The sun had just broken the horizon when someone knocked on the door to Nick’s apartment. He’d barely slept last night, even after he’d crawled into bed well after the bar had closed. In the dark of the bedroom, with nothing else left to distract him, he’d been all too aware of the little coal of heat tucked into his chest.

The bond with his witch.

With Jamie, of the green eyes interrupted by a splash of brown. Of the supple lips and handsome face. Heat swept over him, and Nick almost put a hand to his prick, before remembering he didn’t fuck coppers, and he definitely didn’t fuck witches. Not even in his own imagination, where no one else would ever know.

He’d know, and that was enough. He couldn’t start thinking of the witch as someone he wouldn’t mind taking up against a wall, because the situation was complicated enough as it was.

So he’d closed his eyes and tried to picture someone else while he stroked his prick. But his mind kept returning to Jamie, and his eventual orgasm left him feeling oddly disappointed.

The knock came again. Nick sighed and turned away from the mirror where he’d been in the midst of shaving. “All right, all right.”

He swung open the door and found the man who’d occupied his thoughts in the flesh.

Jamie wore plain clothes today instead of the uniform. A wool overcoat, not new but not too worn, held off the chill of a frosty October morning. The suit beneath was newer; a slight bulge above and around his left knee interrupted the fit of the trousers. A trace of sandalwood cologne teased Nick’s senses, made him draw in a deeper breath.

Jamie arched a brow, and Nick realized he was standing in the door like an idiot, half his jaw still covered in shaving soap, the razor in his hand. “Good morning to you,” Jamie said, and held up a paper sack. “I brought doughnuts.”

“Why?” Nick asked suspiciously, because when did witches ever do anything just for the sake of it?

“Because I’m hungry.” Jamie lowered the sack and cocked his head. A sly smile played on his lips. “Ain’t you?” As if he knew what Nick was really hungry for.

Nick’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. Jamie laughed. “Well, that answers that.”

Nick stepped back and ushered him into the apartment. “There’s coffee on the stove—help yourself.”

While Nick finished shaving, Jamie poured them both coffee. “You look done in. You ain’t running the saloon and working for the MWP both, are you?”

“What sort of fool question is that? Of course I am.” Nick wiped the last traces of soap from his face. In truth, he needed to hire another bartender, in addition to Kyle.

But the ferals hiding in the cellar complicated things. He couldn’t just hire anyone—they needed to be absolutely trustworthy. And trust was hard to come by these days, even between ferals.

He hated thinking a feral would betray other ferals. But he knew from experience that some would. Instead of working together to raise up all familiars, they’d tear each other apart. Fight over scraps on the floor, while the witches feasted at the table.

“Did you get any sleep at all?” Jamie asked around a mouthful of fried dough.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Nick snapped. “Keep your concern, witch. I don’t need it.”

Jamie looked doubtful, but shrugged. “Have it your way. Oh, before I forget, I have something for you.”

He took a silver badge from his coat pocket and held it out. Nick stared at the stylized cat in the center, the symbol of the MWP familiars.

Agreeing to work with them was one thing. But this made it seem more real, somehow. He was a copper, at least temporarily, and the badge made it impossible to deny.

Like it or not, the day might come when he needed its authority. He took it gingerly, and pinned it to the inside of his coat, where it wouldn’t be visible.

His appetite had deserted him, but he choked down the fried dough anyway. No sense letting Jamie see his unease. “Let’s go, then,” Nick said, once he’d washed the doughnut down with coffee. “Doreen and Estelle have jobs they need to get to, and I don’t want to delay them.”

Jamie nodded. “That’s one of the reasons I came early.”

The witch’s words caught Nick off guard. Bringing breakfast, taking into mind Pia’s roommates had other things to do than just wait around…it was considerate. Which he hadn’t expected from a witch.

Jamie wanted something. That was the only explanation. Thanks to the fucking bond, he already had Nick’s magic. Did he think he was going to trick Nick into making it permanent?

If so, he’d soon find Nick wasn’t such an easy mark, to be bribed by doughnuts and achieving a bare minimum of decency.

“Come on,” Nick grunted. “Just let me do all the talking.”

“I don’t usually let witches come here,” Nick said as he led the way up to the second floor. “Now it’s twice in a year.” He shook his head, as though it were somehow a personal failing.

