, but true shamans were like that. They knew things—saw things—ordinary people never could or would, and they did not suffer fools lightly. “And I’m afraid circumstances do not allow us the gift of a later time. The dreams await, my lady.”

“Meaning the Aswang is about to ramp up its attacks?” And that I’d dream about it tonight?

“Yes, but that creature is the least of your problems. May I sit?” He motioned to the chair Rory had vacated.

“Sorry, yes. Would you like a drink? Perhaps a coffee?”

“No, thank you.” He sat and sighed. “My old bones do not fare so well in the chill of night.”

Which made his willingness to come out in it all the more worrying. I glanced at Rory as he claimed the seat next to me, and then said, “Why is the Aswang the least of our problems?”

“Because the omens have been growing worse over this past year, and the darkness is finally rising.”

“What darkness are we talking about specifically?” Rory asked. “Vampires? Or creatures like the Aswang?”

The old man’s gaze didn’t shift from my face, and it made me feel like a kid who’d asked the wrong question—even though I hadn’t actually asked it. “You’ve both been in this world for a very long time. You must be aware that centuries rich in cultural, medical, and political gains are always followed by a period of darkness. That is what this city now faces.”

Rory and I shared an uncertain glance. “What, like the Dark Ages?” he said.

Lan shook his head. “That term really applies only to a cultural and economic deterioration. What now approaches is more metaphysical.”

I frowned. “Meaning we’re about to get flooded by preternatural phenomena?”

“Flooded? No. Not immediately.”

“I guess that’s a relief,” I muttered.

Rory asked, “What type of phenomena are we talking about? Creatures or events?”

“Both. And it has already begun. The darkness that grows in Brooklyn, and the Aswang you hunt, are but the first of many who will be drawn to this place.” He paused, his expression grave. “There are few dreamers left in this world who have the ability to hunt such things.”

“I’m not—”

“A huntress,” he finished for me. “But you may yet be forced to become one.”

No damn way, I wanted to say, but I held the words in check. I might not have had much to do with shamans over the years, but I did know they were notoriously hard to argue with. “Let’s just concentrate on the Aswang for now. How do we stop the damn thing?”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew several charms. “These will stop it from shifting shape.”

I somewhat dubiously picked up one of the charms. It was about the size of a five-cent piece, but made of silver rather than alloy, if its weight was anything to go by. There were inscriptions on both sides, though I didn’t recognize the language. “What are we supposed to do with them?”

“Throw them into the creature as it shifts between shapes. It will, as I said, pin it to one form.”

Hopefully that form would be either human or the small cat. I really didn’t fancy fighting the monstrous black dog, even in spirit form. It might have fled when I’d confronted it in the alley, but who knew how it would react the next time?

I passed the charms over to Rory and then said, “What is the best way of killing it?”

“If it is pinned to a flesh form, either by your flames or by decapitation,” Lan said. “They are weaker in the day than at night and impossible to kill in smoke form.”

Meaning the damn charms had better work. “How are we supposed to find it? Is there any way to track it during the day?”

“No. They hunt well outside their own territory, so it might not even be based in the city. Your dreams provide the only hope.” He smiled and half raised a hand, as if in apology. “I wish I could help you more with this matter.”

Rory reached across and squeezed my hand, obviously sensing my frustration. “At least we now have a means of restraining it to one form. That’s more than we had five minutes ago.”

True. I took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Why is the Aswang moving from dining on the dead to the living?”

“Because the dead provide an easy feed, but as it grows stronger, it becomes more brazen and moves to sweeter, fresher flesh.”

“But it’s not eating flesh—it’s sucking out organs.”

“Because it considers them delicacies. And the younger the flesh, the sweeter the taste.”

An odd sense of foreboding flooded me. “Meaning it will eventually go after children?”

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

Then I had no choice—I had to stop it before that happened. I could—and did—sometimes ignore the dreams, but never those that involved children. Perhaps that was why the dreams didn’t start until the Aswang’s third kill—the prophetic part of me had known it was moving onto not only the living, but young ones at that.

The old man glanced at his watch, then pushed to his feet. “I must go. The time for dreaming approaches.” He hesitated, his expression concerned. “Be wary, both of you. Even fire can be doused by darkness.”

“Death is something we’ve faced many times before,” I said softly. “It’s not something we fear.”

“Ah, but death comes in many forms, my lady, and some of them you should definitely fear.” And with that warning hanging in the air, he nodded at Rory and left.

“You were right,” I said as Rory rose to lock the door. “That was definitely a different experience.”

“Yep. Nothing like a bit of doom and gloom to brighten the evening.” His gaze swept me as he moved back to the table, and his expression became concerned. “You feel a little low in energy.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, but we can’t risk a full recharge here, and we certainly can’t go home to do it.”

“No.” He reached across the table and clasped my hand, his flesh becoming flame where our fingers entwined. “But a little foreplay never hurt anyone, and it will at least boost your reserves a little.”

“And drain yours in the process.” Even so, I drew in his heat and energy, felt it surge through my body, refreshing and renewing the inner fires. It would have been easy—far too easy—to fully refuel at his expense, but that was neither fair nor wise.

After a few minutes, I sighed and pulled my fingers from his. “Thanks.”

He smiled, but little warmth touched his eyes. “We’re going to have to risk going home in the next day or so—especially if tomorrow night goes down as badly as I think it will.”

“I know.” I grabbed my drink and gulped down the last part of it. “But right now, sleep will have to suffice.”

Rory shook his head. “I don’t know how either of you can sleep immediately after a meal like that.”

