Camille frowned, then nodded and let him lead her back toward the gate.

I stopped them. "Hold on. What did Iris ask us to bring home? Some kind of crystal?"

"An Aqualine crystal from the Wyvern Ocean," Camille said in a faint voice. "And be sure and tell them that Iris is a priestess of—"

"Of Undutar. I remember that much. Go work on your shields. I'll be back in an hour or so. If I'm not back in two, come find me." I glanced at my watch. Camille couldn't wear one, but I liked them. "Do these even work here?"

Morio held up his wrist. He had a gold watch—it looked like a Rolex—tucked under his sleeve. "Yep, I checked first thing. Let's see, it's eight-thirty now, Earthside time. If you're not back by eleven, we'll come looking for you."

I gave them a quick wave. "Stay out of trouble. And if you see that owl, try to find out what it wants."

As they returned to the garden, I headed into the street, wondering which way to go first. Arbitrarily making up my mind, I turned left. I had a fifty percent chance of being right, so why not go with the path that seemed to mirror my destiny?

As I strolled down the street, trying to act like I belonged, it occurred to me that not having magical abilities was—at times—a handy thing. Neither Morio nor Camille could handle the excess energy here until they shielded. I, on the other hand, could barely feel the massive waves of magic riding through the streets.

I looked around. Most everyone wore robes, and it was hard to gauge their natures or temperament within those darkened hoods. Finally I played the eeny-meeny game and my finger came to rest pointing toward one man in a golden kimono who leaned against a wall, smoking something that suspiciously looked like a cigarette. As I drew closer the pungent smell of wormwood and mugwort drifted to my nose and I grimaced. Mugwort was just plain nasty, and wormwood wasn't all that good for the brain cells.

"Hello," I said, approaching him. "I was wondering if you can answer a question for me—"

"Shush," he said, cutting me off. "Hold on. Hear that?" He cocked his head as if he were straining to catch a whisper.

I listened, deciding that direct and forceful just wasn't going to cut it in this city. After a moment, I began to catch a faint rhythm beating on the breeze; it sounded like a slow drum, trance-work music like Camille often used to deepen her trances and sweep her into an altered state.

"What is it?" I whispered after a moment.

"The Temple of Hycondis is having their ritual tonight. They're making a sacrifice."

Swallowing a hasty retort, I forced myself to keep my first impressions to myself. Back in Y'Elestrial, temples were restricted in what they could—and couldn't—do. Though most rituals were approved, any involving deliberate sacrifice were banned, though fanatical sects often went underground to perform their darker rites.

"Hycondis?" I asked, desperately hoping that whoever the god was, he wasn't part of the Temple of Reckoning.

"The lord of disease. His followers sacrifice dead bodies to him to cleanse and purify them to return to the Mother's womb." He sounded bored, like he was reciting from a textbook.

"You mean they're already dead by the time they're sacrificed?"

With a disgusted look, he rolled his eyes. "Of course they are. Unlike the sacrifices you make to your stomach, vampire. Now what do you want?" He tossed his herbal ciggie away and it disappeared in a flash of light, leaving no litter to clutter the streets. Handy, very handy.

"I'm looking for the Temple of Reckoning," I said.

"No doubt. I'm sure you have a great deal to atone for," he said, letting out a little snort. Oh, yeah, he thought he was clever. "You'll find the temple two blocks down, turn right, and walk another block and there you go."

I started to thank him but he turned away, ignoring me as if I didn't exist. I let the matter drop—no use picking a fight with someone just because he was rude, especially since I was a visitor here.

The streets began to empty as I headed down the road. I glanced at my watch. Eight-forty-five. Dinner time? If there was a curfew, the guards hadn't mentioned it. Whatever the reason, by the time it was nine P.M. our time, the streets were clear of all foot traffic. Now and then I heard something pass that sounded like a carriage, though I couldn't see a thing. The hairs on the back of my neck had been standing at attention since I entered Temple Row.