Jamie followed him up, taking the stairs carefully since he didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. Still, it was hard to concentrate on where he was going rather than gawk at his surroundings. It wasn’t like any other tenement he’d ever seen, but instead altered to accommodate the fact those living here weren’t restricted to human form. Perches jutted out from the wall, and the windows off the landing had platforms outside where avian familiars could land and shift shape. Many of the doors had smaller flaps cut into them; a fox darted out one, followed by a tabby cat, and vanished past them in a streak of fur. The air smelled musky, the scent of animals living in close quarters to one another.

Unwelcoming gazes fixed on Jamie: from open doorways, from ferals on the landings, or birds on their perches. Did Nick’s tenants know his identity, or were they just wary because he wasn’t a familiar?

Nick stopped in front of a doorway just off the landing and knocked. A woman opened it; she’d been in the process of dressing, and her shirtwaist was only partially buttoned over her chemise. Heat rose to Jamie’s face and he transferred his gaze hastily to Nick.

“Doreen,” Nick said. He didn’t seem perturbed by her partial undress. Or very interested in it at all, as he didn’t give so much as the slightest downward glance. “I have some questions about Pia for you and Estelle, if you’ve the time.”

Doreen finished buttoning her shirt and peered around Nick’s solid bulk. “Who’s that with you?”

“Jamie MacDougal,” Jamie said, giving her a quick bob of the head. “I’m with the—”

“He’s helping me find out who killed Pia,” Nick interrupted. Had he not told anyone he was working with the MWP? That he’d bonded, even temporarily, with Jamie?

It shouldn’t have made any difference. If Jamie had thought about it, he wouldn’t have expected different. Still, he felt as though he were Nick’s dirty little secret.

Doreen stepped back. “Come in.”

The apartment was tiny, nearly every square inch packed with belongings, though it lacked human beds. A perch stuck out from one wall. A pile of pillows and a thick blanket, both covered in animal hair, lay near the small stove where another woman was brewing coffee.

“Nice view,” Jamie said, nodding at the window. In the distance, the thirty-two stories of Madison Square Garden towered over the surrounding buildings. The gilded statue of Diana atop the tower flashed in the rising sun.

“What is it you want to know about Pia?” the other woman, presumably Estelle, asked.

“If anything had changed for her recently.” Nick’s large frame made the room seem even smaller. Jamie lingered in the doorway so as not to crowd anyone. “Was she still working at the sweater’s on Second?”

Doreen nodded. “Miserable prick, that one. Always trying to put his hand down her shirt or up her skirt.”

“She was late with her part of the rent,” Nick said. “Any particular reason why?”

The two women exchanged looks. Then Estelle shrugged. “She wasn’t doing too well. Drinking more than she should have, taking some of them illegal hexes, the sort that make you feel good for an hour or two, no matter what else is happening.”

“Recently, she’d started going to church,” Doreen added. “I don’t know which one, but she seemed more depressed when she came back from services, not less. A few days ago, she said she might have some way to get money, to pay the rent.”

“So what was she doing?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know.” Doreen held up her hands. “That’s the Lord’s honest truth, Nick.”

“Speaking of money,” Estelle said. “We’d best be getting on, or else we’ll be locked out before our shift starts.”

“One last question,” Jamie said. “Did she know an eagle feral? Name of Wyatt?”

Doreen frowned in concentration, then shook her head. “Not so far as I know. Estelle?”

“If she did, she never mentioned him to us,” Estelle agreed. “Now we really do have to leave.” She hesitated and glanced at Nick. “I know the rent on the room is short, but we didn’t expect to have to make up for Pia’s share. We’ll get it to you, Nick, but we need a little time.”

Nick shrugged. “You’ve already paid your agreed-upon share for the month. No need for more until November. Just let me know when you find a new roommate. Or if you’d like me to find one for you, I can do that.”

Estelle’s face softened, and Doreen looked on the verge of tears. “Thanks, Nick,” Estelle said.

They all trooped out of the apartment, and the two women hurried off down the hall. Though noises still came from the floors above them, it seemed everyone in the neighboring apartments had either left for work or still slept. “That was kind of you,” Jamie said into the silence. “Most landlords wouldn’t be so understanding.”

Nick tossed his hair back out of his eyes. “What other landlords do isn’t my problem.”

