The phone in Alistair’s pocket kept buzzing, and he ignored it. It hadn’t stopped since he took over for Morfeus.

People nagging him. Inviting him to dinner. To parties. To meet their daughters. All of them sycophants looking to curry favor.

It irritated.

Why couldn’t they be more like Willow, who locked him out and refused to deal with him?

A woman who’d spent the night working on reinforcing the spells protecting her house. He should know. He’d watched over her from a nearby rooftop. Ensuring her safety, despite not understanding his need to do so.

Since when do I protect strangers? Since when did he care?

She was just a witch. A nobody. Yet that didn’t stop him from finding a spot to spy on her.

He contented himself with the argument that the demon might return and need to be dealt with. I’m no hero. A hero wouldn’t do the things he’d done. Spilled so much blood.

And he’d spill more. Alistair wasn’t a male to shy away from necessity.

He’d perched like a watching gargoyle, keeping a sharp eye out for attack until the last of her lights went off, and she finally got some rest.

Only when the dawn cracked the horizon did he finally relent. Demons didn’t like sunlight. It dried out their usually moist skin and hurt the sensitive membrane over their eyes.

With his unusual protection endeavor over for the moment, he hastened to Fairy Fingers, the TDCM science lab. He’d entrusted the demon body to them and wanted to be on hand to ensure that they didn’t proceed until Willow had joined him.

He had, after all, killed it just for her.

Some men courted women with flowers and jewels. He gave the witch a body.

Is that what I’m doing? Courting her?

It stunned him to realize that he had no other reason to act as he had.

I want her trust, so she’ll work with me.

Why? He didn’t need a witch on his side. Didn’t need anyone, actually.

His phone buzzed again in his pocket. Since he drove, he ignored it. The ability for people to bother him anywhere, anytime was one he could do without. Whoever thought it a good idea to make phones portable should be shot.

The building housing the secret TDCM lab and morgue, titled an odd Fairy Fingers, bustled with activity, unlike the headquarters that always oozed a certain quiet calm. Having never been here before, Alistair didn’t realize it was unusual for this hour until the receptionist, a silver-haired woman with peach-colored lips and brilliant emerald eyes exclaimed, “Sir, why are you here instead of at the scene of the crime?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Our office has been trying to contact you. The team is at the site of a possible demon incident.”

“Where?”

“Didn’t you receive our text?”

No, because he’d turned his cell to silent while keeping watch over the witch and then ignored it because it annoyed him. He preferred to work alone.

Whipping out his phone, he quickly scrolled through the missed calls and messages. But it was the address of the demon attack that made his blood run cold.

I know that address.

Forget a demon autopsy. Willow wouldn’t be joining him today because she would be dealing with the destruction of her office.

“Keep the body on ice until my return,” he barked, turning around to head right back out again. As he sped through the streets, he listened to the voicemails summarizing the situation.

While he’d allowed himself to be distracted watching over the witch, the enemy had struck elsewhere. The disturbing thing was that it still involved Willow.

He didn’t like it one bit.

While he didn’t have a siren on his hood, Alistair still managed to have cars move out of the way, and lights change, sometimes abruptly, as he neared them. Little thrusts of magic ensured that he sped smoothly through the worst traffic knots, and sooner than expected, his truck roared to a stop a block over from the scene of the crime. Not that you’d know looking at it that anything had happened.

The dome of concealment showed nothing amiss. It also turned away anyone who had no business being there. It would only fool someone with absolutely no magic.

He strode through the barrier, like walking through a clear bubble with a slight popping sensation as he passed.

Inside, the calm mirage vanished. The stink of magic hung heavy in the air, layering the place. Some of it from the concealing dome, other parts the search-and-identify kind. There existed, as well, under the stink of ozone and fresh breezes—courtesy of the elves on staff—a hint of fire and brimstone. Demon.

More than one demon, he reckoned.

There were TDCM officers inside the cordoned area, collecting evidence in esoterically sealed bags. Also, one angry witch.

Alistair noted Willow, her hair dancing in a non-existent breeze, facing off against a young wizard, still wet behind the ears and using his badge as a pompous excuse to keep her out of her own building.

The kid wouldn’t live long if he didn’t learn to play nice with others. Was the body of wizards so lax in its training these days that it didn’t teach them the basic respects, and the warning signs of a woman about to go off?

Willow’s voice snapped, “Listen here, you little twerp. I don’t care how much your daddy paid to get you a job with the TDCM. I am the high priestess and owner of this property. You can’t prevent me from going in.”

“This is a crime scene, ma—aaaaam.” He squeaked the last bit as Willow lost patience and whipped out her hand, little stick clenched in her fist.

The wand itself didn’t have magic; rather, it acted as a focus, and, in this case, directed her power to levitate the wizard, dangling him upside down.

Willow stalked past his screeched, “Put me down.”

“If you insist.” A flick of her wrist and the boy went crashing. He would have smashed his face against pavement had Alistair not provided a cushion of air. Willow would be in enough trouble having magic-handled the lad without adding personal injury to his claim.

Then again, the idiot shouldn’t have stood in her way.

Alistair caught up to her just inside the warehouse, the people who would have stopped them both moving out of the way once they saw his upheld palm.