And then I was in front of the Temple of Reckoning. A set of huge scales, as big as the shed in our backyard, stood in front of the temple, carved in stone. I paused, staring up at the megalithic building. The doors were lit by a purple flame that encircled the archway, and as I stepped toward it, the flame flared, crackling brightly. The inscription over the arch read, "Enter within, those who seek atonement and justice."

Hoping sincerely that I wouldn't burst into flames, I pushed open one of the heavy doors and stepped through.

CHAPTER 13

As I passed through the fire, the distinct scent of charred soul hit me. Was this the end? The next moment my foot hit the floor and I was through the door, standing in the temple foyer, relatively unscathed. Hell, I felt like I'd been turned inside out and wrung out to dry, but when I gave myself the once over, everything seemed in place.

The temple resembled an ancient Egyptian ruin, without the rubble. Huge statues of a woman rose on either side of the tiled walkway, guarding the entrance to what appeared to be an enormous hall. The statues' arms stretched out to form an arch through which all supplicants had to pass.

At first I thought the statues were representations of Ma'at, the goddess of truth and justice, but when I looked closer, I realized that it wasn't her. So who was she?

The foyer was wide, incredibly wide, but the opening between the statues very narrow. There seemed to be no other way into the hall than to walk through the small space. I stepped forward, half-expecting the statues to move. Nothing happened, so I took another step, and then another, and then dashed between the towering stone figurines.

Once I'd passed through the arch, I turned around to see if the statues had moved but no, they were still standing silent, watching the door. Relieved, I turned back to the chamber. Unusual. No chimes had sounded when I entered, and nobody was around to ask who the hell I was and what I was doing. Rather lackluster in the security department, I thought.

The hall was larger than any I'd ever seen, and back in Y'Elestrial, we had some ostentatious halls. Dumbstruck, I could only gaze around me at the beauty of the temple.

White marble tiled both walls and the floor, and the chamber shimmered under the glow of a thousand orbs of light that danced along the ceiling. The walls were adorned with polished brass sculptures, depictions of the gods and mortals wandering the halls of the dead. Tapestries, woven of golden and black threads embroidered on ivory linen, hung across one wall. Panel after panel of the linen pictographs told the story of the dead as they formed a line to enter the kingdom of the afterlife.

If this wasn't an Egyptian temple, then what culture was it? Very few of the Fae that I knew followed the Egyptian gods. Delilah was an exception, with her worship of Bast. Usually the Fae paid more attention to the Celtic and European deities and, to a lesser extent, Greek and Roman. Then again, nowhere was it written that the seers of Aladril were Fae. While they looked human, it was obvious they weren't the regular run-of-the-mill-type FBHs.

I looked around for some sign of life. Nothing.

A series of doors lined the great hall. I'd have to take my chances. I finally decided to start with the one directly opposite the entrance. As I strode to the door, I planned out just what I might say to prevent them from killing me before I'd had a chance to explain who I was and what I wanted.

The door was unlocked and I cautiously pushed it open. The sound of wind whistled through the darkened corridor beyond. Shrugging, I decided to take a chance.

The corridor stretched beyond my line of sight. I caught the whiff of blood on the wind, but no fear attached to it. Deciding to follow my nose, I turned left into one of the branching halls and continued almost to the end, where the scent was emanating from behind a door to my left.

Maybe they were preparing meat for a meal, I thought, my hand on the knob. Or maybe a woman had given birth recently? Finally I gave up with the guessing game and opened the door.

As I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was a naked man sitting on a raised dais. His legs were folded into the lotus position, his back was straight. A half-circle frame forged from bronze spread like a rainbow from the center of his back. His arms were stretched out to his sides, parallel to the floor, supporting the thin strip of metal that formed the base of the arc.

Needle-sharp rods were spaced evenly around the semicircle, like spokes in a bicycle wheel. At the bottom, they angled in toward his back, piercing not the metal frame, but threading into his flesh. There was no blood, though I could smell it coming from somewhere. And by his expression, I'd have to guess that he was both very much alive and feeling very little pain. He had to be taking some good drugs. Either that or he was in a deep trance.

