“One day you’ll stop asking me. I think I’ll like knowing you then.”

“Can we leave my clothes out of the next lesson?” I groused. “I only packed for a few weeks.”

“You wanted morally objectionable.”

“Right.” I wasn’t sure his demonstration had served its purpose. I wasn’t sure taking my shirt off in front of him was.

“I was illustrating degrees, Ms. Lane. I believe the Lord Master has achieved the latter level of proficiency.”

“Great. Well, in the future spare my tees. I only have three. I’ve been washing them out by hand and the other two are dirty.” BB&B didn’t have a washer or dryer, and so far I’d been refusing to tote my stuff to the Laundromat a few blocks down, although soon I was going to have to, because jeans didn’t wash well by hand.

“Order what you need, Ms. Lane. Charge it to the store account.”

“Really? I can order a washer and dryer?”

“You may as well hold on to the keys to the Viper, too. I’m certain there are things you need a car for.”

I eyed him suspiciously. Had I lost another few months in Faery, and this was Christmas?

He bared his teeth in one of those predatory smiles. “Don’t think it’s because I like you. A happy employee is a productive employee, and the less time you waste going out to the Laundromat or . . . doing whatever errands it is . . . someone like you does . . . is more time I can use you for my own purposes.”

That made sense. Still, while it was Christmas, I had a few more items on my wish list. “I want a backup generator, and a security system. And I think I should have a gun, too.”

“Stand up.”

I had no will. My legs obeyed.

“Go change.”

I returned wearing a peach tee with a coffee stain over the right breast.

“Stand on one leg and hop.”

“You suck,” I hissed, as I hopped.

“The key to resisting Voice,” Barrons instructed, “is finding that place inside you no one else can touch.”

“You mean the sidhe-seer place?” I said, hopping like a one-legged chicken.

“No, a different place. All people have it. Not just sidheseers. We’re born alone and we die alone. That place.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I know. That’s why you’re hopping.”

I hopped for hours. I wearied, but he didn’t. I think Barrons could have used Voice all night, and never worn down.

He might have kept me hopping until dawn, but at quarter till one in the morning my cell phone rang. I thought instantly of my parents, and it must have shown on my face, because he released me from my thrall.

I’d been hopping for so long that I actually took two hops toward my purse where I’d left it on the counter near the cash register, before I caught myself.

It was about to roll into my voice mail—a thing I’ve hated ever since I missed Alina’s call—so I thumbed it on inside my purse, tugged it out, and clamped it to my ear.

“Fourth and Langley,” Inspector Jayne barked.

I stiffened. I’d been expecting Dad, figuring he’d just forgotten to factor in the time difference. We alternated calling each other every other day, even if only for a few minutes, and I’d forgotten last night.

“It’s bad. Seven dead, and the shooter’s holed up in a pub, threatening to kill more hostages, and himself. Sound like the kind of crime you wanted me to tell you about?”

“Yes.” Himself, Jayne had said. The shooter was a man, which meant I’d missed whatever crime the woman who’d picked it up the night I’d been watching had committed, and the Book had already moved on. I wondered how many times it had changed hands since. I would search back issues of newspapers for clues. I needed all the information I could get, to try to understand the Dark Book, in hopes of anticipating its future moves.

The line went dead. He’d done what he’d promised and no more. I stared down at my cell phone, trying to figure out how to get rid of Barrons.

“Why was Jayne calling you at this hour?” he said softly. “Have you been inducted as an honorary member of the Garda since they last arrested you?”

I glanced over my shoulder with disbelief. He was standing at the opposite end of the room, and the volume on my phone was set to low. Maybe he’d picked up on the tones of the inspector’s voice from that distance, but there was no way he’d heard any of the details. “Funny,” I said.

“What aren’t you telling me, Ms. Lane?”

“He said he thinks he might have a lead on my sister’s case.” It was a weak lie, but the first that came to mind. “I have to go.” I reached behind the counter, grabbed my backpack, tossed in my MacHalo, strapped on my shoulder holster, transferred my spear from my boot to beneath my arm, then slid into a jacket and headed for the back door. I would get the Viper and drive to Fourth and Langley as fast as I could. If the shooter was still at the scene, the Sinsar Dubh would be, too. If the shooter was already dead by the time I got there, I’d drive up and down the streets and alleys in the immediate vicinity, ranging outward in a tight pattern, waiting for a tingle.

“The fuck he did. He said Fourth and Langley. Seven dead. Why do you care?”

What kind of monster had ears like that? Couldn’t I have gotten a half-deaf one? Scowling, I continued toward the door.

“You will stop right there, and tell me where you’re going.”

My feet stopped, independent of my will. The bastard had used Voice. “Don’t do this to me,” I gritted, sweat breaking out on my forehead. I was fighting him with all I had, and weakening quickly. I wanted to tell him where I was going nearly as badly as I wanted to kill the Lord Master.

“Don’t make me,” he said in a normal voice. “I thought we were working together, Ms. Lane. I thought we were allied in a common cause. Did that phone call from the inspector have something to do with the Sinsar Dubh? You aren’t keeping something from me, are you?”

“No.”

“Final warning. If you don’t answer me, I’ll rip it from your throat. And while I’m at it, I’ll ask anything else I feel like asking, too.”

“That’s not fair! I can’t use Voice on you,” I cried. “You’re only teaching me to resist it.”