Though Nick didn’t want to admit it, Jamie’s presence helped the work go faster. Not just because he could do sums at a pace that made Nick’s head spin. After a tense beginning, there was something oddly relaxing about having him there.

Having company, Nick corrected himself. It could have been anyone, really.

Except Nick had trouble sometimes, keeping his eyes on his work. He found himself sneaking glances at Jamie’s profile. At the way Jamie bit his lip in concentration, just the slightest indentation of white teeth against pale pink. The way he ran his hand absently through his hair, until it stuck up every which way.

The sun went down, and Nick lit the lamps, then ducked out to the little restaurant two doors down. He returned with linguini and meatballs, accompanied by an inexpensive bottle of wine.

The wine might not have been the best idea. Nick had carefully not thought about his motives while buying it.

Jamie looked at the wine, then at Nick, but didn’t say anything. Once they’d settled into the meal, Nick nodded at the ledger Jamie had put aside. “If you get tired of the MWP, you can always go into accounting.”

Jamie speared a meatball on his fork. “Never thought about it, to be honest. Uncle Hurley always said I’d grow up to be a copper, just like him, so I didn’t really consider anything else.”

Another reason to dislike O’Malley, as if Nick needed one more. “And you always do what he tells you?”

“Of course not!” Jamie focused his gaze on his linguini. “I mean, not exactly. I know my duty, that’s all. You have to understand. Hurley took in my sister Muriel and me when we were just wee little things. He was like a dad to us. It ain’t easy for a man to raise up two children on his own, but he did it without a word of complaint. How was I to let him down, after all that?”

Nick let out a noncommittal grunt. Jamie shrugged, and said, “I went to the MWP because I was worried he’d try to use his influence to move me up through the ranks at the regular police. I wanted to earn it, and my witch potential was high enough for them to take me. Hell, Uncle Hurley even encouraged it, since I’d make a bit more money than a regular copper would.” He paused. “Then one day last year, Uncle Hurley came by with news. He’d gotten me a place in the First Volunteer Cavalry.”

The devil? Nick sat forward. “Had you asked…?”

“Nay. Don’t get me wrong,” Jamie hastened to add. “I was glad to do my duty. I served with some fine men. But it wasn’t something I chose, exactly. Uncle Hurley had a personal connection with Roosevelt, after saving him from that poisoned hex back in ’95, and called in a favor to get me a place in the unit. The next thing I knew, I was on my way to San Antonio.”

Nick shook his head wordlessly. Who signed up their nephew to go off and fight in a war, without even asking if it was something he wanted first? Nick noted their wine glasses were empty and refilled them. “You didn’t try to talk him out of it?”

“It was already too late. And I would’ve sounded like a coward, wouldn’t I?” Jamie’s eyes hardened slightly. “It was chaos by the time we reached Tampa. Troops everywhere, and not enough ships to take them. We had to leave the horses behind—some cavalry, eh?” Jamie downed a good portion of his wine. “Without horses, once we got to Cuba we had to abandon supplies on the beach and hope for the best. Our packs were meant for mounted troops, and now suddenly we had to carry them through a jungle on our own backs, instead of strapped to a saddle. Some men just threw theirs down and left them by the trail. You’d best believe they regretted that later on, since we didn’t have supply lines worth speaking of. Then we walked straight into an ambush at Las Guasimas. It was a mess.”

Nick drank his wine more slowly. “Sounds like it.”

“I ain’t supposed to talk about it like this.” Jamie’s gaze fixed on his glass, as though it held some answer for him in its depths. “I’m supposed to make it sound like fun, an adventure. A glorious undertaking, free of pain or grief or stupid mistakes that could have been avoided.”

“I think you should talk about it the way you want,” Nick said. “You were there—what gives anyone else the right to tell you how you ought to feel about it?”

Jamie’s eyes widened, and he met Nick’s gaze, surprise written all over his features. “Because everyone expects me to feel differently,” he said after a long pause. “The papers portrayed it as some sort of…of Boys Own Adventure. Where even the men who died did so cleanly, with dignity, instead of screaming and suffering.” He swallowed convulsively. “I don’t mean to say they weren’t heroes all. Good men. I would have died for any of them, and them for me. Hell, maybe if I’d been there for the battle at San Juan Heights, I’d feel more…I don’t know.” Jamie slumped in his chair. “Like folks expect. Like a hero.”