He opened his eyes and stared directly at me, but made no motion to move. I slowly walked toward him, more curious than worried for my safety. Even though the scent of blood was clear and pure, it wasn't affecting me. Fascinated, when I reached three feet from the dais, I stopped and cocked my head to the side.

The man rested on a turquoise pillow with golden tassels. Even though he was sitting with legs folded, I could tell he was taller than any man I'd ever known. With dark brown hair and eyes so black I could lose myself in them, he wasn't classically handsome. But there was something compelling about him and I stood silently, watching him, unable to look away.

Five minutes passed, maybe ten… maybe twenty. Finally the door to the back of the otherwise empty room opened and another man entered. Shorter than the living statue, this man bore the same exotic look, but he was dressed in a pair of loose linen trousers and a light jacket belted by a golden sash.

"You've come to question the Dayinye Oracle?" he said.

He was so calm. Didn't he know I was a vampire?

"I don't know," I said slowly. "I'm looking for a man named Jareth. I was told I could find him here in the Temple of Reckoning. Will you take me to him, please?"

The man returned my stare until I felt suddenly faint and had to look away. Who was he? Almost no one could withstand my smile when I turned on the old vamp charm, but it hadn't fazed him in the least.

"Why don't you ask the oracle?" he said after a moment.

Tired of games, but acknowledging that I was in somebody else's playground and that I'd have to play by their rules, I sighed and turned to the man on the dais. "What should I ask him?"

"That is entirely up to you."

I centered myself. This could be a trick—like wishes gone bad from some of the djinns who thrived on chaos and twisting meanings. Cautiously I said, "I'm looking for Jareth. Is he here in this temple, and will he help me?" There, that seemed clear enough.

The oracle blinked and then closed his eyes. I could no longer sense either of the men breathing, nor were their hearts beating the rhythm I was so used to hearing. This doesn't make sense, I thought. They were both alive—but it was as if all my sensory equipment went on the fritz.

After a moment, a thundering voice filled the room, departing the moment I caught the words, as if it had never been.

"The man you seek is here, and he will help you. But the question is: What help do you really need? The path is long and tortuous, leading within. Demons are only demons when they choose to live in the fire." And then, he fell silent, sagging for a moment before his eyes snapped open and he straightened, once again staring forward. Silent, like an image caught in freeze-frame.

I turned to the other man. "Now will you take me to Jareth?"

He inclined his head and motioned toward a door against the back of the room. I followed him, skirting the dais.

"Is he… does he always sit there with that thing on his back?" I asked, trying to keep my tone respectful.

My guide didn't look back at me, but said, "Yes, day and night, year after year. He is the Dayinye Oracle. He will answer questions until the day he dies, and then his soul will join Great Mother Dayinye's paradise in the afterlife."

We passed through the door into another hall that led farther back into the temple. Here I could sense more movement, though snores reached my ears from behind a few of the doors. Obviously a number of the temple's residents were sleeping.

"How long has he been the Oracle?"

"Two hundred and fifty-seven years. Each oracle serves but a short time—five hundred years—and then they die. A new one is selected in the four hundredth year of the old. They are trained for one hundred years to take over the position, before ascending to the oracular throne." He seemed quite amiable and willing to answer my questions. I decided to try for a couple more.

"And who is Mother Dayinye? I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with your path nor this city." I glanced around as we entered a dining hall. My guide motioned for me to sit at one of the tables and I took my place on a bench.

"Wait," he said before disappearing through an archway. A moment later, he returned with a goblet of wine and—whoa!—a goblet of blood. He knew what I was, all right.

I accepted the crystal flute, sniffing it carefully. Human—more or less, tinged with magic. Not wanting to seem rude, I took a tiny sip and almost swooned. The blood was like nectar on my tongue. In fact, for a moment, I could have sworn I was drinking a fine merlot or burgundy or a glass of Elfin elixir. Another sip and I tasted apple juice and honey and cinnamon.