The day before, Leesha had called to say she'd finally found where they'd hidden the Dragonheart, along with the rest of the things stolen from the ghyll. She'd wanted him to meet her in the sanctuary, but he wasn't fool enough to fall for that. She'd tried to make a deal over the phone, but Warren demanded that she meet him here to talk terms. And from this vantage point, he could see if she brought anyone with her.

Traders. He snorted. They always thought they were in a position to negotiate.

If she was telling the truth, things might work out after all. It had been stupid bad luck that Jason got away before Warren had a chance to interrogate him. Warren had sweated it, worrying he'd never get the information he needed. But now things were back on track. Once he had the Dragonheart, he'd have no need of D'Orsay. With the covenant and the Dragonheart, wizards would flow to his banner. He'd make the rules. There'd be no more skulking in back alleys, watching for death over his shoulder.

If Leesha showed, she'd bring the goods. Otherwise, she wouldn't dare leave the sanctuary. She'd want the collar removed. As if that would ever happen. Hunted as he was, he needed someone to do his bidding. Slave Leesha. He wasn't ready to give her up.

Something was moving on the street below. Warren focused, feeling the proximity of the collar. He leaned into the opening, careful of the broken glass on either side.

It was Leesha. She passed under a mercury vapor light on the side of a building, her shadow stretching out in front of her, a backpack slung over her shoulder. He looked up and down the street. She seemed to be alone.

It was funny when you thought about it, a teenage girl walking alone in this neighborhood at 2 a.m. Any mugger who thought he saw an easy target was in for a surprise.

She reached the warehouse and turned aside, passing under him to the entrance. Warren slid through the window and descended the fire escape into an alley. Once again, he looked up and down the street, alert for betrayal. There was nobody.

As he entered through the side door, Leesha was spinning around, flame spattering out in all directions. He flung himself backward, throwing his shields up, then realized he was not the target. Blueblood Leesha was frying rats.

“Hey! Be careful with that. You'll burn the place down.”

She swung toward him. “As if that would be a loss. I can't believe you asked me to meet you in this dump,” she said.

He relaxed a little. It was Leesha, all right.

“Funny,” he said. “People keep trying to kill me. This place seemed safer than my apartment.”

“Really? Darn. Well, I don't want to be here any longer than I have to in case somebody tries again.” She unslung the backpack, setting it on top of a barrel like it was made of glass. “OK. I brought it all. The Dragonheart. And some other stuff. Only—be careful. It's really powerful and hard to handle. They've been having trouble controlling it, I guess.”

“Where'd you find it?”

“They had it hidden under McCauley's porch.”

“How'd you find out it was there?”

“I bribed someone.”

“Good work, Leesha. I'm proud of you.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. “I was wondering. What happened with J…with Haley? Did you…did you find him?”

Good, Warren thought, crossing one problem off his list. Haley is history. Never called. Never wrote. Never came back and snuffed Leesha Middleton for ratting him out. He must be dead after all.

“Yeah, I did find him, as a matter of fact,” Warren said, smiling. “Why do you ask?”

Leesha bit her lip. “Just…wondered, is all,” she whispered.

Don't tell me Leesha Middleton is growing a conscience, he thought. That would be inconvenient.

But she pulled herself together and checked her watch. “Look,” she said coldly. “You asked for the Dragonheart and I delivered. Now take this thing off and I'm out of here.” She slid her forefinger into her neckline and lifted her chin, exposing the glittering torc.

Warren laid his hand on the bag. “You expect me to take your word for it?”

“See for yourself. The Dragonheart's in the velvet bag on top. I'd rather you not mess with it until after I leave. In case you set it off.”

“Nuh-uh.” He shoved the backpack toward her. “Show me.”

Hissing with irritation, Leesha unzipped the backpack and pulled out a velvet bag with a drawstring. She worked free the knotted ties.

Then she flung the pouch at him.

He leaped to the side and hit the floor rolling. When the pouch landed, it exploded into a shower of carbon-black powder. Like coal dust.

Gemynd bana. Mind-Slayer. Meant to knock him out in an instant.

Leesha was more agile than he'd given her credit for. She backflipped out of range of the powder explosion, and scrambled madly for the door. He could have used the collar; he could've used an immobilization charm, but some things are best done directly. He charged after her, three long strides, and then tackled her, bringing her down on the floor under him. Her head bounced, hard, on the battered wooden floor.