“Anyone else know you feel this way?” Nick asked, because he thought he knew the answer, and wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Of course not.” Jamie seemed to ponder it for a moment. “But you don’t judge me.” Then he laughed. “Wait, I take that back—you judge me all the time for being a witch. Nothing else I could say would make you think any less of me, so why not be honest?”

The words shouldn’t have stung. “I don’t think you’re a bad sort,” Nick protested. “I mean, for a witch, obviously.”

“Obviously.” But Jamie managed a smile. “Thanks for listening.”

“Thanks for helping with the books.”

Silence settled between them, but this time it felt charged. The wine had brought a slight flush to Jamie’s fair cheeks, and a tiny spot of sauce clung to the corner of his lips. Nick had the overwhelming urge to kiss it away.

He knew he ought to cling to whatever was left of his principles, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to pretend, for a few hours at least, that Jamie was just another man. Not his witch, not O’Malley’s nephew.

Jamie must have read something of his thoughts on his face. He finished off his wine, then set it aside. “I won’t do this if you can’t look me in the eyes after.”

Nick had bruised the man’s pride, not even meaning to. “I’m sorry about that. I was upset with myself, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have.” Jamie’s gaze didn’t waver. “If you’re going to be ashamed of yourself after, then don’t put a hand on me again. Ain’t nothing wrong with what we did.”

“You’re a witch,” Nick said softly.

“And you’re not Wyatt.”

The words caught Nick like an unexpected blow. He’d not thought of Jamie as a grieving lover. Of course not—Jamie was a witch, and witches only cared about what they could get from a familiar.

But Wyatt already had a witch. Whatever Jamie had felt, it hadn’t been about magic, or power.

If only he’d known Wyatt better. Known why he hadn’t gone to Jamie when he returned to New York.

“No,” Nick said at last. “I suppose I’m not. Is that a problem?”

“Aye? Maybe?” Jamie shook his head. “He died a year ago…he died just a few days ago…and I can’t see how to reconcile the two.”

So much for pretending they were just a couple of ordinary men. “If you don’t want…”

“I do, though.” Jamie’s eyes burned bright as green flames. “I do want.”

If the fuck in the cave had been a mistake, this was madness. Nick knew he’d regret it later. Hell, probably they both would. But right now, with the wine warm in his blood, and the bond warm in his chest, he couldn’t bring himself to care. “I’ll do better this time. If you still want to give it a go, that is.”

Leaning heavily on the desk, Jamie made his way to Nick’s side. He braced his hands on Nick’s shoulders, looked deep into his eyes, and, with a bit of maneuvering, straddled his lap. “Aye,” he whispered against Nick’s lips.

Nick closed his hands on Jamie’s hips. Jamie’s mouth was hot on his, insistent. The hard line of his erection pressed against Nick’s through their clothing, and Jamie rolled his hips, rubbing them together.

Nick plucked the hem of Jamie’s shirt free of his trousers and slid his hands beneath. Hot skin met his touch, and he traced Jamie’s flanks, feeling the curve of rib and muscle. He bit Jamie’s lower lip, then sucked on it, before kissing him again.

There came a heavy pounding on the apartment door.

Jamie tensed, and Nick swore. “Nick!” called a voice from the other side. “Are you in there?”

Oh hell. “It’s Rodrigo.”

Jamie swung off of him, gripping the chair for balance. After the heat of his body, the air felt cold. Nick cursed again, silently this time, and went to the door.

Rodrigo stood there, his dark curls wild around his face. A grayish tinge underlay the bronze tones of his skin. “The killer,” he blurted, before Nick could say anything. “I saw him. He’s in the park now, and—and I think he’s murdered someone else.”

Jamie swore as he laced on his leg. Of all the blasted times for the killer to show up…

Maybe it was for the best. At least he’d been here when word came. Now if he could just keep Nick from rushing off without him. “We have to go, now.”

“Where was he?” Nick asked Rodrigo.

“Greywacke Arch.” The handsome bat familiar shuddered. “The rumors were true, Nick. It isn’t human. The man it attacked wasn’t small, and it lifted him off his feet like he weighed no more than a child. It had horns, like Satan himself!”

“Fur and feathers, there’s no such thing,” Nick said. “No ghosts, no devils, none of it but some maniac who likes to kill ferals.”

Jamie stood up and took a couple of steps to make certain his stump was properly seated and the lacing wasn’t too loose or too tight. “We need to hurry. Even if we’re too late to save the victim, we can at least catch the bastard.”

“Agreed,” Nick said grimly.

As they emerged onto the sidewalk, Jamie realized what Nick’s tone had meant. He grabbed Nick’s sleeve. “You ain’t going without me.”