“Still.” Jamie stopped walking. Nick paused as well, turning to face him. Light filtered in from the stairwell, outlining Nick’s warm, brown skin with cool silver.

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat. He’d thought a lot about Nick last night, and not because of the case. Remembered the way Nick’s big hands had cradled his jaw, the softness of his lips on Jamie’s eyelids.

Maybe he’d just spent too much time alone in bed, with only his hand for company. During the months of recovery from his injury, wrung out by pain and grief, he’d had neither the opportunity nor the inclination to find a lover, even for one night. And at first, a little voice of doubt had shadowed his thoughts, making him question whether anyone would even want him again. He’d moved past that—his leg wasn’t going to grow back, and if anyone had a problem with it they weren’t someone he wanted to sleep with anyway. But he’d felt so distant from everyone else, it didn’t seem worth the effort to bridge the gap.

Maybe it was just the bond, but he didn’t feel distant from Nick. Except in the most literal sense, in that there was still unfortunately clothing and space between them.

He had to focus on the case, not on Nick. “I know Rook and Dominic had unbonded familiars looking into it, when they could,” he said, “but I realized I’d never asked you. Do you know where Wyatt lived? Did he have an apartment, roommates we might talk to?” He swallowed, not wanting to ask. “Potential lovers?”

Nick cocked his head. “You were more than just friends who served together, I take it.”

Jamie felt heat creep into his face. “Aye.”

“What did his witch think about that?”

It seemed an odd question. “Eddie? He kept look out for us more than once. He and Wyatt loved each other, but more like…like brothers. Besides, Eddie liked women, anyway.” Jamie shook his head. “None of that matters. Just answer my question.”

“No.” Nick folded his arms over his chest. “As in, ‘no, I don’t know.’ I put out word among the feral community, trying to find out if he had an apartment. Roommates, as you suggested. But no one seems to know anything. It’s like he was a ghost.”

“So you had the same thought—that there might be something in his apartment, or wherever he laid his head,” Jamie said. Rook’s warning about Nick came back to him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Nick shrugged. “I hadn’t found anything out. There didn’t seem to be any reason to bring it up.”

“You’re part of the MWP now, Nick.” Jamie tried to keep the irritation out of his voice and failed.

Nick seemed about to protest, but caught himself. “Fine. I won’t do it again. I’m not used to working with other people, that’s all. I’ll let you know if I learn anything. In the meantime, though, there’s something else I’d like us to do.”

Jamie could think of any number of things he’d like to do, but from Nick’s grim expression, he had the feeling none of them were about to be suggested. “What’s that?”

Nick lowered his head, and the fall of his hair cut off the light from his face. “I didn’t want to do this, but we’ve no choice. It’s time to talk to the ferals of Central Park.”

The brisk fall air felt good against Nick’s skin, after the close confines of the tenement. Gray skies stretched overhead, and the scent of threatening rain rode the wind. He matched his stride to Jamie’s as they made their way through the bustle of the streets. Neither spoke, but the silence was strangely companionable.

No. He couldn’t get too comfortable with the witch. Certainly not until he figured out exactly what Jamie wanted from him. If he really was trying to convince Nick to make their situation permanent, or if he had some other scheme in mind.

They went up Fifth Avenue, past the Italianate mansions and fancy churches. He kept his eyes fixed on the street, bands tightening around his chest. Rumor had it the massacre at the church had started because the Vandersee family sold off one of their own to a witch, to hide the fact they had familiar blood. As if being a familiar was something to be ashamed of.

Plenty thought it was. He lifted his head again, tossed his hair. To hell with anyone who believed he ought to feel bad for being himself.

He became aware of Jamie’s eyes on him. He looked down, saw a little grin on Jamie’s face. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jamie said. “Just admiring the view.”

“Lots to see, if you’re into architecture,” Nick said, deliberately misunderstanding.

“I’m more of a natural studies man, myself.”

He shouldn’t feel pleased, over some witch’s compliments. Not when he’d just told himself to keep his distance, that Jamie must have some ulterior motive. But he did, anyway.

When they reached the Plaza at Fifth and 59th, traffic slowed to a crawl. Some group stood right at the entrance to the park, facing outward. The sound of a shouting voice echoed over the chatter of those who had stopped to gawk.

“What’s this, then?” Jamie asked, brow furrowing. “Temperance league? Votes for familiars?”