He threw up a shield in time to turn an immobilization charm and a gout of flame. Pinned her hands to keep her from scratching his eyes out, then sent a little disciplinary flame through the collar. She screamed and thrashed around, trying to rip her hands free.

“You scheming little double-crossing trader,” Warren muttered. “What did you hope to accomplish?” And then, understanding flooded in. “Who are you working for now? D'Orsay? Longbranch? McCauley?” He could've gone down a whole long list, but just then the front door shattered, spraying them both with wood splinters and hardware.

Two tall figures stood in the empty doorframe. One had a wicked sword in his hand. The other didn't need one. A warrior and a wizard side by side.

It was Jack Swift, looking like a muscle-bound action hero. Except for the Trinity Soccer T-shirt and blue jeans.

And Seph McCauley. Leesha was right when she said he was scary. He was scarcely recognizable as the naive blueblood who'd arrived at the Havens. He was taller than Warren remembered, thin and angular and intense, as if he'd outgrown his weight. He wore a black hoodie and jeans, and his pale face and green eyes were framed in a tangle of curls. You could see Hastings's blood in him—distilled down and concentrated. Leicester had been an idiot not to spot it at the Havens.

Warren rolled to his feet. He reached down and grabbed Leesha by the arm and hauled her up in front of him, pressing his fingers into her carotid, where a whisper of power could stop the flow of blood.

“They made me!” Leesha said, flinching at the sting of his fingers.

“Sure they did,” he muttered. He followed that with the classic, “Back off or the girl dies! ”Wondering if they'd care.

Swift scanned the room for other enemies, then focused back on Warren. “I guessed that we'd run into each other again, sooner or later. I should've killed you the last time I saw you.”

Right. He should've. But Jack Swift had been too noble to cut the throat of a helpless enemy. Which was why Barber was totally going to win.

McCauley extended a hand and muttered a charm, and Leesha went limp in Warren's arms. Immobilized.

Clever. Warren could still choose to kill her, but he'd have to drag her body around with him if he wanted to keep using her as a shield and hostage.

He tried the countercharm but it went nowhere. McCauley's magic was wicked strong. Warren was getting sick of it. How many times was he going to have to face off with him?

“Put her down, Barber, and let's talk,” McCauley said. “We want the Covenant, and we want to know what happened to Jason.”

The Covenant. Jason Haley. You couldn't trust a trader with any kind of secret if someone else made a better offer. "I don't know what you're talking about. Leesha asked me to meet her here. Said she had a proposition. Then she attacked me.

“Right.” Swift feinted with the sword, and Warren turned, keeping Leesha between himself and the warrior's blade. But it was an exhausting business, and Warren wasn't exactly fast on his feet.

“Don't be stupid,” Warren said. “She's a trader, remember? She'll say anything if she thinks she can turn a profit.”

“Lucky you're here to set us straight.” McCauley fired an immobilization charm, and Warren lunged sideways to avoid it. Swift rolled fireballs off the tip of his sword, spinning them past Warren's ears. Leesha just wasn't big enough to provide good cover. Warren countered with a wizard graffe that barely missed nailing McCauley, but then the boy wonder whipped off three charms in answer, and Warren knew this was a battle he couldn't win.

His only advantage was that they probably wanted him healthy enough to interrogate.

Lifting Leesha's limp body, Warren pitched her into Swift and McCauley. He spun a razorwire net, gathering it up and sending it spiraling over them. Limp Leesha, Swift, and McCauley ended up tangled together on the floor in a kind of giant bleeding cocoon, the wire cutting into their flesh. Swift struggled to maneuver his massive sword into position so he could cut through the net without decapitating anyone. Warren sent cascades of wizard flame boiling into their midst until McCauley put up a makeshift shield.

Warren didn't wait to see the outcome. Swiveling, he sprayed the perimeter of the room with flame. It went up with a whoosh.

What do you know? he thought. This warehouse is a firetrap.

Wizard fire was notoriously hard to extinguish. The place was history, and three of his major problems would go up with it.

Though in Leesha's case, there was no need to trust to luck. Regretfully, he dismissed thoughts of Slave Leesha and muttered a charm that activated the torc. Would she burn to death, or strangle first?

He sprinted toward the rear door, pausing in the back hallway long enough to weave a web over the doorway. Even if they freed themselves from the net, the web would slow them down long enough to allow the flame and smoke to do their work.

As he turned to make his exit, he heard a sound behind him and instinctively dodged aside. Something crashed down on his head. If it hadn't caught him off center, he would've been done for sure.