Nick yanked loose, nostrils flaring. “There’s no time. Even if you could run, you’d only slow me down.”

No. No, he wasn’t letting this happen again. He wasn’t going to stay behind while Nick went on. He was going to be there with him, the way he hadn’t been for Wyatt. “You ain’t doing this alone, damn it! You heard Rodrigo—there’s something strange going on. You’re just going to get yourself killed, and for what?”

Nick clutched at his hair, paced a few steps away, then back. “Fine. Have it your way. But don’t even think about ever telling anyone about this.”

He shifted into horse form in a flash of light. Jamie had forgotten how damned big he was: a massive destrier whose hooves could crush a man’s skull. Maybe Nick would have been fine on his own after all.

“Rodrigo, go to the Coven and let the MWP know what’s happening,” Jamie ordered. “Tell them to get up here and help us as fast as they can.”

Rodrigo nodded and shifted into bat form without argument.

Jamie used the stoop to mount, and ended up sprawled awkwardly over Nick’s back, with no saddle to help him stay on. Nick’s skin twitched as he righted himself, and for a horrible moment Jamie thought instinct would take over and Nick would buck him into the street. Instead, he pawed angrily at the sidewalk.

“Hold on,” he advised inside Jamie’s head.

Jamie obeyed, clinging as tight as he could with his knees and gripping the flowing mane in his hands. Then Nick was in motion, going faster and faster, until he cantered onto Seventh Avenue.

The October air blew in Jamie’s face, cold but exhilarating. He worried he’d have trouble staying on, with no saddle or reins, but his body somehow knew what to do. He and Nick seemed to move together, as if they’d been doing this for years. Decades. The bond, surely, was behind it, but Jamie didn’t care. A strange elation surged through him at the sensation of the equine power beneath him. At the smell of Nick’s sweat in his nostrils, and Nick’s mane flying back to tickle his face. Hooves like thunder on the streets, and people scattering out of the way.

They entered Central Park through Inventor’s Gate, and Nick stretched into a gallop on the gas lit drive. The wind picked up, and leaves streamed down from the trees, each one a moving shadow. Jamie leaned low over Nick’s neck, silently urging him on. If they could just get to the crime scene in time, before the killer was done, they could put an end to this nightmare once and for all.

Then they’d go their separate ways.

A streetlamp burned below the bridge, illuminating the gray stone, the delicate shape of the Spanish-style arch. Nick stayed up on the drive, slowing to a walk. Jamie started to dismount, but he said, “Not yet. You won’t be able to get back on easily.”

“If you weren’t so damn big,” Jamie groused.

“Most men prefer it that way.”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Was that a joke?”

“Maybe.” Nick froze, head up, nostrils flared. “I smell blood.”

The lamp on the path below flung geometric shadows of the arch’s iron railings over the pavement. A dark shape sprawled in the center of the arch. Nick approached with caution, and details gradually became clearer. Just as with the first two victims, the corpse lay on its back. A man, by the looks of it, his throat cut and body cavity opened up. The hex painted around him in blood still glistened wetly.

“I knew him,” Nick said grimly.

Jamie stared at the corpse, feeling as though the ground had suddenly shifted beneath them. The only solid thing in the world was Nick. “So did I. Or, not knew him. But I saw him last week, when Uncle Hurley arrested him for violating the Pemberton Act.”

Nick’s ears flattened against his head, and his upper lip drew back from his teeth. Luther. Lion familiar. He’d heard the news when Luther was arrested; everyone did.

So what the hell was he doing here now?

Jamie must have been having the same thoughts, because he said, “Did he escape from the Menagerie? I mean, he must have, right? Maybe they wanted to keep it quiet.”

The witch’s weight on his back should have felt wrong. Nick had half expected he’d have to fight the instinct to buck him off all the way over here. But the part of him that governed his magic must have been the same part that let him be a horse, because there had been a terrible rightness in the way they’d moved together.

Which seemed utterly unfair.

“So where did he go?” Jamie asked. “The Wraith. He couldn’t have been gone long.” Nick felt a shudder run through Jamie’s body. “Luther—the corpse—is still steaming.”

“Give me a minute.”

“To what?”

“Just be quiet!”

Jamie fell silent. Nick walked past the body; every hoof fall sounded unnaturally loud. The scent of blood faded somewhat, but didn’t entirely disappear. Rather, it was joined by the reek of something long dead and rotting. Nick followed the trail, straining all his senses.