Wizards had no need for physical badges. They carried their authority around as a sigil on their hands.

He approached quietly to where Willow stood a few yards inside, staring.

The place appeared as if a tornado had swept through the inside. Furniture, what little of it there was, smashed into irreparable pieces. Paper shredded and balled and plastered to walls. The stench of urine prevailed, the ammonia content high enough to make eyes water. Other fluids that didn’t belong in her place of work scattered throughout.

“It can be fixed,” he said.

“It stinks,” was her retort.

“I’ll have a team decontaminate and clean it for you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is.” Because he said so.

“How did they know to come here?”

Leading her by the elbow, he guided her away from curious eyes to a corner empty of damage and people. “They probably came across the scent of many magic users in one spot.”

“Or they found out our address.”

“Demons don’t hunt that way.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Her troubled green gaze met his. “What if they’re smarter than we give them credit for?”

He trod carefully with his words. “The evidence thus far hasn’t indicated they’re more than beasts.”

“Because we haven’t wanted to attribute something intellectual to monsters. But what if we’ve been wrong? What if they are intelligent? What if there’s a purpose to their attacks?”

No wonder Morfeus hated her. The woman was much too keen. She saw things. Things she shouldn’t know. “Just because they lucked out and found your coven building doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then why did they steal all my coven files? And what of the writing you said they found by the Peabody crater? The one they brought you in to decipher? All along, we’ve been going under the assumption they’re bloodthirsty animals. Hunting them as if they’re simply predators with only one thought in mind. Survival. If they’re more…then that changes everything.”

He could have lied at this point and said demons were indeed dumb beasts who couldn’t decipher her coven records. However, she wasn’t stupid. Why steal them unless they could make use of the information inside?

“It’s possible they’re more organized and learned than the TDCM has admitted.”

She pounced on his revelation. “So they can read the addresses.”

He nodded, and she cursed.

When she would have stormed off, he held her, her arms slender under his grip, her petite frame bristling with anxiety, and fear. Trepidation not for herself, Alistair realized, but for the people affected by the theft.

“I’ll have officers sent to the homes of your coven members to provide warning and protection.”

“You don’t have enough people to do that. You’ll spread the TDCM too thin, and this isn’t the time for that. I’ve already got Kal calling them and telling them to go into hiding.” Willow sighed. “What a cluster. It’s Salem all over again. Hunted because we wield magic. It’s not something we asked for. We’re born with it.”

“And do you regret having magic?”

A startled gaze met his. “Never. I love what I do. I just hate that a matter of birth makes us targets.”

“Then help me fight.” Fight against those that would ruin this world like they ruined the one they tried to escape.

She snorted. “Fight how? We can’t even detect them. Short of coming across one munching on someone, or walking on the ceiling, we have no idea who is possessed.”

“So we need to find a method.” One that didn’t involve laying traps.

“Find a method, he says.” She rolled her eyes. “You make it sound easy.”

“Perhaps it is more simple than we know. We still have a body to dissect.”

“You really think we’ll find answers?”

From a corpse? Doubtful. “There’s also that strange text we found. I’ve yet to show you.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you think it has a clue that can help?”

Good question, and one he was unable to answer. Apparently, Morfeus hadn’t been far from wrong when he’d declared the text gibberish. Despite all his linguistic learning, Alistair had been unable to decipher it, but he’d only just begun. “Only one way to find out. Will you join me?”

Her shoulders straightened. “Let’s go. There’s nothing I can do here.”

Her resolve was most attractive, especially with the hint of altruism laced through it.

His upbringing didn’t see much of that. Most people he knew were about advancing themselves or their family. Male or female, it didn’t matter in his world. Only power did. The concept of helping others was foreign and fascinating.

Stubbornness, on the other hand, was not.

“Get in my truck,” he demanded for the second time on the sidewalk—because her tiny death trap offended him.

She shook her head, red strands flying. “I will follow you there.”

“For a woman intent on saving the world, you are determined to waste gas.”

“No, you are wasting gas.” She pointed to his truck. “If anyone should be offering to carpool, it’s me. Get in my car, or are you chicken to let a woman drive?”

“It’s not your driving skills I’m calling into question. It’s the ability of your car to carry me. Are you sure it can handle two passengers?”

“Cluck.”

He glared. “It is not cowardice making me hesitate but rather a distinct lack of urge to compact myself into a tiny ball.”

“You’re not that fat.”

“That fat?” He repeated the words a touch incredulously. “I am perfectly fit.”

“If you say so. Now, are you getting in or not? I’ll be coming back here after we’re done, and I can drop you off. Or take your truck, and I’ll meet you there.” She smiled, the smirk taunting because she expected him to say no. To refuse to get into the tiny metal box and let her drive.

If there was one thing Alistair hated, it was predictability. He got into the passenger seat and tried to ignore how his knees touched the dash and his head skimmed the roof.

She gaped at him through her open driver-side door. “What are you doing?”

Fucking with her, obviously. He smiled. “Accepting your kind offer for a ride.”

“But—”

“You’re right. We’ll save on gas. Just doing my part to save the world.”

Literally.