Nick’s height gave him the advantage. But when he spotted the man at the heart of the gathering, he would as soon not have looked. “Ingram.”

The preacher stood there in his severe black coat and hat, like an unusually puritanical crow. Members of his flock formed a dark-clad mass behind him, while others moved through the crowd with offering baskets held out.

“He’s the Heirs of Adam looney, ain’t he?” Jamie asked.

Nick grinned, despite himself. “Not an admirer?”

“Considering he calls us devil-worshippers for following the teachings of the Belfast Pope, and for acknowledging Mary Magdalene as the Holy Familiar?” Jamie cast Nick a sardonic look. “I can’t say as I’ve considered inviting him over for a cup of tea, no.”

The crowd forced them to slow, which meant having to listen to Ingram spew his bile. It was much like his attempt at preaching in front of Caballus: a lot of nonsense about Eve and the Serpent, but with the added bonus of raving about the Whore of Babylon. So Ingram had problems with women as well as familiars; not much of a surprise. That type always did.

“How long have we campaigned for laws against the vile practice of sodomy?” Ingram ranted on, hands clenched fervently in front of him. “A practice spread among us by familiars, to weaken true men? But no—our politicians refuse, turn aside from the path of righteousness, so they might suckle at the teat of magic.”

“I ain’t certain whether the fellow needs a good tumble, or should be banned from ever touching another person,” Jamie said sotto voce.

Nick chuckled. He turned his attention from Ingram, let his eye rove over the crowd. One of the parishioners behind Ingram caught his attention. Like the rest, he was dressed all in black, his hair cut severely short. He held his hands clasped before him, lips moving frantically, eyes squeezed shut as if his entire body poured effort into his prayers.

“Society must turn its back on the dangerous practice of using magic.” Ingram flung his arm out as if to indicate the park, or maybe all of New York. “We’ve allowed Satan to corrupt us with the promise of easy solutions to our problems, rather than setting our hands to the hard work God intended. How has he done that, friends?”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “I was just as happy not to do the hard work of dying from infection, after the surgeon took my leg, thanks.”

“By sending demons to mislead our children. They let Satan in, and he teaches them to take on the forms of animals. Who then tempt others from the righteous path.” Ingram pointed dramatically at Nick. “There! One of the devil’s minions walks among us even now, spreading evil and corrupting the hearts of men.”

Nick tensed. But the crowd didn’t seem particularly interested in him, beyond a couple of glances.

The frantically praying man behind Ingram opened his eyes, though. A shock went through Nick at the sight of pale golden irises.

The man was a familiar.

But why the hell would any familiar throw his lot in with Ingram? Was he deranged? Certainly, he didn’t look as though he was there against his will. Quite the opposite, given the venomous glare he gave Nick.

Maybe he just needed some encouragement. “Hey, you,” Nick called. “If you get tired of listening to this horse shit, come see me. There will always be a place for you at Caballus. You don’t have to be ashamed of who you are.”

The familiar paled, closed his eyes, and began to pray even more frantically, if possible.

“Come on,” Jamie said, touching Nick’s elbow. “You can’t save everyone.”

Nick gladly followed him. Once they were away, Jamie said, “Ingram is crazy if he thinks people are going to stop using magic. Especially the rich. No society lady is going to give up the witch in the laundry, using hexes to make her whites brighter, let alone the rest of it.”

“Unfortunately,” Nick agreed.

Jamie’s brows rose. “You ain’t telling me you agree with him?”

“That I’m a minion of Satan?” Nick snorted. “Hardly. But the more hexes we use, the less value familiars have as anything other than a source of magic.”

He still remembered the stuffy room, lined with medical texts, a human skeleton displayed in one corner. The way the man behind the desk had laughed at Nick, while explaining that of course it was impossible to admit a familiar to the college. Not when a familiar would just quit the moment he found his witch.

“But you run a saloon and a tenement,” Jamie pointed out.

Nick ground his teeth together. “Not my first choice, witch.”

“Oh.” Jamie was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Ingram was right about one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“You are a temptation.” Jamie winked.

Heat flushed through Nick’s body. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the sort of tempting he had in mind,” he said, before he could think better of it.

“I don’t know. He was pretty focused on the whole sodomy thing.”

It was just harmless flirting. Flirting, and doughnuts, and that little moan when Jamie had tipped back his head in surrender.

It didn’t mean a thing.