There was no moon, but the gaslights along the drive offered plenty of illumination. Not to mention Nick’s night vision was much sharper in horse form than in human. He could make out the thin spire of Cleopatra’s Needle against the sky, and the bulk of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Just ahead, something moved. An inhuman figure seemed to coalesce from the shadows themselves. A thing of ragged cloth and exposed bone, as though it had clawed its way out of some desolate grave to rain down vengeance on the living. The bones clicked together with every movement, a dry sound like the legs of a beetle. A pair of curving horns rose from its head, but beneath the hood was only blackness. It stank of blood and death, and it held an obsidian blade in its claw-tipped fingers.

No wonder the ferals of the park called it a wraith.

“Saint Mary,” Jamie whispered. “What is it?”

“The killer,” Nick told him. “Hold on tight.”

Then Nick charged.

He felt a flash of shock through the bond, and Jamie’s knees tightened on his flanks. Hoof beats echoed like thunder from the trees.

“Are you crazy?” Jamie yelped.

The Wraith stood motionless for a long moment, as if waiting for Nick to get close. As if it had all the time in the world. When the space between them had closed to a matter of yards, it lifted a taloned hand and grasped one of the bones strung amidst ragged cloth.

Then it ran.

Fast—faster than anything human, that was for certain. One moment it was motionless, and the next it was all but in Nick’s face, tattered cloth flaring out around it like wings, bones clattering an alarm.

Nick shied away. He tried to turn, nearly going down on his haunches, Jamie’s hands locked tight in his mane and his thighs gripping hard with the effort not to slip off.

The Wraith was well past them, now, vanishing down the drive in the direction of the transverse road with all the speed of a cheetah.

“What was it?” Jamie asked, voice shaking slightly. “It looked like…”

Nick broke into a gallop, eliciting a curse from Jamie. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s no ghost.” Jamie’s hesitation plucked at the bond, so he added, “Trust me.”

“I do,” Jamie said, and the hesitation vanished.

Jamie trusted him, on a deep level. Nick hadn’t expected that, wasn’t even certain what to do with it. But maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised; Jamie had already shared with him things he’d told no one else.

It almost made Nick want to be worthy of that trust.

Nick veered onto the path overlooking the sunken transverse road. The dark figure appeared to move in a series of flickers along it. But it was just an illusion: its dark clothing was revealed in pools of light from the street lamps, then vanished into the shadows between them.

The Wraith made its way deeper into the park. Did it have a hiding place in mind, or was it simply trying to outrun them?

One of Jamie’s hands released Nick’s mane and reached into his coat to draw out his Colt. “Stop!” Jamie bellowed at the fleeing figure below them. “Police!”

“Does that ever work?”

“Sometimes.” Jamie leaned low against Nick’s neck, as if urging him forward. “I don’t understand. If it ain’t a ghost, how can it run so damned fast?”

Nick didn’t have an answer to that, so he concentrated on keeping up with the fleeing figure. As they reached the tunnel bridge over the transverse road, the wraith suddenly veered off, disappearing into the darkness.

“Where did it go?” Jamie asked.

Nick’s night vision was much sharper than Jamie’s. He saw the figure scramble up the rocky wall—how had it made such a steep climb so easily?—and onto the path above. Behind it loomed a tower of gray stone, reaching for the night sky.

“It’s making for Belvedere Castle,” Nick said.

It wasn’t actually a castle, of course. Just a folly, a bit of whimsy added by the park’s architects to delight visitors with the view of the Croton Waterworks to the north and the Ramble to the south.

Nick galloped over the bridge across the transverse road, up the stairs, and onto the folly’s terrace. Gaslights burned all around, painting the gray paving stones in orange tones. The wind sighed around the cornices and rippled the surface of the water beyond. Fallen leaves skittered across the terrace like small, frightened animals.

The Wraith stood in the light, awaiting them. The lamps outlined its form, gleaming off the black ram’s horns projecting from beneath the hood, finding the paleness of bone amidst dark clothing. Revealed, too, what shadows and speed had largely hidden. A pair of black boots, scuffed and worn in places, which solidly met the ground.

Nick didn’t slow. “Drop the knife!” Jamie shouted.

The Wraith didn’t drop the knife. Jamie fired, the gunshot painfully loud to Nick’s sensitive hearing. The Wraith jerked slightly, as if at an impact…but it didn’t fall.

By then, Nick was almost on it. At the last moment, it twisted aside before Nick could run it down. One hand shot out, and Nick glimpsed the paper hex the Wraith held concealed in its palm.

“Be bound to your human form.”