“Cast-iron stomachs.” I got up, walked around the table, and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t stay up too late plotting various attack strategies for tomorrow night. We need you alert rather than sleepy.”

“I won’t. Sleep soundly.”

“That is doubtful, given what Lan said.”

“Shamans aren’t always right, Em. I wouldn’t read too much into his doom-and-gloom predictions right now.”

“It’s not the warnings of darkness I’m worried about. It’s the possibility of the Aswang’s next victim being a kid.” I waved good night and headed up the stairs to bed. Sleep found me all too quickly.

And, as predicted, so did the dream.

This time, I found myself at the intersection of two streets. To the left and right there was a mix of large old houses and commercial properties, but the street directly in front was filled with trees and century-old homes. I glanced up at the signs illuminated by the streetlight above them—I was standing at the junction of Edlington Street and Auburn Road. I wasn’t familiar with either of them.

For several minutes I didn’t move. I couldn’t see the creature, and the air was free from the scent of evil. A lone dog barked somewhere in the distance, but otherwise the night was still. Peaceful.

Then the click of nails against concrete began to echo, the sound so harsh and close at first that I had to quell the urge to spin around and look for the thing. It wouldn’t have done any good, because the magic this creature employed ensured that the closer it sounded, the farther away it actually was.

I waited, hands clenched against the heat that burned through me. As the clicking of its nails grew ever softer, its scent began to stain the night. I shuddered and kept my breathing shallow, not wanting to draw in its evil even in a dream.

As the clicking faded almost completely away, I glanced left. The creature walked toward me, its form that of a slightly larger-than-normal black cat. Its nose was in the air, tasting the night, and, after a moment, a grotesque smile touched its feline lips, revealing sharp yellow teeth—not feline teeth, but canine.

It strolled onto Edlington Street and crossed in front of me. Waves of evil and hunger hit, and my stomach rose as my breath caught in my throat. This thing was getting stronger with every kill.

I couldn’t let it kill tonight. I just couldn’t.

Looking neither right nor left, it padded down the sidewalk, seeming to know exactly where it was headed. I followed, looking for street numbers and anything else that might lend some clue as to what suburb we were in. But the night was dark and the large trees blocked out much of the light.

The creature paused in front of a six-foot-high wooden fence covered in ivy. A large number 7 had been screwed into the middle of the wooden gate, and several large gum trees dominated the small front yard beyond it. The house itself was neat and painted cheerfully in yellow and green. As the Aswang leapt the fence, it began to shift—change—until it was once again little more than ash. In that form, it slithered up to the front door and slipped inside.

I followed. The creature resumed cat form in the hall and padded past the first two doors. Someone was snoring inside the first, and the second was a bathroom. The third door was its target.

Inside was a child.

A baby.

And she was alive.

Horror froze me, even as fires erupted. But I couldn’t burn this thing, couldn’t help, not in this dream and not if I didn’t find where the hell this house was.

As if sensing my desperation, the dream spun and swept me into the kitchen. There on the counter were several envelopes—Hawthorn East. We were in Hawthorn East.

The dream shattered and I thrust up in bed, my heart going a mile a minute and my fear so fierce, I could taste it. Rory knelt beside the bed, his grip almost squashing my fingers as he swallowed the flames that threatened to set the place alight. In the bunk opposite, Jackson slept on, his body obviously even more drained of strength than he’d been admitting.

“The creature isn’t just going after a child—it’s going after a baby.” I shut down my fires and jumped out of bed. “I have to stop it.”

“Fuck,” Rory said, and immediately began dressing. “When and where?”

I gave him the address as I pulled on jeans and my sweater. “Do you know the area?”

“I think Auburn Road runs off Barkers Road.”

“Which is the continuation of Victoria Street, isn’t it?” When he nodded, I added, “You have to contact Sam.”

“You can’t—”

“I fucking can.” I took a deep breath to calm my anger and gripped Rory’s arm briefly. “I’m sorry. It’s just that the baby’s not dead and—” I hesitated, flames and tears surging in equal amounts.

Understanding flashed through his expression. “Grab the charms and go. There’s a public phone box down the street, so I’ll ring Sam, then follow.”

“Thanks.” I kissed his cheek, then raced down the stairs to grab the charms before running outside.

The moon was lower in the sky, but everything was still. Hushed. It was almost as if the night, aware of the terrible thing about to happen, were holding its breath in denial.

I raced into the street but didn’t bother getting into the car. It wouldn’t be fast enough. The only way I was going to get across to East Hawthorn in time was in spirit form.

It was a risk, a huge risk, but I didn’t care. Not when the life of a baby was at stake.

I became flame and surged into the sky, streaking through the darkness so fast, anyone watching on the streets below would have thought I was nothing more than a small comet with an odd trajectory.

Thankfully, Victoria Street wasn’t far away from Johnston Street. Once I’d found it, I followed it along, dipping lower only once it crossed the Yarra River and became Barkers Road. Parked cars lined either side of the wide road, but once again the street was empty of life and no trams ran along the tracks that ran down the center of the street.

I flamed down the long hill and past the lush sports grounds of Xavier College, until I came to the Auburn Road intersection. There were several more intersections and another long hill before I reached Edlington Street. As I raced onto it, I sent a prayer to all the gods, asking them to give me a break and allow me to stop the creature before it got anywhere near that house or the baby.

But as I shifted to human form, I was confronted by the sharp wail of a child and a woman screaming.

The gods weren’t listening.

The creature was already here.